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Review: Bach: Sonatas BWV 1020, 1022, 1027-1029

These releases are listed above in order of their fidelity to original instrumentation, but to my taste the second of them, though involving a slight case of instrumental substitution, is by far the more musical and enjoyable of the two. (Choosing exactly what to designate as a "period- instrument" performance, incidentally, isn't an entirely simple matter: is a harpsichord, in the nature of things, a "period instrument"? I think not, but it's a teasing question.)

The British-Israeli duo presented (and agreeably recorded) by Chandos on its early-music label, Chaconne, offers stylish and thoughtful performances that nevertheless end up sounding dull, largely because the gambist's tone lacks eloquence and his phrasing is fairly pedestrian. That these are not inevitable characteristics of the viola da gamba is clearly demonstrated by, among others, Laurence Dreyfus in his splendid performance of the three sonatas with Ketil Haugsand on Simax; it would probably be my first choice among gamba versions, though I confess I haven't heard Virgin's disc with that effervescent musician Jordi Sávall partnered by Ton Koopman, though it offers short measure judged by the clock. (The new Chandos provides sensible fillers in the shape of two of Bach's harpsichord toccatas, and in these Ad-El's qualities are well displayed.)

The focus of the Praga disc is placed firmly on the string instrument itself, and in this case the music of the three authentic sonatas has migrated from leg to arm: Josef Suk, better known as one of the finest violinists before the public, here plays the plain viola, which corresponds to what Bach would have called a viola da braccio. The cover is prominently designated The Viola through the Ages (Vol I). If that means that we are to have further volumes of Suk on the viola, I for one shall be delighted. His playing is wonderfully rich and expressive, and though he is clearly not a Baroque specialist—trills are occasionally a shade on the fast side, and appoggiaturas correspondingly short—he captures the spirit of this often lyrical music better than many an impeccably credentialed authenticist. The last trill in the Adagio of the G-Minor Sonata, incidentally, is deliciously slow and stylish. The same movement features one curious piece of inattention on Suk's part and that of producer Milan Puklicky: the rhythm of the ninth measure, fine the first time around, is misread in the repeat. But this is an infinitesimal blemish in generally accurate and always persuasive context.

Suk's partner, Zuzana Růžičková, is a musician of comparable mettle, whom I have admired for years on the basis of some solo Bach recordings that appeared in this country, if I remember rightly, on Musical Heritage Society LPs. Praga's recorded sound serves both players well, though the harpsichord could perhaps have benefited from a little more prominence. And the two extra sonatas of doubtful authorship—Johann Sebastian's son Carl Philipp Emanuel may have had a hand in at least one of them—provide a useful makeweight.

Altogether this is a thoroughly enjoyable disc, lending support to what Kevin Bazzana said in a mostly favorable review (in Fanfare 18:3) of a viola-and-harpsichord performance by Kim Kashkashian and Keith Jarrett on ECM: "This strikes me as the best modern-instrument compromise, the one that best serves the music. A cello always sounds strained in the extremely high passages, and sacrifices too much musically just to get all the notes in reasonably good tune." Those who don't agree can always opt for the ever-genial Yo-Yo Ma, to be heard with harpsichordist Kenneth Cooper on CBS.

Fanfare: Bernard Jacobson