Texte paru dans: / Appeared in: |
||||
|
Outil de traduction ~ (Très approximatif) |
||||
|
Reviewer: Bertil
van Boer We tend to think of a sort of division in the17th and 18th centuries between those who composed music and those who performed it. Of course, today no one really doubts that the former were also active as performers; as a prime example, Johann Sebastian Bach was renowned as an organist in Leipzig, and there can be no doubt of the demands of his position to educate his charges at St. Thomas’s as well as private pupils, to compose music for both the Collegium at the university and the church, and to rehearse and conduct everyday performances. And, of course, there is the example set by Antonio Vivaldi, Archangelo Corelli, and numerous others who excelled as both violinists and composers, as I mention elsewhere in this issue. But, more often than not, the regular members of the orchestras that these figures directed or performed with remain less well-known, or even anonymous, yet they too were often required to compose music for their own instruments or voice type. Johann Joachim Quantz takes great pains to include music composition as part of the duties of virtually every ensemble musician, and while we may marvel at the specific artists for whom a Vivaldi or Handel wrote particular compositions, many of these figures remain historically identified only with their instrument (and that includes the voice). We tend to think of them as performers first, who simply dabbled in music composition. Such a general overview does have numerous exceptions, of course, but one of the trends that I have noticed emerging in the discography is the rediscovery of the music that these people wrote. While I could wax on about this, the upshot is that Handel’s violinists, oboists, cellists, etc. composed frequently and often elegantly, with many of their works achieving recognition though publication. This brings us to Giovanni Stefano Carbonelli (1694–1773), a violinist for whom none other than Vivaldi penned a concerto (RV 366). Hailing from the port city of Livorno, he was trained as a violinist, possibly with Corelli in Rome, before embarking on a career in northern Italy in 1711. A few years later he performed in Venice as the concertmaster in opera orchestras, where he came into contact with Vivaldi. In 1718, however, he left for London, where in February of 1719 made his debut playing his own music. Thereafter followed a career as the concertmaster of the Drury Lane Theatre orchestra and freelance musician, becoming known as a teacher and even performing at the coronation of George III in 1761. Not dependent solely upon his musical talents, he converted to the Anglican Church and anglicized his name to John Stephen Carbonell in 1735. The bulk of this disc is devoted to the second part of his 12 chamber sonatas, published in 1729 with a dedication to a colleague, John Manners. These works (Nos. 7–12) reflect the genre of the chamber trio sonata, made popular by Corelli in centers such as London. The Vivaldi concerto, nicknamed “Il Carbonelli,” has a first movement that scurries about in rushing sequences and scales, with a great deal of virtuoso display. I cannot say that it is any more challenging than other Vivaldi violin concertos, but it does require a great amount of performer stamina in the almost perpetual motion solo line. There are a few moments of minor key reflectivity, but in general it runs right along. The second movement is pensive and mournful, almost as if it might come from one of the Seasons, while the finale returns to the hasty pace of the first, though with a rather more thick-textured set of ritornellos. The Carbonelli sonatas, however, are in a different league altogether. Each is in the conventional Baroque four-movement format, following a pattern developed by Corelli. Although they are labelled as da camera sonatas, they are actually hybrids, with slow and measured Adagios or Largos prefacing a pair of faster movements. By hybrid, I mean that these pieces ought to be stylized dances, but in fact the only nod to this seems to be the occasional gigue or siciliano of the final movements. Even these are far removed from the earlier models, despite the fact that they are historically not that later. For instance, the Gigue of the A-Minor Sonata (No. 7) does have the characteristic 6/8 patter, though it runs along rather over its musical limit in a relentless manner. The Gigue of the G-Minor Sonata (No. 10) is better outlined, with a rather jaunty main theme. The opening movements are quite varied, and in some instances can be extremely effective. One example is the G-Major Sonata (No. 8), which begins with a slow, rocking pastorale, but in the center (following a rather gnarly harmonic cadence) turns into a minuet with some nice double-stops in the solo violin that then devolves into a sequential pattern before the pastorale returns. The arch form presents several different moods that are quite modern in their concept. This sonata too rearranges the final pair of movements, so that the third is a fairly light and airy minuet, with the final one returning to the pastorale. Here, we are far from Corelli as can be. The final sonata (No. 12 in B Minor) is the only one in a more modern three-movement format, beginning with a fluid and thoughtful Largo, followed by an Andante that seems rather pedestrian with its syncopations and decisive strong beats, and it concludes with an “Aria,” that practically asks for a vocal line but then expands outwards as a complex theme and variations. As one might expect, these are the sort of works that appeal to violinists, as they are all display pieces with some interesting technical challenges. Violinist Bojan Čičić is quite capable and his performance has a good sense of phrasing, something quite necessary in view of the virtuoso needs of the solo part. The Illyria Consort continuo is an equal partner, so that the entire performance is a cohesive and well-executed package. As much of the chamber works of this period, it might mainly appeal to chamber music afficionados, as there is a certain structure that makes them perhaps more fun to play than to listen to all at a go. Nonetheless, this is disc well-worth getting, both for the interesting, if sometimes quirky music, and for the fine performance.
| ||||
|
||||
|
|
|
|||
|
Cliquez l'un ou l'autre
bouton pour découvrir bien d'autres critiques de CD |
||||
