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Fanfare Magazine: 36:6 (07-08/2013)
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My love of this music is beyond any telling of it. Thus did I welcome this set with open arms and wanted desperately to find it worthy of my devotion. But in the end, my hopes were dashed and only a feeling of letdown lingered. My reasons for ultimately rejecting these performances will become clear below, but first let me say this. Handel’s op. 6 is both figuratively and literally the omega of the concerto grosso genre. Beginning with Corelli as his model, and adding ingredients from the French overture, the Italian sinfonia, the German fugue, a variety of formalized dance types, and elements from his own opera arias, Handel created a style which, somehow, in its Englishness, sounds more English than the music of any native-born English composer of the period. Replete with pomp, ceremony, and grandeur, but never pompous, ceremonious, or grandiose, no music is filled with greater zest for life, with such extraordinary invention, with such elegant, stately melody, or is written so naturally for strings that it falls under the fingers and upon the ears with such uncommon ease and grace.
As first published in 1739, the concertos were originally written for a concertino of two violins and cello, and a ripieno of four-part string orchestra and harpsichord continuo—in other words, strings only. And herein we come to my first quibble with this new set. There are, to be sure, some good things to be said for it, chief among which is that the Arcadia Ensemble is not a one-to-a-part band. In fact, it sports a healthy ripieno group of eight violins, four violas, two cellos, a double bass, and then some; but it’s the “then some” that gives me reservations. When performing these concertos between acts of his oratorios and odes, Handel is believed to have beefed up his orchestra with a pair of oboes and bassoons; and indeed, later editions of the concertos reflect this, for the composer got as far as (but no further than) adding these wind parts to four of the concertos: Nos. 1, 2, 5, and 6.
Now, let me just digress here to say that of the six complete sets I have of Handel’s op. 6 concertos, only one of them—that with Iona Brown leading the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields on Hänssler Classic—includes the oboes and bassoons, and then, very discreetly. The other five sets, two on period instruments—Martin Pearlman leading the Boston Baroque on Telarc and Pavlo Beznosiuk leading the Avison Ensemble on Linn—and three on modern instruments—Raymond Leppard leading the English Chamber Orchestra on Philips, I Musici on Philips, and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon—all perform the concertos in their original, strings only version. And I have to say that, personally, that’s the way I prefer to hear them.
That said, I have to question Kevin Mallon’s decision to add, in addition to three oboes (but no bassoons), a recorder, a transverse flute, and a theorbo. Why not a kazoo too? And why no bassoons, if you’re adding the oboes? There’s no Handel authorized version of the concertos I know of that includes these extra instruments, and, as far as I’m concerned, they detract from the homogeneity and purity of sound you get with strings alone. Instrumental heterogeneity is a feature of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, not of Handel’s op. 6. Moreover, the better part of Mallon’s valor is not discretion, for in addition to the wind parts Handel himself got as far as adding to the concertos 1, 2, 5, and 6, Mallon and the Aradia Ensemble add their own speculative wind parts to all the remaining concertos, except for No. 4.
So far, we’re dealing with a matter of personal taste. You may like these inauthentic touches to Handel’s concertos; I don’t. But I can’t, and won’t, fault the playing, which is alert, well disciplined, and in tune throughout.
Next, we come to the matter of tempos. I used to think the speed-of-light tempos taken by some of the period-instrument ensembles in fast movements were not only preposterous but historically dubious. Over time, however, I got used to them, such that Mallon’s tempos in Handel’s fast movements now seem slow to me. The two movements I always single out for a “how fast can you play it” test are the last movements of the A-Minor (No. 4) and G-Minor (No. 6) concertos, both of which have a certain Road Runner cartoon character about them in their harmonic and rhythmic darting and dashing about.
Much to my surprise, it seems as if the HIPsters—well, some of them, anyway—are slowing down and mellowing out as the period-instrument movement ages. Here are the timings and dates of those two movements in the six above-named sets, plus this new one:
Leppard I Musici Pearlman Orpheus Brown Beznosiuk Mallon
ECO (1988) Boston (1993) ASMF Avison Aradia
(1966) (1992) (1995) (2010) (2011)
Cto. No. 4 (last mvmt) 2:55 2:36 2:32 2:33 3:00 2:59 2: 59
Cto. No. 6 (last mvmt) 1:45 2:05 2:36 2:36 2:14 2:08 2: 22
Fascinating, isn’t it? First, my perception that Mallon’s fast tempos are on the slow side was correct. But if you look at the 45-year span represented by these recordings, you will note a generally slowing trend, with, here and there, an exception that makes the rule. Raymond Leppard, on modern instruments, thank you, zips through the last movement of the Sixth Concerto in an incredibly fast 1:45, making it sound really madcap; while by the time we get to the current Mallon, considerably slower at 2:22, the Road Runner has laid down for a nap. In all but one case, Mallon is the slowest in the last movement of the Fourth Concerto; and in that one case—Brown with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields—he’s faster by only one second. Likewise, in the last movement of the Sixth Concerto, Mallon is slower than all but two instances—Pearlman with the Boston Baroque and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra.
Over the course of 12 concertos, containing some 25 movements marked Allegro or faster (one is marked Presto), Mallon’s tempos have the cumulative effect of lacking buoyancy and of feeling just a bit too lethargic or laidback for Handel’s high-spirited music; and even in the airs, minuets, and dance movements, Mallon sounds more like a commoner than a man about court.
I’ve saved for last my most serious objection to this set. It seems as if every slow movement becomes an excuse to add embellishments to Handel’s melodic lines. I’m reminded of a piece of sage advice offered by a harmony instructor I once had. “Not every voice-leading of a third,” he said, “needs to be filled in with a passing tone.” It is advice Mallon would do well to heed. In moderation and at suitable moments, a few fitting embellishments may be appropriate. But Mallon’s embellishments are fairly immoderate, frequently unsuitable, too numerous, and often unfitting. No composer wrote more beautifully for the human voice than Handel, and that beauty spills over into the sustained melody lines in the slow movements of these concertos. When those lines are continuously interrupted by extraneous notes, it’s like listening to a soprano with a bad sinus condition snorting mucous every mid-breath.
If you want to hear really imaginative embellishments and clever little changes to the written notes, you should listen to I Musici’s Federico Agostini playing first violin solo in the last movement of the A-Major Concerto (No. 11). Admittedly, the tempo is a little slow for my taste, but what he does with his part in the repeated A section just tickles me with delight every time I hear it.
From the above list of recordings, I’d recommend any of them over this new version by Mallon and his Aradia crew. Again, as far as technical execution is concerned, the performances are topnotch; it’s interpretively and in the addition of extra instruments that I think they’re misguided. Incidentally, I used to have Trevor Pinnock’s 1982 op. 6 with the English Concert, but found it not up to Pinnock’s usual standards and not as enjoyable as the others cited; so, it became a casualty of the periodic pruning of my collection.
Believe it or not, if I could keep only one set of Handel’s op. 6 from the above group, it would be Leppard’s with the English Chamber Orchestra for its all-around bracing, up-tempo, and upbeat performances. Leppard had a real flair for Handel—I still recall a televised concert in which he led an amazing performance of the Water Music—and even with modern instruments, I think he was more dialed into the period style than were (and are) some of the HIP specialists. Anyway, if period instruments are your preference, you won’t go wrong with either the Pearlman or the much more recent Beznosiuk. In fact, in issue 36:4, I submitted a rave review of Beznosiuk and his Avison Ensemble’s Linn release of Corelli’s op. 6 Concerti Grossi.
Whatever your tastes—period instruments or modern, strings-only performances or with added oboes and bassoons—I’d steer clear of this new Naxos offering for all the reasons given above.
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