People such as
myself often refer to the ‘voice’ or ‘singing tone’ of an
instrument when writing about music. In respect of the cello
the present recording might on one level be seen as the embodiment
of this, given that cello transcriptions of lieder form a
sizable part of the programme. The reason Gastinel gives for
the appropriation of material written for others is to ‘find
myself alone in (Schubert’s) arms’. Whilst one cannot help
but admire her devotion to Schubert, I had initial misgivings
about how successful the results might be given that all the
chosen lieder are so well known in their original form.
The programme
opens with the sonata for arpeggione and piano now usually
played on the cello. The arpeggione was short-lived as a practical
instrument, and were it not for this work it might have sunk
entirely without trace. One of Gastinel’s main rivals here
is Pierre Fournier, to my ears the aristocrat of the French
cello sound. His reading for DG (on a 2CD set, 447 349-2)
differs notably from Gastinel’s in the tempi taken and the
final timings achieved. Fournier comes in at a shade under
20 minutes compared to Gastinel’s distinctly leisurely 25.5
minutes. Fournier may be the more incisive and offer more
contrast between movements, but Gastinel does not disgrace
herself when it comes to tone. But seeing as they offer such
divergent views of the work, you can take your pick as to
which you prefer. Mine is slightly for Fournier overall.
The Sonatina,
transposed down from the violin register, sounds reasonably
effective on the cello. Its three short movements provide
many memorable moments of interplay and wit that are happily
caught in this recording. Here as elsewhere Gastinel’s full
bodied tone (not too closely mircophoned) impresses.
As in the two
properly instrumental works, when it comes to the lieder I
often feel that the piano playing of Claire Désert carries
the performances to a reasonable extent. Schubert is ever
a challenge for the pianist – being technically demanding
in Der Doppelgänger or disarmingly simple in An
die Musik. Désert covers the gamut of demands with ease,
and reinforces the favourable impression she recently made
accompanying Philippe Graffin in works by Enescu, Debussy
and Ravel (Avie AV2059).
Gastinel’s cello
word-line takes each lied and plays the vocal part straight.
Only on a few occasions is the line taken up an octave in
mid-song. Where this does occur it is done to best exploit
the instrument’s range and expressive capabilities. Ständchen
is given somewhat plainly, and An die musik in much
the same way. There’s nothing wrong with the approach per
se but after the word-pointing of a Fischer-Dieskau or
Baker it takes a bit of adjusting to. For most of the other
lieder the same feeling pervaded my reaction – both immediate
and more long term – however well played they are, and they
are played with skill. Gastinel seems more at ease in the
more outgoing lieder – all except Der Doppelgänger
– but it is precisely this one she pulls off best, finding
in it the fear and fragility that make it such haunting music.
Also the contrast with the preceding Die Forelle could
not be much greater. As a whole the programme might have benefited
from more contrasts of mood, and in the playing too at times.
Songs after all
have that special intimacy of words and music combined that
Schubert’s genius caught with greater success than most. To
take away the very thing that prompted his sublime word-settings
is somehow nonsensical. It’s strange then that the booklet
should include the texts with translations – in addition to
useful notes by Duncan Druce and some rather superfluous ones
by Didier van Cauwelaert. If one thing does come through though
it is the strength of Schubert’s writing. That in the end
is the only thing that really matters apart from interpretation,
and secures this disc a warmly appreciative if qualified welcome.
Evan Dickerson
Anne Gastinel (cello, Testore
1690)
