I’ve asked the question before when it comes to this kind of reissue:
what is greatness? Why is it that we keep returning
to tatty old recordings of what my mate Joost the jocular
composer calls ‘fossils’? We should all know the story of
Wanda Landowska’s championing of her massive Pleyel harpsichord,
her influence as a teacher, her (and her instrument’s)
dramatic escape from the Nazi invasion of France. The booklet
notes
also educate us to her enlightened attitude to her instrument: ‘The
Harpsichord is not an imperfect forerunner of the modern
piano and the piano is not an improvement on the harpsichord.
They are two entirely different instruments.’ She viewed
music as a continuum, not as something ‘historic’: ‘If
a work was once really alive and fulfilled all the conditions
of life when it was new, there is no reason for it to die.’ Her
perfectionism was renowned, and all of these things – her
humanity, intelligence, musicianship, sympathy to the composer’s
text and sheer joy in performing all resonate through these
recordings. Even if they had been recorded through an old
sock we could find value in these performances. If harpsichordists
great and the good of the second half of the 20th century
are the leaves and branches, and the great bewigged player
composers of the past are the roots, then Landowska is
the trunk which holds them all together. We listen to Landowska
for the same reason we keep on visiting another tatty old
survivor of WWII; St Paul’s Cathedral. Why? Because there
is spectacle, grandeur, elegant proportion and the staggering
virtuosity of its creator, and because – even if we wanted
to, we couldn’t reproduce it now even if we tried.
Anyone fortunate enough to find themselves in possession of this 7
CD box might do well to break themselves in gently with
some of the smaller works. CD 6 is one of the more attractively
programmed of the set, and the Concerto BWV 977 provides
an excellent introduction to Landowska’s art. It opens like
a Handel anthem, drawing one in to a spectacular Allegro
which drives through like a Welsh rugby forward. Strangely,
the final chord seems to have been plucked from a different
recording, but we’ll let that pass. The larghetto strums
like an auto-harp, and shows that the Pleyel instrument
is capable of more than just thundering bass registers
and incredible
sustaining power. The final Allegro is playful,
like something from a Scarlatti sonata, and with some deft
shifts
in register the Pleyel harpsichord showers us in a variety
of tonal colours – all qualities which reinforce Landowska’s
vast interpretations of the ‘48’, and of course the Goldberg
Variations.
One of my favourite Bach keyboard works, BWV 988, the Goldberg
Variations, seems to have been taken over by versions
for piano in my collection. A candlelit performance by
Trevor Pinnock at Dyrham Park House lives on in the memory
however, and Landowska’s performance is stately to say
the least. Her opening tempi are withheld, building the
foundations of an interpretation which arches over the
entire set of variations, which is the way it should
be. The full weight of the Pleyel instrument is also
brought
forth in measured doses, and the simpler textures of
the two-part variations are unencumbered by extraneous
and
unnecessary effects. Landmarks along the way stand like
granite monuments in the musical landscape, and Variation
21; Canone alla settima, and the fantasia-like Variation
25 are both forward looking and somehow nostalgic. The
story is a long and serious one, but the listener is encouraged
at each turn by lighter moments, and with Variation 26
we are homeward bound and no mistake. The arrival of the Quodlibet,
with its little song quotations is our salvation, and the
final Aria our ‘Memento Mori’. It is Bach’s epic
novel in musical form, and you will be hard put to find
a better storyteller than Landowska.
All of us amateur piano players have picked our way through the Two-Part
Inventions, but Wanda Landowska has the knack of
endowing even these relatively simple musical sketches
with poetry
and style. Lightness of phrasing and consistency of articulation
are Landowska’s signature both here and in the Three-Part
Inventions, and Bach’s eloquence with almost the
minimum of means needs no better advocate. The Fantasia BWV
919 suffers from a slightly bumpy transfer, but is otherwise
a fine rendition. The later 1957 recordings benefit from
better preserved sources, but with a slightly nasal balance
which is a change from the more gutsy but rougher earlier
recordings. In that regard the Capriccio BWV 992
is easier listening but a little less characterful. Landowska’s
variety in colour in registering is particularly attractive
here, and entirely appropriate to the chromatic harmonies
and descending, tragically sighing melodic lines and
bases of the mood of ‘Departure’ and the pert calls of
the final cornetta di postiglione.
I can imagine Wanda tutting a little (‘you are too kind my
dear boy’), but I do find her Partita No. 2 BWV 826
to be something of a masterpiece. The little spread chords
which echo on in the Allemande after those of the
impressive opening are a lovely touch, her voicing in the Courante is
immaculate, and the irrepressible bounce of the Capriccio is
a delight.
So to the main meat of this issue, which is the complete recording
of the ‘Well-Tempered Clavier’ which Wanda Landowska made
between 1949 and 1954 at her own home in Lakeville, Connecticut.
I must admit to being somewhat pre-programmed by Gustav Leonhardt’s
1973 recordings, with which I have lived since some initial
hard-won taping sessions from Radio 3, which broadcast them
along with Handel’s Concerti Grossi as some ungodly hour
on (I seem to remember) a sequence of Saturday mornings way
back when. Now a proud owner of that superb LP box, I was
intrigued to hear how Landowska’s approach compliments, rather
than fights with my favourite from those youthfully uncritical
ears and years. The sheer sustaining power and range of the
Pleyel harpsichord allows Landowska to indulge in some licence
here and there. Take the treatment of the bass in the very
first C major prelude in Book I, which she endows with an
apparent anticipatory syncopation not to be found in the
score. Far from being scandalised by such things I find myself
refreshed, entertained and moved by Landowska’s interpretations.
Those of you who are, for instance, attracted by Sviatoslav
Richter’s recordings (also on RCA) will know what I mean
about there being some sense of ‘soul’ in these performances.
Dipping in at the listening booth, have a try of Disc 1 track
8, the Fugue IV in C sharp minor, and you will see what I
mean. Landowska and Richter share that ability to sustain
a slow tempo with an imperturbable intensity which will put
curls into straight hair. Your perm thus assured, you can
go on to enjoy the growling Pleyel bass in a low-register
version of Prelude and fugue IV in D minor (tracks 11 and
12). From 1946 to 1951 there is a fairly large shift in perspective
from track 17 (Prelude IX in E major) which is a shame, but
the ear soon adjusts to the change in position and slightly
boxier acoustic effect from Landowska’s study. Pester the
shopkeeper to put on disc two and listen to track 4, the
Fugue XIV in F sharp minor – you must agree that the bass
entries are entirely orchestral in effect. The contrasts
between gentle, softer moments (Prelude and Fugue XVI in
G minor), joyous abandon (Prelude XXI in B flat), moody
darkness (Prelude XXII in B-Flat minor) and a general sense
of drama
and occasion all come through the admittedly somewhat thin
and distant recordings from these later sessions.
Book II gives a more muffled initial impression, but like all these
recordings, the ear is drawn more to the fascination of
the music than the inconsistencies in the taping. There
are some
moments throughout this whole set – obviously where a gap
has fallen between sessions – where the tuning of the harpsichord
doesn’t quite match. Again, the ear forgives and forgets.
For some reason, Book II of the Well-Tempered Clavier receives
less positive press than Book I, but Landowska pays no less
attention to detail. Spread over 3 CDs it is something of
a tour de force, but I love the bell-like sustain in Prelude
III in C-Sharp major, the sheer drama of Prelude VI in D
minor (a favourite Bach key) and the chromatic dissonances
in the subsequent fugue – each line of which has clarity
and meaning.
I could go on, but you will have guessed by now that I am a great
fan of the great Landowska. These are of course hardly
recordings of demonstration quality. If you are a romantic
soul who
occasionally likes to sit in semi-candlelit gloom with
a glass of good port and a well written novel, then these
performances
of Bach will enhance that feeling of a lost era of steady
timelessness. Those of you with interiors of minimalist
and neon-sparkling chrome and white may be surprised to
find
it fits in there just as well – such is the nature of classic
musicianship, master of itself and follower of no fashion
or transient trend. Landowska illustrates aspects of Bach
which, while by no means authentic by today’s standards,
nonetheless sound ‘right’ at her hands. The grandeur of the
Pleyel harpsichord will not be to everyone’s taste, but
one has to admit that Landowska knows how to tease every
colour
and mood from this instrument, and in so doing makes even
an extended listening session something of a feast for
the receptive mind. ‘Music grows old only if it is neglected – like
a woman who is no longer loved. Take an interest in her
and she will become young again.’ At somewhere just under
three pounds a disc this box comes in as something of a bargain,
so, make the most of it!
Dominy
Clements
Wanda Landowska, harpsichord
