Harpsichordist Christophe Rousset’s latest release on Aparté is a 2 CD set from a recently discovered manuscript once belonging to one Madame Théobon, whom as history tells us, was a 2-year relationship with King Louis XIV at the Château Chambord. This manuscript was to be her personal copy and of all places, Rousset found it for sale on Ebay!

The pieces are not by Théobon (as far as we know) but rather are a best-hits catalog from the late 1600s. The manuscript includes arrangements of Lully, some Chambonnières, d’Angelbert, among a number of now anonymous pieces.

All are realized with clear sound on a Rousset’s new personal instrument, restored from a 1704 original by Dumont. There is what I’ll call a patina I sense often when listening to Rousset, and it’s often attributable, I think, to the sound of the original instruments he chooses to record. This release is no different and bringing these nuances in color to life is always rewarding.

The notes in this release tell us, beyond the genesis of the manuscript, how some of the pieces are arrangements from published editions. This makes for interesting comparisons and of course it speaks to performance practice and one’s ability—whether as composer or as performer—to change the text to suit one’s needs.

Rousset’s performance style is, I once described, rather cut from a crisply starched shirt. One often does not find him indulging in rubato, instead, he keeps regular time despite some want of indulgence from time to time, he seems to resist. Probably a well-considered contrast is the performances of Skip Sempé, both of whom have made some rewarding discs of French repertoire. I am not too clear on which style of playing is more appropriate. I recall Pierre Hantaï once speaking of the mechanical nature of the harpsichord and how one of Bach’s pieces was clearly an imitation of the mechanical nature of new machines developed around his time (think of a music box).

I bring this up because Rousset does allow himself to breathe, if you will, with the unmeasured prelude that opens the recording. Track 24 presents another; while these are not deep, exhaustive breaths, it is wonderful to hear some organic style work its way into this recital. While I personally think there were more opportunities to infuse rubato into a number of the dances, the music nevertheless is still very beautifully rendered.

Differences in performance style are a combination of historical practice and the artistic voice of the performer. A recording such of this is a fascinating look into a lost treasure that emerges several hundred years level in what I would likely characterize as a fresh, alert, crisp interpretation by one of France’s foremost keyboard specialists. For now while this set, as is, may only have one interpreter, the music itself is rich enough, as you might imagine, to warrant multiple interpretations.

Many of these 71 pieces are quite attractive. In some cases their character and rhythmic drive almost forecast the gems Rameau would write nearly a hundred years later. While Rousset’s own Rameau two-disc set on Decca from many years ago is my favorite of his, this is a close second. I can’t say so much if it’s the music or his energy behind the pieces, but age has not slowed him down or tarnished his excellent technique. This release should be of interest to many on several fronts: fresh collection of dances from a lost manuscript; a newly restored historical harpsichord, and yes, more Rousset!