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GRAMOPHONE (4/2025)
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Alpha Alpha 116 (2CD)

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Reviewer : Jonathan Freeman Attwood
 

Never has there been such an abundance of remarkable new recordings of the Goldberg Variations in transformed – even at times transfigured – versions, by arrangers and re?imaginers. For years, the string trio transcription by Dmitry Sitkovetsky was the staple diet in concerts but over the years, its tough literalness seems to have tired our ears. Józef Koffler’s wartime score is a revelation for its neoclassical chamber-orchestra resourcefulness; and there’s Chad Kelly’s recent score for Brecon Baroque and Rachel Podger (Channel Classics, 12/23) which, in historical positioning – and on period instruments – is the closest to Nevermind’s revealing and imaginative account of the Goldbergs. Then, only last year, we were rewarded with the luxuriance of Robin O’Neill’s supple new version for his Philharmonia colleagues (BIS, 2/24).

Kelly’s vision is, broadly, to present the Goldbergs as a kaleidoscope of scorings using a rich single-string and woodwind palette of flute, oboe, bassoon and strings (underpinned by a wandering concertante harpsichord in his own hands). Juxtaposing intimate solos and Brandenburg-style concerto realisations, it alludes to many of Bach’s own stylistic reference points, but primarily as an inventive contemporary response to the score through an 18th-century-style prism. Nevermind’s text is more of a genuine attempt to think how Bach himself might have refashioned the Goldbergs, with the established and flexible trio sonata ensemble of flute, violin, gamba and harpsichord/organ, and exploiting its potential for refinement in colour with exceptional musicians – the flute-playing, especially, can only afford sheer delight throughout.

There is, however, nothing merely ‘recreative’ about this hypnotically poetic if languorous reading. While displaying fewer quixotic turns and varied sonic delights than the larger groups, the sophisticated gestural landscape and fragrancy of this leaner ensemble moves the music into fresh territory. Drop into Vars 2?7 to witness how evolution of line, crystalline dialogue and the most galant enlightenment sensibilities can coalesce to form one irresistible vignette after another – never hurried and with deliberate space between each variation. This satisfying architecture is further enabled by the uplifting integration of deft ornamentation and, as in Var 7, effective doublings in the upper line.

Some may find the overall aesthetic too self-consciously beautified and precious, with the faster movements – never really more than moderato – eschewing visceral grip for the perpetual conceit of studied elegance and calm. The sepulchral Var 12, where the organ registration and prominent gamba offer an illusory world well beyond its trio reality, feels indulgent. And the Quodlibet (Var 30) becomes an enchanting motet without a hint of the bawdy songs that spawned it. The continuo takes a number of selected liberties heard in the freewheeling harmonic shifts and bass suspensions in Var 8, and in Var 21, where the organ’s sustaining tone accentuates its decidedly quirky realisations. It won’t be to everyone’s taste but the piquant harmony in the heart-stopping Var 25 is magical.

Of the aforementioned list of transcriptions, Nevermind’s is the gentlest and, perhaps, the most naturally integrated in its purity of sentiment. It makes for a delightfully satisfying listen, with a recorded sound as atmospheric as the conception.

 

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