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BIBER Rosary Sonatas • Daniel Sepec (vn); Hille Perl (vdg); Lee Santana (archlute, thb); Michael Behringer (hpd, org) (period instruments) • COVIELLO 21008 (2 SACDs: 124 36)
Daniel Sepecʼs recording of Heinrich Biberʼs Rosary (or Mystery) Sonatas differs a bit from the many others that have preceded it (itʼs hard, from the point of view of my first associations with the works in the 1960s from Suzanne Lautenbacherʼs Vox Box, reissued as CDX S171, Fanfare 20 4, and the edition published in Denkmäler der Tonkunst in Österreich, to imagine such an explosion of interest in these works, though they always seemed to deserve it). In his performances, Sepec makes use of three violins by the Tyrolean master Jakob Stainer, whose instruments once commanded far greater respect than did Stradivariʼs or del Gesùʼs (Bach played on one and the Italian Francesco Maria Veracini lost a pair that he dubbed “St. Peter and St. Paul” in a shipwreck). Sepec plays the first of these, from about 1650, in Sonatas 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 10, 11, 13, 14, 15, and 16; the second, from 1680, in Sonatas 3 and 8; and the third, from 1682—possibly Stainerʼs last violin—in Sonatas 7, 9, and 12. His notes make it clear that he takes to these sonatas the kind of programmatic approach that others have eschewed (remember that Schmelzer took one of the sonatas over in his collection from 1683–84).
Sepec imparts to the opening of the “Annunciation” Sonata (the first in the set of five “Joyful Mysteries”) a sense of breathless expectation, which he transforms into joy in the succeeding set of variations. The clear recorded sound of the SACD captures the instruments in sufficient detail to include an occasional breath and never allows any reverberation from the venue, the Church of St. Martin Coinrade, to obscure nuances of phrasing or articulation. In neither this sonata nor the second, the “Visitation,” does Sepec produce a sound thatʼs studiedly “authentic,” but the reputedly sweet sound of Stainerʼs violin emerges naturally and cleanly in the passagework, though itʼs brilliant in the virtuosic passages that bring the Second Sonata to a close. The Third Sonata, the “Nativity,” features the second Stainer, which is richer here and lusher than the earlier one. Of course, differences among the instruments may be almost totally submerged under the wealth of timbral variety due to Biberʼs scordatura tunings, which impart to each sonata an individual character. The second Stainer creates the mysterious mood of the opening as successfully as the more extroverted (and somewhat) virtuosic Courente that follows. In this sonata, as well as in others, keyboard player Michael Behringer alternates harpsichord and organ, not restricting the interchange to sonatas as a whole but employing one or the other according to the musical dictates (as the ensemble understands them) of individual movements. “The Presentation,” in which Sepec returns to the early Stainer, consists of only a single movement, a Ciacona, which he plays with a jazzy twang that, along with his crisp articulation and rhythmic élan, brings this work to sparkling life, although he and the ensemble hardly overlook its rich variety of expression. “The Finding in the Temple” also finds Sepec playing the early Stainer, producing from it subtle tonal nuances and crisp, though never edgy, articulation rather than the kind of trumpet-like strength that, for example, John Holloway produced in his set on Virgin Classics Veritas 2-59551, reviewed by Tom Moore in Fanfare 14 6.
Sepec uses the early Stainer again in the first of the “Sorrowful Mysteries,” the “Agony in the Garden,” revealing its potential for poignant expressivity rather than starchy energy. The more astringent tone of the 1682 Stainer makes its first appearance in the second of the “Sorrowful Mysteries,” “The Scourging,” in which he brings its strength to bear on the Sarabanda, which he plays with commanding, almost fierce, determination. The third of the “Sorrowful Mysteries,” the “Crowning with Thorns,” brings the last appearance of the 1680 Stainer, in which Sepec claims to hear—and strives to represent to his listeners—the Roman soldiers dancing mockingly before their crowned king. The fourth “Sorrowful Mystery,” “The Carrying of the Cross,” brings back, in this performance, the 1682 Stainer, while the one that follows, the “Crucifixion and Death,” again relies for its putative hammering of nails and curtain-tearing on the relatively rougher-hued early Stainer. This sonata appears in Johann Heinrich Schmelzerʼs Victori der Christen, which could challenge two assumptions made by the writers of the program notes, Peter Wollny and Sepec himself, that, first, the sonatas should be understood as relatively late works by Biber, and second, that they follow an explicit program. In any case, Sepec and the ensemble explore the sonataʼs drama, whether it depicts a battle, a crucifixion, or, for that matter, anything or nothing at all.
Sepec plays the first “Glorious Mystery,” the “Resurrection,” on the early Stainer, with the two middle strings crossed over to form an X between the violinʼs bridge and tailpiece. Sepec speculates about why Biber employed this device in the “Resurrection” Sonata rather than in the “Crucifixion” Sonata, but I remember transcribing a medieval motet that trades on the symbolism of “crossing over” between heaven and earth, and this would accordingly be the return trip. Of course, the resulting tuning also allows Sepec to play octaves with the fingerings he would normally use for fifths (benefit or obstacle?) in the hymn Surrexit Christus hodie, which serves as the subject for variations. Sepec treads more solemnly than exuberantly (proclamation rather than exultation?) in the Aria Tubicinium, in which the tuning facilitates the intervals of “horn fifths,” although he waxes more lively in the later movements. This sonata occasions the last appearance of the 1682 Stainer, leaving the early instrument to complete the set and the Passagalia. The Third “Glorious Mystery” opens with rushes of sound that have often been compared with Pentecostal winds. Sepec plays these with sharp- edged, striking virtuosity—as he does the sonataʼs later movements. The penultimate sonata, the “Assumption,” ends with a lilting passacaglia in which Sepec and the ensemble make musical sense of the somewhat eccentric effects (such as pizzicato and the concluding passage in which the violin simply stops midway rather than finishing, leaving the last word to the continuo) Biber so plentifully supplied (the ensemble treats this with a great deal of good-natured subtlety). The last “Glorious Mystery,” the “Coronation,” the longest by almost four minutes, includes serious, weighty passages (for example, a Canzon) that bring the set to an end spiritually, dramatically, and compositionally.
The solo Passagalia dedicated to the Guardian Angel used to be taken as the greatest monument of the solo violin repertoire before Bachʼs sonatas and partitas, although now Johann Paul von Westhoffʼs six partitas for solo violin, from 1696, may seem like better candidates for the title. Still, itʼs a brilliant work that allows the violinist to change timbres to great effect (Violinist Carroll Glenn used to suggest that I consider imitating the lute stop on a harpsichord in solo Baroque violin works). Sepec doesnʼt mention that the concurrence of the Month of the Rosary and the Feast of the Guardian Angel in October may forge the connection between this work and the set of 15 sonatas. In the Passagalia, Sepec doesnʼt emphasize the workʼs signature virtuosity so much as its expressivity, to which he calls attention, paradoxically, through understatement, allowing it to ebb and flow at its own pace as though not daring to interfere.
Is Sepec right to find so much programmatic specificity in these sonatas, or even wise to search for it? Truth to tell, it may not matter to listeners who wish to focus on the performances themselves, in which he, in collaboration with his imaginative ensemble, shifts mercurially from Affekt to Affekt and from timbre to timbre, providing a sense of variety and insight into the structure of the music that requires no special extraneous associations. And do the Stainers provide enough interest to justify their use? In fulfilling Sepecʼs quest to explore the way the works might have sounded in Biberʼs time, they surely do add a sense of authenticity. With all the obvious objections thus countered, itʼs no stretch to bestow on these engaging readings a very strong commendation that should place them alongside distinctive sets by Andrew Manze (Harmonia Mundi 907 321.22, Fanfare 28 6), Eduard Melkus (reissued on CD as Musical Heritage Society 524671W, Fanfare 22: 4), and John Holloway (Virgin Classics Veritas 2-59551, Fanfare 14 6), not to mention Monica Huggett (Gaudeamus 350 and 351, which I reviewed in Fanfare 28 3 and 28 6, respectively) and Suzanne Lautenbacher (reissued on CD as Vox CDX S171, Fanfare 20 4). Robert Maxham
This article originally appeared in Issue 34 5 (May/June 2011) of Fanfare Magazine. BIBER Rosary Sonatas. • Suzanne Lautenbacher, violin; Rudolph Ewerhart, positiv, harpsichord, organ; Johannes Koch, viola da gamba. • VOX CDX S171 [ADD]; two discs: 69 34, 69 34.
BIBER Mystery Sonatas. • Gabriela Demeterová, violin; Jaroslav Toma, organ. • SUPRAPHON SU 3155-2131 [DDD]; 59 33. (Distributed by Koch International.)
In Suzanne Lautenbacher, Vox had a violinistic adventurer who pioneered for it two invaluable complete sets of significant repertoire: Locatelli's L'arte del violino (now available on VoxBoxes 2-CDX 5018 and 2-CDX 5037) and Biber's Mystery, or Rosary, Sonatas. In neither did she speak the last word in interpretation or authenticity, yet the benchmarks she established remain impressive; the best versions available today barely supersede them.
Biber's Rosary Sonatas, once taken merely as historical examples of scordatura, became a living presence upon the release of her 1962 recording. And for the period, her use of a full and varied continuo was already a significant step in the direction of informed performance practice. Of course, these are not wheezing, whining renditions with a short-necked violin and pre-Tourte bow. But Lautenbacher was a more accomplished soloist than many (any?) who have attempted the sonatas since 1962, and she demonstrated a sense of overall form that many have lost in their focus on details. Biber's passagework, as I have often noted, can sound as random as organum—or it can make a good deal of sense, as it does here. John Holloway's and Evan Johnson's scholarly experiments (respectively on Virgin Classics Veritas 2-59551, which Tom Moore recommended without reservation in Fanfare 14 6, p. 121, and on Newport Classic 2-NC 60035), despite their strong downbeats, rapid articulation, and pungent timbres, do not completely solve this problem. While the insights they achieve are significant and the fruits they bear are of the choicest, they have not wholly displaced Lautenbacher. The wings of the Dove beat as impressively in her reading of the Sonata of the Descent of the Holy Spirit as they do in any authentic version. Besides, the scordatura tinting of individual string sonorities can be more obvious when the timbres tinted are the well-known ones of a modern violin rather than the not yet entirely familiar ones of its “authentic“ forebear. Lautenbacher's vibrato is wide and continuous to a degree that may surprise those whose warm memories of these performances have been dimmed by time. Her tone is therefore consistently well lubricated, almost Italianate. But that's not necessarily inappropriate in the works of a composer who must have been as strongly influenced by Italian forms and styles as was his celebrated contemporary, the Tyrolean violinmaker Jacob Stainer. With its aging but well-restored recorded sound barely counting against it, this set is a clear choice on modern instruments (over William Tortolano and Charles Krigbaum on GIA CD 286, which I couldn't bring myself to recommend in Fanfare 20 1, pp. 155-56), and its inferiority to either of the two redoubtable above mentioned period-instrument sets is more a question of premises than of conclusions (early period-instrument challenges by Eduard Melkus—3 DG ARC 2708012— and by Sonya Monosoff—3 Cambridge 1811—are not available on CD). Vox's reissue is a most welcome speck of fallout from the recent Biber explosion, and is most warmly recommended.
Gabriela Demeterová's collection of Mystery Sonatas includes the Joyful Mysteries complete, the first two Sorrowful Mysteries (“The Agony in the Garden“ and “The Scourging at the Pillar“) and the famous Passacaglia that concludes the compilation. This must be the first volume of a two-volume set, although neither the jewelbox nor the accompanying booklet makes any mention of a forthcoming complement.
The notes credit Musica Noster Amor and Opel as the sponsors of Demeterová's instrument, but they don't tell what it is, how it's fit up, or whether only one violin was used in the recording (the cover photo and the photos in the booklet show her with a violin with a long fingerboard). Since period violinists like Simon Standage and Maria Lindal play either old instruments with a modern technique or hybrid instruments with an “authentic“ technique, it isn't always easy to tell what you're listening to, especially when the sonorities are colored by scordatura. Demeterová seems to have come under the spell of the recent period-instrument versions of these sonatas; and, although the sound of her violin is very hard and bright (the double stops ring with great clarity and brilliance), her readings are closer in spirit to them than they are to Lautenbacher's. The organ in the Klementinum Mirror Chapel in Prague provides such a timbrai feast, and is so well served by the sound —and Toma's realizations are so imaginative—that the lack of a melodic continuo instrument, and of variety in the chordal instrument (other recordings alternate organ and harpsichord), are far from objectionable. The sound in general is well balanced, much clearer, and more detailed than Lautenbacher's older analog counterpart. It's too bad there isn't already a second volume, for the performers so combine sweep and nuance, drama, and scholarship as to contend with the best. After all the neglect that Biber has endured, his recent rediscovery has produced a festival of excellent recordings of his Rosary Sonatas, to say nothing of his other works. Gabriella Demeterová and Jaroslav Toma's stylish, splendidly recorded offering is no exception. Like Lautenbacher, Demeterová is a respectable soloist in a wide range of repertoire, and she plays with a generalist's, rather than a specialist's, insights. She lacks perhaps the full measure of Lautenbacher's élan and of Holloway's buoyancy, but she combines something of each with an incisive brilliance all her own—and the visceral excitement of her Passacaglia is unmatched. Most highly recommended. Robert Maxham
This article originally appeared in Issue 20 4 (Mar/Apr 1997) of Fanfare Magazine.
BIBER Mystery Sonatas • Sirkka-Liisa Kaakinen-Pilch (vn); Battaglia (period instruments) • ONDINE 1243-20 (2 CDs: 124: 56)
The last generation of musicians has promoted Biberʼs Mystery (Rosary) Sonatas from the ranks of curiosities to full-blown canonicity; and despite the difficulties of performing them (at least in concert) with their 15 different tunings (or mistunings), complete recordings continue to appear with the regularity of the standard repertoire in the 1950s. Sirkka-Liisa Kaakinen-Pilch (apparently playing one violin—an anonymous 17th-century violin with a lionʼs-head replacing the scroll; Jacob Stainerʼs violins, which Biber himself played, occasionally feature such an ornate head) and her ensemble, Battaglia (Annamari Pöhlö, harpsichord and portative organ; Eero Palviainen, theorbo, archlute, Baroque guitar, and, in “The Crucifixion,” organ; and Mika Suihkonen, violone), recorded them in Karjaa Church, in Finland, in August 2013. The booklet, for which Sirkka-Liisaʼs husband, Zbigniev Pilch, provided the notes, reproduces the engravings of the mysteries that grace the surviving copy.
Kaakinen-Pilchʼs playing in the Praeludium of the “Annunciation” explores a wealth of rhetorical effects, both tonal and metric, and the second, with its pedals and variations, takes a similarly protean expressive approach. The recorded sound captures the instruments up close, surrounded with reverberation to tame any harshness; it transmits blessedly little snorting or heavy breathing. The violinist graces the Allaman of the “Visitation” with fleet but discreet ornamentation, and underneath her the continuo group continuously explores timbral variety while bracing up the workʼs structural elements. The dark tonality of “The Nativity” might be explained by the darkness of the painting in Salzburgʼs Aula Magna, where the works had likely been performed; but the notes also point out the connection between a somber Nativity and the Crucifixion in Eastern Christianity. However that may be, Kaakinen-Pilch plays the sonata with a vivacity that should dispel for most listeners whatever shadows might tend to linger. Chaconnes pop up throughout these works (as they do in, say, the sonatas of Pandolfi-Mealli); such a ground bass constitutes the whole sonata, “Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple,” with Kaakinen-Pilch and the ensemble exploring tonally and virtuosically its variety of Affekten. “The Finding of Our Lord in the Temple” comprehends four movements in a sort of suite: a Praeludium, an Allaman, a Guigue, and a “Saraban- Double.” That Kaakinen-Pilch plays the gigue-like third of these with a highly pointed rhythm may come as no surprise to those who have listened to the first four sonatas (but smoothing the rhythms into triplets might be an alternative, at least upon repetitions).
The Sorrowful Mysteries begin (in “The Agony in the Garden”) with a Lamento that features, in the first part of Kaakinen-Pilchʼs performance, an affecting interplay between the violin and the violone. She plays almost piquantly—but then more solemnly—in the third movement, the figurations of which some have suggested represents drops of blood. An almost light-hearted Allamanda accompanies “The Scourging at the Pillar,” but Kaakinen-Pilch lends it a weight (despite pinched articulation) that counterbalances its seeming levity. She brings the same marked articulation to the final dance and its variation, which again render so imposingly. In “The Crowning with Thorns,” with its first movementʼs sprightly concluding Presto, the ensemble launches into another compound movement that combines vivacity and, in these readings, articulation as sharp as a bed of nails, followed by joyous running figuration. (Do these sonatas actually represent specific events?— the case has, in fact, been argued convincingly on both sides.) Kaakinen-Pilch takes a more somber approach to “The Carrying of the Cross,” although sheʼs vibrant in the Corrente and should raise goose bumps in the finale. Those who argue that the sonatas donʼt make specific references to particular events in the life of Christ might take “The Crucifixion” as a case in point: The work appeared later under Johann Heinrich Schmelzerʼs authorship as a work depicting the victory over the Turks, featuring blows with swords rather than the hammering of nails. However that may be, Kaakinen-Pilch and the ensemble hammer feverishly in the Praeludium and play commandingly in the following aria and variation.
The Glorious Mysteries begin with “The Resurrection,” which employs the setʼs signature device—the two middle strings “crossed” over each other, making playing the piece seem like fiddling upside down on occasion (making string crossings go in the wrong directions). The notes suggest that the hymn, Surrexit Christus hodie, may be a tribute to underground evangelical Protestantism; but the ensemble endows it with a sense of quasi-liturgical ecstasy. “The Ascension” includes a movement in imitation of a fanfare for trumpet and drums (Aria Tubicinum); Kaakinen-Pilch and the ensemble make it lighter and slyer than expected. The “Descent of the Holy Ghost” begins in Kaakinen-Pilchʼs performance with intensity unparalleled in my experience of it: The flurry of wings has grown into a veritable roar. That Sonata leads to four movements suggesting a virtual suite. During a rehearsal for a performance I organized, I recall overhearing the theorbo player and gambist calling the aria of the “Assumption” a passacaglia or chaconne, the movement that just wouldnʼt end, although itʼs one of the most diverse treatments of a ground bass in the entire set. In it, Kaakinen-Pilch and the ensemble pour out an exuberant and seemingly never-ending (in the favorable sense) harvest of musical ideas. The final sonata, “The Coronation,” combines here a stately beginning, a highly serious aria resembling the finale of Handelʼs Messiah, and, finally, a rhetorical figure representing a sparkling halo of stars.
Then thereʼs the Passagalia for solo violin. At 9 18, Kaakinen-Pilchʼs performance may be faster than Iʼd prefer (I played it at the end of the sorrowful mysteries, requiring a complete rethinking of its content), but almost everybody takes it at least that fast, and her reading is sonorous, rewardingly varied in its bowings, and highly inflected throughout.
Overall, Kaakinen-Pilch bites sharply into the string, yet produces a tone not exceptionally abrasive; the ensemble, at times mixing timbres with startling effectiveness, generally adopts her penchant for pronounced articulation but also, as noted, her predilection for timbral variety. For those who favor a strongly spiritual and rhetorical approach (as, for example in Andrew Manzeʼs readings) rather than a more secular and virtuosic one (as, for example, in Monica Huggettʼs) to these works, Ondineʼs release should be deeply satisfying. Recommended as one of the best of the complete sets currently available. Robert Maxham
This article originally appeared in Issue 38 2 (Nov/Dec 2014) of Fanfare Magazine.