David Fray’s reputation has been established with warmly
received recordings such as his Schubert album (see
review), one each of Bach and Mozart piano concertos, and
a complementary programme to this one which has Boulez nestling between the
Partita BWV 828 and the
French Suite No. 1. The Schubert
programme is beautifully played but I found myself in a battle at times,
urging him to get
on with it, the extra layers of respectful awe
weighing just a bit too heavily on the music. With Bach he also frequently
errs on the slow side but finds plenty of reasons for doing so, and I
struggled less as a result - in fact finding my ears opened refreshingly to
new nuances.
This programme is one shared two-thirds by Martha Argerich’s
legendary Deutsche Grammophon recording, including as it does the
Toccata
BWV 911 and
Partita No. 2 (see
review). You would expect a certain amount of drama with Argerich,
but her Bach shows a sensitive side which can stand as an example to all
pianists, with rhythmic security allied to dynamic shading and touch which
creates just the right amount of expression and excitement. This is still
one of the best Bach piano recordings I know. To remind myself of a
different approach, I had another listen to Roger Woodward’s
Partita No. 2 (see
review), which has a more explosive sense of danger.
Woodward’s Bach is more deliberately a ‘Bach for our
times’, with added windblown drapes and the noises of distant war: an
experience which can be savoured, but which does I fear create its own
little cul de sac.
David Fray plays with a romantic touch, but is a good deal less
extravagant with his gestures than Woodward. Take the quiet two-part
counterpoint which develops the opening
Sinfonia of the
Partita
No. 2. You would hardly mistake it for someone imitating a harpsichord,
but its flowing lines early on are a passage through dynamic growth which
connects organically to the final
Andante. Something odd happens to
the stereo image at 3:53, the right channel dipping a little, returning
between 4:15 and 4:16 which suggests a wee drop-in between two different
sessions. Lyrical flow is the expressive medium for the gentler movements in
this
Partita, with natural sounding but at times quite pronounced
rubati. This is very pianistic Bach, but gorgeous in terms of tone
and touch. Compared with
Angela Hewitt it seems awash with acoustic and pedal,
but the manner of performance and the environment seem perfectly suited.
It’s not all roses and perfume either, with a crisp
Rondeau to
wake us up before a rousing
Giga which has plenty of swing and pace.
The
Toccata in C minor BWV 911 is given the full emotional
range by Fray, his witty second section completely wring-footing us for the
deeply poignant passages which follow. The Toccatas are another Hewitt
favourite, but after a dramatic opening the second section does sound more
like a warm-up transition in her case, the subsequent counterpoint a serious
frown rather than sudden remembrance of things lost and a tear unbidden.
With plenty of lively contrast further on Fray’s
BWV 911 is a
terrific performance, despite some minor mechanical ticks coming from
somewhere when the pedalling becomes more energetic.
The opening of the
Partita No. 6 is where Fray departs more
than many, in the almost dreamy way he moves through the runs in the
introduction. This relatively leisurely tempo is continued throughout, and
he comes in not far under a minute and a half slower than Hewitt. There is
method in this approach however, and Fray is able to point out longer
melodic lines, providing a different sort of emphasis to some of the
harmonic shifts and opening our eyes to some extra lyrical potential in
unexpected places. This isn’t the ultimate way to perform this opening
Toccata, but I have to say I do rather like it. As with the second
partita, this is a mixture of poetic lyricism and lively contrast, just as
it should be. You wouldn’t exactly say that Fray’s
Courante and
Air are exactly the crispest ever, though the
acoustic can take some of the blame for a certain succulent richness
throughout this recording. They tick all of the right boxes while being more
extrovert than Hewitt’s more confiding interpretations. The
Sarabande from both Fray and Hewitt has a similarly ruminative
quality, coming in at roughly the same timing. Hewitt arguably gets deeper
into the emotional layers of the music here, perhaps because with the
differences in recorded perspective the colours of her instrument are given
more chance to dip into subtle quietude, where Fray’s sound is always
ringing out, even when at its lowest ebbs. The final
Tempo di Gavotta
and
Giga are our reward for delving into these grief-stricken realms,
the first cheering us up, the second filled with inspiring counterpoint, its
rising intervals lifting us up, their subsequent inversion bringing us back
to earth but all the wiser.
Fans of David Fray will relish this Bach programme greatly, and
those who love a bit of Bach on the piano will almost certainly enjoy what
they hear - I know I did. There are aspects of taste which will appeal more
to some than to others. If you become itchy with a piano set in a large
acoustic then this is certainly grander than many, though there is plenty of
detail in the sound and the balance between presence and airiness is found
very well indeed. The occasional extra-musical blemish aside, this recording
has to be given a firm recommendation, especially if you like your Bach rich
and creamy, and nicely balanced with a bit of spice, but not too much.
Dominy Clements
