The outlandish cover turns out to be appropriate to Il Giardino
Armonico’s performances. These twelve classic concertos are in
danger of breaking down, like IGA’s coach, despite or because
of their very familiarity. Even so, a daring, sunny, even irreverent
attitude provides fresh insight.
From the opening
of Concerto 1 IGA’s approach is clear: brusque, percussive
attack with brutal accents from the ripieno (full)
strings, allowing the concertino solo violin 1, 2
and cello, in these performances with luscious archlute and
tripleharp backing, to be a sunny contrast before the whole
introductory movement melts into a delicate close. In the following
fresh Allegro gutsy ripieno alternates with dainty
concertino, then there’s shimmering interplay in semiquavers
between them (CD1 tr. 2 0:45). Particularly attractive in the
tuttis is the clarity of the rising theme in 3 layers,
the first and second violins exchanging themes on repeat and
the violas shining appealingly on the third run through (1:15).
Also enjoy the abrupt ending followed by quieter tail, as if
manners are suddenly remembered. In the Adagio the soloists’
expressiveness is opulently drawn out, which the tuttis
layer over in support, the only snappy outbursts being those
marked loud so that, as notably in the coda, passion and reflection
are side by side. The next Allegro is bracing and skipping,
with a touch of raciness in its spirit, its sunlit layering
appreciable and the suave oboes’ doubling of the violin parts
enhancing the sense of contentment. The final Allegro
offers a crisp contrast of concertino all sweet and ripieno
all verve while the interplay between second and first violins
(eg. tr. 5 0:28) is a deft delight.
Concerto 2
is quieter with an intensely sweet opening from IGA, the ripieno
enlarging the floridity of the concertino. Particularly
enjoyable is the interplay of first violin concertino
with first violin ripieno an octave lower (tr. 6 from
1:32). A restful becalming is, however, shattered by an attacking,
dramatic close. The following Allegro begins with nifty
interchange between concertino first and second violins,
copied by the ripieno, after which the lower strings
relish being put through their paces. IGA make this a bravura
display quietening and this time with a soft close. The third
movement Largo is vividly characterized, contrasting
heavy accents in the ripieno with demure caressing by
the concertino, then a melting Larghetto deliciously
done, all downy grace. The assurance of the Allegro finale
is writ large in IGA’s trenchant articulation of its opening
accents but the mild but gleaming rising motifs of the concertino
violins are more benignly positive.
In Concerto 3
I compared the 1982 recording by The English Concert directed
by Trevor Pinnock (Archiv 4630942). In the opening movement
Pinnock has a more stylish dignity where Antonini is more luxuriant,
especially in the soloists’ ornamentation, and has more momentum.
However, in the Andante Antonini is more deliberate and
dramatic in clarifying the angularity of line where Pinnock
produces a more intellectual, flowing argument. The Allegro
is jollier and more scintillant from Pinnock. Antonini is spiky:
athletic, relentless, a bit grim. Pinnock provides a comely
pastoral Polonaise, Antonini’s is more pacy, rugged and rustic
with a hurdy-gurdy feel yet tempered by sensitive dynamic contrasts
and the delicacy of the passages for soloists, the second violin
ever imitating the first, then vice versa next time. Antonini’s
Allegro finale is lightly pointed, yet the soft contrasting
of soloists and tutti at close quarters has more overt
feeling than Pinnock’s more urbane approach.
In Concerto 4
Antonini savours the tender, aria like opening Larghetto
with quite full tone which creates a mix of moods, a glowing
sonority and articulation yet wan cast from the key of A minor,
especially the shaded close. Next he displays a rigorous Spartan
fugue with more of those biting accents we’ve met in earlier
concertos only to surprise with the contrast of the following
soft Largo, balmy and dreamy in its mellow contours.
The mood changes again in a racy, robust Allegro finale
but that too is attractively tempered by contrasts in dynamic
and the relief of concertino passages.
Brilliance is the
word to sum up Antonini’s Concerto 5 with its arresting
solo violin call to attention, bristling tutti with demisemiquaver
flourishes and the second violins and violas’ jagged echoing
imitations of the dotted quaver/semiquaver rhythms cutting across
the texture. The Allegro second movement is an incisive
fugue with concertino passages providing a little flowing
relief. The Presto third movement contrasts shimmering
concertino with fiery ripieno punctuation but
also dazzling passages shared by all. Next Antonini’s Largo,
melodies led by the soloists but confirmed in sunny opulence
by all, has a spacious, golden sheen. Then a scampering, frisky
Allegro, IGA here like a hunting party in full cry. The
closing Minuet has a sedate, regal opening but its second phrase
is immediately treated more robustly before in turn IGA’s piquant
contrast of the light leaps and showy ornamentation of the second
strain, an appropriate emphasis on Handel’s variety of approach,
further developed when the melody is joined by a breezy running
bass (tr. 24 0:56) and then itself cast within sturdy running
quavers (1:50).
In Concerto 6
I compared the 1991 recording by The Handel and Haydn Society
directed by Christopher Hogwood (Decca 458 817-2). This begins
in stately fashion but the smoothly shaded dynamic contrasts
seem relatively polite beside Antonini’s more vivid variation
of dynamics and manner, the soft poignancy of the individual
grief of the concertino passages shattered by unrestrained
outcry as the tuttis cut in dramatically before the final
tutti slinks down to a hush. From Antonini the second
movement fugue with its clipped entries of theme comes with
rigorous clarity and determined articulation. Hogwood is flashingly
pacier, timing 1:35 against IGA’s 1:49, but lighter in articulation.
The following Musette is presented by Antonini in deep, rich
sonority, its drone clearly present, the concertino passages
of brighter cast but tutti remaining quite sober so there’s
a vividly ambiguous combination of warmth and gravity. Hogwood
opts in favour of tender warmth with less density of tone and
a slower tempo, timing 5:05 against IGA’s 4:29. This makes the
concertino passages more meditative. Antonini’s second
section (CD2 tr. 3 1:21) is more tripping with free flowing
quavers and oboes to the fore where Hogwood offers indulgent
relaxation. IGA’s third section (2:12) is brisker, more pert,
semiquavers now dominating, action rather than contemplation
where Hogwood is comparatively stiffer and the same applies
in the fourth movement Allegro which is particularly
Italianate and given a fresh edginess by IGA. The lighter scored
fifth movement Allegro, with all violins in unison, is
also more imaginatively contrasted by IGA, taken slightly slower
with the first strain repeat played by strings only, the second
strain given largely over to oboes and bassoons, strings only
interjecting where the oboes have brief rests and to create
a final tutti phrase.
In Concerto
7 strong initial accents and low register give the opening
movement an imposing grandeur, with the echoing by cellos of
first violins’ plunging descent and ornamentation (from tr.
6 0:53) memorable. The fugue (tr. 7), whose theme begins with
13 repetitions of the same note around which the developing
counterpoint is intertwined, has from Antonini a majestic confidence
and clarity. At the close comes 51 seconds of harpsichord interpolation
which includes at 3:20 a taster for the opening of Concerto
8. The following Largo floats agreeably, almost suspended
in time and space, the emphasis appropriately on expressiveness
rather than structure. The Andante IGA begin with an
assertive swagger yet the soft delivery of its second phase
has a kind of furtive delight and the contrast between loud
and soft passages is throughout dramatized. The closing Hornpipe
is delivered with tremendous gusto, more like a dashing gallop,
you feel as if the musicians are almost airborne.
Concerto 8
here begins fresh and sprightly with string bass insistently
echoing the violins’ opening motif and peppery punctuation at
phrase ends. Its brief, eloquent Grave starts with a
protest leading to expressive concertino then tutti
lament. The third movement becomes a flamboyant exchange between
concertino and ripieno of its opening waspish
figure and second element of even quavers. Then a terse Adagio
is a soulful, aria like outpouring, quoting Giulio Cesare.
The focus on melody continues with the Siciliana a plaintive
tune, tutti respectfully repeating concertino
before Antonini reveals their later interchange is more subtle
and adroitly applied. The theme then movingly winds down in
sotto voce pleading before an austere close. The following
Allegro provides an antidote in being all spruceness.
Concerto 9
starts bravely without any melody, rather a gently treading
background over which tension and relaxation are juxtaposed.
Antonini then makes the following Allegro deliciously
crisp in its melodic display as concertino imitates select
ripieno phrases and violin solo passages exult in bravura.
Next comes more expressive imitation in a stately Larghetto
dance which is nevertheless clearly shaped and shows more varied
interchange between the two groups. We then get a fugue movement
with a racy, bustling theme treated with liveliness and precision
by Antonini so you admire the clarity and life of the texture.
By contrast there’s an element of ambiguity about the Minuet
which is both firm in frame and delicate in hope, especially
when it gradually turns from minor to major. IGA make it nimble
yet personal and introverted, whereas the closing Gigue is extrovert
abandon elatedly led by the concertino first violin as
master of ceremonies.
To the Overture
which opens Concerto 10 IGA bring a spring, giving it
a disciplined yet also dance like quality, the lower strings
clearly counterbalancing the violins. The fugue section (CD3,
tr. 2) is delivered with even more mettlesome relish with something
of a helter-skelter about it. The following Air is boldly proposed
but thereafter Antonini finds a more humane, soft response to
which the soloists bring an individual witness. Then there are
two Allegro movements, the first an exuberant scamper,
D minor notwithstanding, the second, stoked by solo passages,
sparklingly articulated and of a steely momentum. To finish,
suddenly bathed in the sunlight of D major, a cheery tune in
quavers deftly presented with jewel like garnishing, harpsichord
unusually prominent and excitement mounting as the tune is recast
in semiquavers and cascading descents are enjoyed by second
and first violins in turn.
The opening of Concerto
11 is breezily treated by IGA with bold tutti staccato
yet sunny solo violin passages and contrasting refinement of
texture gorgeously displayed plus 45 seconds worth of interpolated
solo violin cadenza including another reference to the opening
of Concerto 8 (tr. 7 4:14), this a rather hangdog one. Next
comes another fugue of vigour and arresting entries all presented
with great cogency. The movement which follows is no more than
a series of short flourishes but the Andante next sounds
like a laid back pastoral before the concertino take
wing with individuality and imagination. The concluding Allegro
is robust, the concertino here more frisky with some
neat, light trickle down imitation from upper to lower parts
to savour in turn from concertino to ripieno (e.g.
from tr. 11 0:23 and 0:56). I also enjoyed the subtle differences
introduced in the repeat of ornamentation, dynamics and articulation,
particularly the cheeky introduction by concertino of
a pizzicato phrase (5:35) to which the ripieno fully
responds.
In Concerto 12
I compared the 1997 recording by The Academy of Ancient Music
directed by Andrew Manze (Harmonia Mundi HMU 907228-29). In
the opening movement Manze is faster than Antonini, 1:46 against
2:10. This makes him steelier and more severe. Antonini opens
with a rhetorical, attention calling tutti but this seems
just a façade beyond which is revealed the soloists’ response
of more individuality, sensitivity, experience including sorrow
which Antonini gives us more space to feel. In the following
Allegro Manze is again faster, 2:49 against Antonini’s
3:11, with thereby more headlong verve and excitement but Antonini
brings a compensating involvement in his greater clarification
of the counterpoise of soloists and tutti, aided by a
clearer, less resonant recording, especially the bass. Just
listen to those macho basses revelling in their distinctive
staccato contributions (from tr. 13 1:02). Now comes the only
movement in the set entitled Aria (tr. 14) whose serene simplicity
is presented by Antonini as a natural flowing song. Its first
variation (1:53, 2:37) is louder and firmer, with a running
quavers’ bass, its second (2:15, 3:06) softer and more delicate
with the melody encased in running quavers. Manze is slightly
more stately, thereby less idyllic and shows less dynamic contrast
in the variations. The succeeding Largo Antonini makes
a mysterious but rather amorphous miasma whereas the faster
Manze, 0:50 against Antonini’s 1:14, goes for a more alert brief
interlude of reflection. In the closing Allegro fugue
Manze is determined and formal with all elements explicitly
laid out, a pristinely intellectual approach, whereas Antonini,
like so much of his performance, has a more emotive response
and thereby bite and edge which allows him a bristling end to
the proceedings.
This is Handel outside
the comfort zone. The vivid, immediate recording adds to this
impact. I found it tremendously stimulating and kept thinking
this might be how these works were experienced first time round.
But it is not often the elegant and generally restrained manner
of Pinnock. It probably needs a health warning: cue cover photo.
Michael Greenhalgh
Il Giardino
Armonico/Giovanni Antonini 
