There are a few recordings of Bach’s
Die Kunst der Fugue on piano
around these days. I had the pleasure of
reviewing Joanna MacGregor’s version some years ago,
and bought Pierre-Laurent Aimard’s Deutsche Grammophon version not long
afterwards, enjoying it more than Mark Berry’s
live experience, though I have to admit I haven’t played it much.
Vladimir Feltsman also has a recording available via Nimbus (see
review) reckoned to be more romantic in approach when compared
to Aimard. Grigory Sokolov’s playing can be heard on Opus 111 (see
review). Cédric Pescia has already made a respected recording of
the
Goldberg Variations on the Claves label, and this release
arrives as we await Angela Hewitt’s Hyperion
BWV 1080 with
everything bated.
I enjoyed Cédric Pescia’s refinement in John Cage’s
Sonatas and
Interludes (see
review) while at the same time bemoaning a lack of drama
which makes other versions ultimately preferable. Bach on the piano responds
well to his kind of touch however, so I was more than prepared to give this
L’Art de la fugue a chance. What you will hopefully notice from the
start is that the venerable Steinway instrument Pescia plays has been tuned
in unequal temperament. This lends a special colour to the sound and a
‘period’ dimension which is unexpectedly effective. The result is by no
means an ‘out of tune’ piano, but we gain a shift beyond a sometimes
over-clinical even temperament which irons out some of the gorgeous
dissonances you can find yourself re-discovering here. Have a listen to the
closely-knit chromatic interactions of
Contrapunctus III or the
intensity of the progressions in
Contrapunctus VIII, a 3 and enter
a world in which ancient and modern meet on equal terms. Some may feel this
is a clash; I find myself but revelling in the experience.
Pescia begins slowly in the opening
Contrapunctus I, initially
putting me on ‘reverence alert’, but the simple grace of the playing won me
over very quickly. Playing Bach on the piano means treading that fine line
between expressiveness and the risk of over-romanticising, and with his good
sense of colour and voicing I found myself entirely involved in the musical
narrative without feeling disturbed by over-interpretation.
The Art of
Fugue is full of superb music, but can become dry and academic if
performed without imagination. While avoiding going overboard with special
effects, Pescia can be playful or poetic, keeping things simple but allowing
Bach’s notes to spread their life-enhancing effect. There is joy here, but
the minor-key feel of the music and the unequal tuning combine to emphasise
late-flowering poignancy in this journey through pastures of the richest
counterpoint. Pescia is not one to avoid a certain amount of judicious
pedalling, though thankfully not at the cost of clarity. Notes swim in
deeper waters in a piece such as
Contrapunctus V, but with a
certain magic to the effect this works more as another means of keeping up
variety rather than a blemish to consistency. Unequal tuning is not really
designed for a great deal of sustaining of notes over more than a few beats,
but Pescia’s ear for leading notes and lines keep things from becoming at
all hairy.
Pescia’s playing remains rock-steady, but the increasing complexity of
Bach’s counterpoint pushes the limits as we progress through CD 2. Have a
listen to
Contrapunctis XI, a 4 and you will hear it as you’ll
never have heard it before on a piano. Pescia returns us gently to ‘ground
zero’ at each the end and beginning of each cycle of counterpoint, but these
journeys take on a quality of abstract fantasy and tonal remoteness which is
nothing if not entirely modern. This is partly Pescia’s feel for the
architecture of the music, but that special tuning takes on greater
significance the denser the pieces become. Contrast is maintained to the
end, including some sprightly
Contrapunctus inversus movements, but
the grand finale of the
Fuga a 3 Soggetti is inevitably a point of
focus. Pescia builds this superbly, raising a grand edifice but creating an
upper level of heavenly light as well as creating granite foundations. His
solution for the enigmatic ending to this incomplete work is intriguing. He
doesn’t cap the work off with that extra chorale:
Vor deinen Thron tret’
ich, BWV 668, or mix up the order so as to finish with something which
is complete, one of my few complaints about Joanna MacGregor’s
recording. Pescia slows down the final section as a kind of
adieux,
the very last notes dissipating into the mists of eternity.
This is an excellent recording and one of the most interesting versions of
The Art of Fugue I have heard for quite some time. The 1901
Steinway chosen for the recording has a slightly antique sound but is by no
means clunky, its mildly wiry sonorities well suited to the unequal tuning
and general concept of the performance. With Æon’s usual high class
presentation this is a release to be coveted.
Dominy Clements
