Arriving at this point, with two different versions of J.S. Bach’s
Well-Tempered
Clavier Book I on my desk, seems to have generated some kind of crisis in
my abilities as an objective reviewer. Having heard and very much enjoyed
Sergey
Schepkin’s recording of
Book II, I was always going to be looking
out for his
Book I and so I leapt at the opportunity to review it, to
complete the set and the journey as it were. Is this not, however, how almost
all of us regard our acquisition of music? If you are a fan of Maurizio Pollini
aren’t you going to want to hear what he does with Bach’s wonderful
preludes and fugues whatever anyone says?
To be entirely honest, I go through phases with some of these recordings. For
a time I would try Schepkin, find him too romantic, a little too keen to pull
the tempi around in the preludes. Returning for a serious listen once again and
the same thing is happening with
Book I, but with spring in the air and
a more positive outlook I find I can once again ‘follow’ his musical
arguments. Aspects of his playing hark back to Glenn Gould, in the drier articulation
of the right hand in the opening prelude for instance. At the same time Schepkin
freely admits to admiring Sviatoslav Richter, and his more romantic leanings
can remind one of the great master, in the expansion of the
Fugue IV in C
sharp minor for instance, which Schepkin allows to grow and tell its story
over nearly four and a half minutes.
Roger
Woodward’s recording has taken on something of the character of a benchmark
for me in this repertoire, and his recording of this fugue is only just over
four minutes, Pollini nearly five. Who’s counting? Are they any
good is
the question, and yes, they’re all
good, so why should we have to
choose one over the other?
The answer is; you don’t. Nobody is stuck with any kind of ‘street
cred’ issues in which Bach they prefer - you find what you like, and you
can stick with it, or you can be fickle and jump ship from time to time. Me personally,
I used to like to play Gould off against Richter, but that was when I was younger
and there wasn’t so much to choose from. Now we have internet dating for
music, and you can get to know your Bach online for hardly any money at all,
stick it on your portable player and flaunt it like a trophy partner wherever
you like. These are shallow consumerist issues but ones we all encounter and
have to deal with in our own way. All I’m trying to say is that this isn’t
a Pollini
versus Schepkin review. Both have their qualities, positive,
and sometimes perhaps not so positive. So if you can suck your feet out of the
subjective quagmire and make a decision one way or another - for today at least
- then that might help, or you can have both and see how quickly they start arguing
with each other about which one you take out more often and why. Nag, nag: it’s
always the same with CDs, but then, it’s not my place to tell you how to
live your personal Bach ...
I think I’ve worked out whatever problem it is I have with Sergey Schepkin’s
playing. I still like it, but he sometimes does have a way of appearing to sleep
on both sides of the Bach blanket. He will articulate with Gould-like crispness
here, and sing with Richter-like lines there, sometimes in the same prelude or
fugue. The liner-notes for the disc once again have an interview with J. Quentin
Parker on Schepkin’s thoughts about playing this music, and I find I agree
with just about everything he says, right down to being surprised at not liking
Ton Koopman’s harpsichord recordings of this music. What does he say here? “For
me, a fugue of Bach is a piece of chamber music, which presumes that all participating
lines are equal in importance, and it is their interaction that creates the interest
of the piece ... A piece of Bach’s polyphony can be compared with a conversation
on a fascinating topic between several fabulous individuals. Each line has a
distinct personality that the performer must bring to life.” Yes, I agree
- and perhaps this solves my issues, that the distinct personalities and character
of certain lines are the two sides of that stylistic argument, perfectly within
their right to exist simultaneously, and made distinct through their individual
characterisation. Add to this that, as chamber music player, I am constantly
at work deciding whether my ‘voice’ at any particular moment is of
greater or lesser importance and therefore
not equal at any one moment,
and Sergey and I can argue on happily into the night as to whether or not we
agree, or whether what I perceive him as saying is what he really means to say.
I actually very much like that these voices are distinct and can be followed
as individual arguments. I also like Schepkin’s ideas about the balance
in hierarchy between the horizontal and linear aspects of the music, and the
subservient or even incidental harmonic aspects which arise as a result of the
interaction of the horizontal. Maybe I was just feeling needlessly combative
just a moment ago, but either way the more I listen and understand, the more
I like his playing as well.
Maurizio Pollini doesn’t give us any insights into his thoughts in the
booklet, allowing the music to speak for itself, and allowing Paulo Petazzi to
give us some historical context and brief commentary on some of the highlights.
I don’t have the feeling Pollini falls into any particular camp, though
he is most certainly further away from Glenn Gould than Schepkin on the Gould/Richter-o-metre.
The only thing he really shares with Gould is a tendency to sing along, which
may or may not disturb you. It’s not all the time, and certainly not as
loud and persistent as Gould, but there is a fair bit of sniffing and gentle
crooning going on, which to be honest I hadn’t expected. Have a listen
to the beginning of the
Fugue XIV in F sharp minor and you might be excused
for thinking there was a fireman in breathing apparatus in attendance, just in
case Maurizio should catch fire with all those sharps around in the key signature.
The first time I played this was over my little old Wharfedale Active Diamonds,
survivors of the 1980s, which I have parked either side of my desk at work like
Kinky Friedman’s two telephones. I have a pathological desire not to bother
anyone nearby with any music I might happen to want on at any particular time,
and in this I am quite happy to relinquish any prospects of joining the building
or construction trade. I doubt the lads at Bovis would be that keen on having
Bach’s
WTC on in any case, that or they would have preferred
Book
II, or Glenn Gould. In any case, I had the sound right down, and found myself
very much liking what I was hearing. Pollini has a nice lyrical touch, and where
it counts his ability to present a significant polyphonic argument is as good
as any of the competition. If you want to hear what I mean go back to that
Fugue
IV in C sharp minor and wait at least until the low entry of the theme at
2:55, and then see if you have it in you to just switch it off and go about your
business without the feeling that someone has torn off a chunk of your shadow.
No, I still like Pollini, even if it is only that power of suggestion which has
me liking best what I’m hearing at any particular moment, which also seems
as good a reason as any for giving up reviewing. My problem with this version
emerged when I brought my precious prize home and started listening through much
too expensive headphones at a decent volume. This is not a huge problem and may
not bother many people, but I find the recording to be a bit monochrome. It’s
decent enough piano sound, but when the dynamics go up the acoustic volume, by
which I mean bulk rather than ‘it goes up to 11’, tends to fill up
with more-of-same, rather than with much change in intensity. This may be the
piano, the recording, the acoustics or probably a combination of any number of
factors, but after plenty of trying through different speakers and generally
tinkering around this does turn out to be something which prevents this otherwise
noble rendition becoming one of my desert island selections.
A noble rendition it most certainly is however, and I wouldn’t want anyone
going away with the impression that Pollini is out of the running merely because
of a mildly drab recording. As I said, with the volume down or while driving
and considerations of sound quality less of a relevance, I found myself genuinely
enjoying his playing. There are a few of the fugues which ‘go on a bit’ without
a real sense of variety or as much organic development or narrative strength
as with other players. If anything, Pollini has a tendency to speed up in places,
but there is also a feel of honest consistency in his approach, and a kind of
reliability which can also have its appeal. I feel Pollini delivers his best
moments where the music is at its most lyrical and least technically complex,
such as the
Prelude XII in F minor and other similar points at which the
combination of melodic shape and restraint can create a magical atmosphere. This
is not to say he can’t build up a storm or put together a convincing five-part
fugue, but that distinction of voices we were discussing with Schepkin earlier
is something which does become a little subsumed in what sounds like a more vertical
approach to counterpoint, and the sound, which does make my brain switch off
and become too much of a passive partner in the whole musical transaction after
a while. Will I be on the lookout for Pollini’s
Book II? Yes indeed,
but with some hope that it may have a bit more lasting power, in the same way
Richter’s
Book I does for me over his
Book II.
Do I have a favourite? If we’re talking
only Book I then yes I do,
and that’s
Till
Fellner on ECM. Sorry guys.
If we’re talking the entire cycle of both books then it’s Roger Woodward
and Sviatoslav Richter still at the top, and Sergey Schepkin also at the top
when he’s on the player. If I ever do come to my senses and give up this
reviewing lark, then you can cite the ‘Schepkin Effect’ as a significant
factor.
Dominy Clements
Maurizio Pollini
(piano) 
