I can’t give you Kaufmann’s date of birth because
it’s nowhere to be found in the frequently impenetrable booklet
notes, which are simultaneously obscure and couched in language
more commonly found in the writings of Ecstatics. Their overheated
nature is a pity because thereby a simpler truth is occluded;
Kaufmann’s aesthetic is lyrical, songful and specifically "Yiddish",
to use a rather vague term that the composer himself uses in
his pleasing cello suite. The Chant Concertant is affectingly
declamatory, deep tremors in the bass, and the slow section
from 4’50 spinning a succulent line – from 8’50 a Stravinskian
allegro erupts flecked with ghostly orchestral slivers as the
cadenza is introduced. His writing is more obviously but less
complexly Jewish than Bloch’s and the neo-classical grit in
the Chant gives it a spine that might otherwise seem
lacking, The Suite Yiddish had its origin in a work for
violin and piano, first performed by Olivier Charlier and Pascale
Devoyon, both accomplished and sensitive artists. Here I find,
in this arrangement for cello and piano, that the three pieces
are rather too generic in their Hebraic impress although the
concluding Priere has an affecting simplicity – think
of a Jewish Keltic Lament. Selah was written for a quintet
of two violins, two violas and a cello and is again explicitly
Yiddish – a changeable piece, by turns lyrical and discursive
with the cello assuming lyrical prominence and a gradual lightening
of the density of string tone – there is frequent unison playing
– before resuming rhythmic impetus toward the climax. It’s hardly
the masterpiece claimed by the booklet note writer, though.
The Duos for violin pay oblique homage – in
their folk origins, not in texture, technique or ambition –
to those of Bartok. These are not virtuosic studies but are
very much simpler, less purposeful perhaps, instead mining a
seemingly inexhaustible quarry of associative melodies. There
is some trilling (No 7) but, except at the very end, no pizzicatos
at all and no double-stopping. Which will alert one to the relative
simplicity of the means of expression – the limited technical
demands exist sufficient to express the entwined simplicity
of the melodies - a gently affecting work, well played. L’eau
retrouvee is made of rather sterner stuff. It’s the only
piece on the disc without obvious Jewish references. Opening
with thunderous vocal howls and burnished with deep strings
and an important clarinet part this is a quizzical work, a substantial
fifteen-minute Cantata with baritone soloist. Unfortunately
the text of the poem – by the composer himself – is untranslated
but seems to be a reflective-philosophical affair and the work
ends, after struggle, in those same opening shouts now transformed
through experience into cries of affirmation. It’s not an immediately
likeable work but an accomplished one. Performances are sound
if not breathtaking and the disc offers a good conspectus of
this French composer’s compositional directions.
Jonathan Woolf
Jean-Pascal Introvigne,
baritone < 