Introduction

In his collection of writings and esoteric discussions of music and the instruments used to play them harpsichordist and conductor Skip Sempé published Memorandum XXI, which is the best example we’ll get of a type of Sempé-portfolio, a single document that covers a large portion of ground, and incidentally is a quite personal document of Sempé’s musical career, starting with his special relationship with the late Gustav Leonhardt in Amsterdam.

This past August, Sempé surprised me by releasing an album dedicated to Bach entitled Bach: Tradition & Transcription. He doesn’t quite come out and say it in the liner notes for this album, but it’s obvious he’s proud to have acquired Leonhardt’s famous “Little Red Harpsichord.”

He writes:

This harpsichord was one of my favourite instruments that belonged to Leonhardt, made by Martin Skowroneck in 1975, based on a Parisian model signed ‘Vaudry à Paris 1681’. Leonhardt’s harpsichords, virginals and clavichords went to his friends – that is what he wished.

Leonhardt was obviously a big influence on his development, and he offered this about his teacher:

All I can say is that there are a certain number of sensitive musicians and listeners who have never had any problem crediting him for being an extraordinary musician, harpsichordist, organist, teacher, mentor, listener, connoisseur of musical instruments – and without any doubt the major influence in the harpsichord world since about 1960. Many harpsichordists of the younger generation never heard him live, and many have never heard his recordings – or perhaps only one or two recordings. They don’t know what they are missing, and they really should discover the artist who discovered everything they currently do, whether they realize it or not. I should also mention that Leonhardt has had the respect of all the finest performers that have been seriously involved in Baroque repertoire. Ignoring the results of his efforts is not the way forward.

For me then, this album features a number of pieces by Bach, but the recital—rather than a recorded collection of any one opus—is as much about Sempé’s association with Leonhardt and what it means to carry the flame of that influential man.

Program

Sempé records some Bach works, such a rendition of the C major violin sonata, BWV 1005, a couple dances from the last cello suite, BWV 1012; a couplet from the second violin partita, BWV 1004; the rest are more diverse and singular in nature, from a 1660 méditation by Froberger, to a dance by the lutenist Weiss, a tiento by Cabanilles, a little Purcell, Kuhnau, and the Uranie toccata by Johann Caspar Ferdinand Fischer. The album follows what I think is a becoming a more modern trend, to offer us a recital on disc rather than what is perhaps seen as an artificial accounting of a complete written set: two arias flanking thirty variations, six suites, or say, twenty-four sets of preludes and fugues written across all the keys. The treat for those attracted by the name Bach is that the recital is atypical in a commercial recording way, and again, I think very personal.

Performances

I have a soft spot for performers of baroque music who really attempt to live the life of the baroque musician. That is, of course, to say that they are not content enough to only read the notes left behind with ink on the page. Often one compares the life of a musician during the period to that of a modern jazz interpreter; they play the standards but always seem to manage to do so in their own way, if not while simultaneously throwing props to others that came before them, imitating style or revitalizing a famous solo.

Leonhardt’s example was to record some of the solo works Bach wrote for the violin and cello and to do so in a way that was idiomatic to the harpsichord. Sempé surrounds these miniature gems by Bach with works by other composers. Each of the pieces chosen are charming on their own, but those by other musicians only help elevate the pieces by Bach and show us again how special they are.

Leonhardt’s recordings often leave me feeling that he never contributed too much or too little; his style was clean and his art was in the way he portrayed the details. That spirit is alive in this recording, where Sempé’s strong technique provides a confident foundation upon which he offers us something that is nearly always consistent in his recordings both old and new, his style.

Sempé, to be clear, can be a flamboyant player. His recording entitled The French Collection is one of the strongest testaments to the outward and excessive examples of baroque style; as I recently auditioned again his duet recording of music by Rameau with Pierre Hantaï, I was too reminded of this outward and extravagant style. But it is style: it’s not just fast playing or the flash of technique. It’s the rarest element in artistic pursuits and we should always think ourselves fortunate when we have the fortune to witness it, live, or through a recording.

To quote a line from Seinfeld, "A little grace? You either have grace or you don't. Jackie Onassis had grace." Sempé's style is one I really admire. He doesn't have a little, it's his gift.

And compared to those outward-looking recordings, with pieces that mirror the extravagances in high baroque visual art, this album clearly seems to be more introspective yet still manages to be cosmopolitan. It’s as if Sempé chose some favorite ditties to showcase this style just for us, perhaps in the confines of a small salon, as his teacher once did for him after a thorough tuning of the same instrument.

Bach is for many musicians the most personal of composers, and what I mean by that is that it is easy to develop our own personal connection and affinity to the music. Goebel has written that it’s dangerous for us to exploit this personal connection we can develop for composers like Bach; as a musicologist, I am sure with little doubt like others, he’d advocate for understanding the music with the aid of the text, historical documentation, and what we can glean from performance practice.

Sempé’s contribution here is more than just his historically-informed performances; it’s the program, it’s the nuances of his style, the diversity of keyboard technique represented by the collection, and the way he acknowledges Leonhardt while at the same time managing to treat us with what we have learned to admire in the richness in the way some chords are played, in the subtle articulation of melody, or what is oft felt as the “just right amount” of rubato, exercised so deliciously in the Sarabanda from BWV 1004.

The Giga from the same partita is simply outstanding, as fitting under Sempé’s fingers as it is from the four strings of a violin. The piece reveals the true color of the instrument.

Recording

The sound is close but not dry. The album auditioned in my main listening room lacked the presence and sparkle of my small handful of favorite harpsichord recordings. Auditioning the album again with headphones revealed what I think is a very realistic rendering of harpsichord sound with a richness that was more difficult to hear on loudspeakers. This album has been engineered in such a way that prolonged listening does not tire the ears, revealing a delicious sounding instrument that gets more interesting to me over time.

Auditioned in high resolution via Qobuz. Highly recommended. As always, good liner notes that add real value to the recording.