As I and no doubt others have mused before, there is no such
thing as the ‘perfect’ recording of J.S. Bach’s
Cello Suites. There will always be something which, in
an ideal world, you would go back and change: a passage made
more clear, a harmonic emphasis or melodic phrase shifted in
emphasis. And then with the sun shining or in a different space,
a day or a month afterwards, you would do it differently again.
This is living, breathing music which has its own life and soul,
and any recording can only ever be a momentary snapshot. This
is true of any performance of any music of course, but with
the cello suites this quality seems almost to be part of the
music’s very essence - teasing performer and audience
alike into a sensitively balanced and intimate collaboration
of transient beauty and fleeting emotional saturation. As a
result I would rather just comment on what I hear rather than
play the critic, and, I hope, leave enough space for you to
make up your own mind.
Comparing this recording with that of Steven Isserlis on the
Hyperion label (see review),
one of the first things you notice are the timings. Isserlis
has space for a little clutch of fillers where Tanya Tomkins
seems determined almost to push her cycle onto a three disc
set. Tomkins is indeed slower, and in the way Glenn Gould ‘discovered
slowness’ she is prepared to take her time over Bach’s
notes. The suites are not presented in numerical order on this
disc, and with the Suite No.3 in C major as an opener
we instantly alerted to Tomkins’ approach at the lowest
note of the opening phrase - a note which here takes exactly
three whole seconds. Most players will quite rightly linger
a little on the bottom notes in this music as they are so essential
to its harmonic rhythm and counterpoint, but this is as extreme
as I’ve ever heard. Unlike Gould, Tomkins ranges in fairly
wide variations in tempo. Again this Prelude is a prime
example, and I suspect many would call this a ‘romantic’
interpretation. We don’t really know how it would have
been played in Bach’s time, so I only give the label as
a kind of stereotypical but universally understood reference.
Apply the same amount of rubato in Rachmaninov and you’d
have even the proletariat rioting in the streets. I don’t
particularly dislike Bach taken beyond the ‘motor on,
keep going’ method of Baroque music making, particularly
in solo works. There is however the sense that Tomkins is musing
to herself somewhat, teasing improvisatory freedoms from the
music which are more personal than Bach.
The meditative, ruminative character of the playing carries
on into those sublime Sarabande movements. Tomkins plays
with admirable early-music restraint when it comes to rubato,
applying touches of it here and there for expressive emphasis.
Her tone is by no means thin however, and the 1798 Lockey Hill
instrument used for the bulk of the suites has a fine sound
throughout its range as well as that all-important rich resonance
in the bass. The Suite No.6 in D major is played on a
fairly recent 5-string cello modelled on an example from 1699.
The effects through the extra string can be quite special, and
it is interesting to hear how the spread chords in that tricky
Gavotte are solved.
Not all is slowness in these performances of course, and there
are nice contrasts to be had in the Courante movements
which are more crisp in tempo, though still highly flexible
and undulating in character. Even in movements where a dance
character might be indicated, expression is the more the language
sought here, though we come close in the Prelude of that
Suite No.6. What can be a little discomforting are the
moments where the underlying sense of pulse is less clear, or
just seems to move about. The final Gigue is an example
of this, and I would forgive listeners for losing the plot at
times in this and other similar movements. Tomkins is also not
free from adding her own vocalisations at times, though unlike
Glenn Gould she is not singing along - at least, that’s
not what it sounds like.
We have to wait until the end of the programme to find the Suite
No.1 in G major, but this is a reference work which many
people will have in mind when thinking of the entire set. The
timeless Prelude is just that with Isserlis: timeless
but within a framework. It is allowed to speak for itself; given
a platform for expression and a dynamic shape but with the notes
allowed to speak evenly and form the harmonies for which they
stand. Tomkins hears this movement more as one in which each
note has a melodic value, or at least starts out that way. Sooner
or later the repetitions become somewhat onerous and the forward
momentum picks up a little, but still with plenty of huge commas
like potholes in a road. Once allowed to take off the ‘musette’
section climax appears as a result to be something of an island
all of its own. This is all well and good - and in many ways
legitimate, comparable perhaps to the melodic character of the
arpeggio figuration in the first Prelude from Book I
of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. In substance it is however
too much of a ‘fantasia’, and in texture too similar
to the following Allemande, which Tomkins plays truly
beautifully. Contrast finally arrives in the Courante,
with some finely pointed articulation to go along with the extra
weight she gives to almost all of this music. It is refined
and elegant, but toe-tapping is never part of the fun. The Sarabande
is richly emotional, but at times so suspended in time that
the musical discourse can be hard to follow. This is another
aspect of the playing here which one may question: to what extent
is the ‘human scale’, Bach’s vocal character
being stretched beyond conceivable breathability. This is a
quality stringed instruments have over singers and praise biology
and physics for that, but does the mind also feel completely
at ease with such elongations in Bach’s cello suites?
My opinion? You know I don’t have one - I’m a Libran,
and therefore always on the fence. I’m the bloke who looks
at those fashion shows, ‘what not to wear when looking
good naked’, and have to wait to be told what styles look
well on a person before nodding in sage agreement. I would have
nodded in sage agreement if they’d said the same person
in the same clothes looked awful. Beauty is in the eye of the
beholder; and in this case the ear of the beholder. Tanja Tomkins
is a fine cellist, and I admire her excellent technique, sense
of personality and original touch in her Bach Suites.
My problem is not with the sublime moments of which there are
many, nor even with the potential clash of a Baroque instrument
with an arguably ‘romantic’ interpretation. My difficulties
are with the pace and shape of lines and rhythms, of movements,
and therefore the pace and shape of each suite as a whole. When
I’ve heard a movement or two, like the Prelude
followed by the Allemande of the Suite No.5 in C minor,
or come to the end of an entire suite for that matter I know
I’ve heard some wonderful music, but it all turns to soup
in my mind. It’s all been kneaded and knocked and allowed
to rise again, but while smelling delicious the bread which
comes out of the oven looks like, and perhaps even is
an exquisite bonsai yew tree. It’s two very good and solid
things - player and music - which you appreciate and respect
instinctively, but which somehow don’t manage to connect
at all in terms of narrative.
So, to sum up, Tanya Tomkins’ beautifully produced recording
of the Bach Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello are A:
some of the most profound and movingly expressive performances
currently available, or B: infuriatingly eccentric and annoyingly
confusing meanderings.
You decide, please.
Dominy Clements
Masterwork Index: Cello
Suites
Tanya Tomkins (cello)
