Meetings of old and new characterise the organ music of C.P.E.
                Bach. The composer’s life in the Berlin court of Frederick
                the Great was a far cry from the Leipzig of his youth, where
                his father’s stubbornly old-fashioned baroque church music
                held sway. But C.P.E. returned to ecclesiastical service towards
                the end of his life, succeeding Telemann as Kantor at Hamburg.
                The continuity that runs through his output is the centrality
                of the keyboard to his music. All the works on this disc, whether
                written for organ, harpsichord, piano or whatever, demonstrate
                an ability to create coherent and engaging sound-worlds without
                seriously diverting from the established traditions of voicing
                and spacing melodic and contrapuntal lines under the fingers. 
                
                The disc presents C.P.E.’s first four organ sonatas interspersed
                with shorter, more ecclesiastical works. The sonatas were written
                for Princess Amalia, sister to Frederick The Great and a keen,
                if not quite virtuoso, organist. So the style is Galant and
                the technical demands are limited. Fortunately, C.P.E. rarely
                falls back on the stock figurations of the late 18th century,
                the Alberti bass or the repeated quaver chords that underpin
                so much Clementi and Mozart. Nevertheless, both composers are
                occasionally suggested, in the opening movement of the F major
                sonata for example. And a consciously civilised classicism often
                prevails, as in the last movement of that same Sonata and of
                the G minor Sonata. Imitation between the two keyboards, such
                as in the first movement of the A minor Sonata, harks back to
                music of earlier times, while the richly ornamented adagio and
                largo middle movements demonstrate the applicability of baroque
                melodic manipulation to the otherwise restrained classicism. 
                
                It is tempting to interpret this music in Oedipal terms, yet
                its stylistic and technical distance from the organ music of
                Johann Sebastian is everywhere apparent. In the opening Prelude
                in D major, for example, sequences are used, but within short,
                clipped phrases and not as the basis of long structural transitions.
                The fugue of the Fantasia and Fugue in C minor is another thoroughly
                classical reworking of a baroque genre, displaying a passion
                for clarity of texture, which unlike J.S., C.P.E. clearly valued
                over contrapuntal ingenuity. The Fugue on BACH makes the point
                even more clearly, another light confection, expertly constructed
                but stylistically about as far from the Art of Fugue as
                you’d think possible over the span of a single generation. 
                
                The recording was made on the Mitterreither/Flentrop organ of
                Eton College School Hall. The instrument was build in the 18th century
                for a church in Rotterdam - hence all the Dutch names in the
                registration - was brought to Eton around 1913 and restored to
                its original condition in 1973. It would therefore seem to be
                the ideal instrument for this repertoire, and Thomas Trotter
                achieves a rare lightness of tone without compromising the agogic
                punctuation that many of the sonatas outer movements require.
                Most of this repertoire is in the ‘pedal optional’ category,
                so there is little need for weight at the bass end of the spectrum.
                For all that, though, the Fantasia of the Fantasia and Fugue
                in C minor seems a little lacking at the bottom, especially given
                the rich tones of the punctuating chords in the manuals. 
                
                Overall this is a very satisfying recording. Performing repertoire
                from historical periods of transition invariably means taking
                sides, and Trotter leans these works more towards Mozart than
                to Johann Sebastian. But the family resemblance remains strong,
                not least in the sheer technical ability that the compositions
                demonstrate. Thomas Trotter’s technique and stylistic sensitivity
                are as acute here as in any of his recent recordings, so his
                fans are unlikely to be disappointed. And for fans of C.P.E.
                who are unfamiliar with this repertoire, it offers everything
                they could want in terms of courtly sophistication and melodic
                elegance, without ever entirely forgetting the earlier musical
                virtues of counterpoint, proportion, precision and form.  
                
                Gavin Dixon