Melancholy Grace - Jean Rondeau
This generous recital (79 minutes) from Jean Rondeau was released in the spring of 2021 on Erato. The collection explores the meaning of melancholy, one of those terms I remember learning in the tenth grade as part of our class on British literature. The album does, for reference, include a piece by Gibbons from the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book, not to mention a pair of pieces by John Bull. He includes, too, the Lachrimae no. 7 by John Dowland. Otherwise, we go to the continent for many of the other pieces, from the likes of Sweelinck, Picchi, Frescobaldi, etc. Rather than a singular collection of pieces by one composer, then, this is a recital album.
Ah. We had it good in the 1990s, where recital albums were an exception. But no bother, each have their benefits. While not scientific, the pieces recorded here aren’t world premiers, my software tells me that many of these have been recorded before. So, alas, if you want to hear, say, one of the Frescobaldi pieces alongside his other works, such options exist.
What you may not get in a collection are the extraordinary instruments employed here by Rondeau. He uses two instruments, one smaller, interestingly decorated with some pink dots, and a later single manual instrument that comes from the Humeau workshop in Balbastre, France. I am fond of the tone of these instruments, and this recording doesn’t disappoint.
Sound quality wise, this recording is just shy of ideal for me. It does a good job at capturing the character of the location without too much reverb, but it also sacrifices putting us a little closer to admire the timbre of the instrument. We’re still not there yet, but I envision a day when recordings come with the ability to choose different sets of mikes, or allow us to self-mix the recordings. This is not an indictment on the engineer, who clearly wanted this sound. It’s that I’d like the ability to step closer to Mr. Rondeau playing, or maybe, even choose an binaural option to put myself in his place at the keyboard.
What I will say is that my adjustment to this sound did not take more than three tracks. And once you let go and allow yourself to share the room with Rondeau, for me, with eyes closed, he takes us on a colorful journey.
The notes for this recording make mention of the importance in tuning, and how Rondeau chose specific tunings for each piece, to highlight their character. One of the more extraordinary is the Toccata quarta per l’elevatione by Gregorio Strozzi, which, I think, may have been an organ piece, given the title. The piece takes several interesting harmonic turns. In so doing, some of the chords we land upon take on quite a piquant quality. Equally adventurous is the Fantasia cromatica SwWV 258 by Sweelinck. Moreso than the Strozzi piece, Sweelinck gets the player to play a lot of chords; his style gives both hands a good workout. I will say, I think Rondeau does an excellent job in his choice of tunings and temperaments. There are moments where there is pure delight when we hear chords that are tuned without the deadness that comes from equal-temperament. The effect is arresting, one that never fails to remind me why I love early music.
There are several times in this recording where Rondeau does something that arrests the listener, at least this listener: he stops all together, letting the instrument mute the preceding note. I can’t say I ever get used to it, but it’s the only aspect to his playing that I questioned. In the Sortemeplus, con alcuni fioretti by Valente, he gets through the piece with the sustaining power of the instrument. His ornamentation at several cadence points is well done. There’s an aspect to this piece that when certain harmonies are reached, it sounds almost modern, given the instrument’s timbre. It’s a short but fun ride.
For all my remarks about rich, ultra-tightly tuned chords, and sustained sound, the Luzzaschi piece, the Toccata del quarto tuono plays its tuning the other way, for its power at dissonance and then we get one of Rondeau’s full stop moments in the introduction. But what a piece! I love how Rondeau treats this one with his rubato, the faster passages of this piece for me make it a real star, which makes me think of one’s blood pumping faster, one’s humors warmed and ignited. I think this may be my favorite piece of the recording, and how it doesn’t seem to end? And leaves us hanging? I love that.
The tone of the smaller instrument sings with profound resonance with Bull’s Melancholy Galliard. I know nothing about this piece, but my thoughts as I listened to all the degrees of filigree within this piece was of one observing and admiring nature. A tree, specifically, one of those big, old trees that doesn’t exactly stand tall, but has all manner of curves in its thick trunk, with its leaves swaying in the wind. Bull seems to take us up and around this magnificent specimen, to observe it from all sides. My imagination aside, it’s a fun three minute journey.
The anonymous Pavana lachrymae, WV 106, seems to quote Dowland. Hearing that Seven Teares* theme multiple times serves to kind of connect these pieces, and its theme together, which I like.
The final track presents the aforementioned piece by Dowland; when it comes, at least for me, it’s familiar territory again, after getting the preview of it through the Gibbons piece, Pavana 292. Having explored Dowland’s collection when I was in college through a recording I remember purchasing at Border’s for viols by Fretwork (Erato, then Virgin) I wasn’t immediately taken by the flavor of his harmonies; furthermore, the aesthetic of melancholy was a difficult one for me to swallow. And here, today, I’m listening to an entire album that is exploring this emotional concept in depth!
Final thoughts
If the 11th track by Luzzaschi is my favorite, then my second fave is the 9th track, the piece once attributed to Heinrich Scheidemann. I’m also always up for more Frescobaldi. These pieces explore an emotional aesthetic that is somewhere caught between sadness and grief, but not to any particularly severe degree. Through Rondeau’s choices in pieces, and his choice in instruments, and finally his consistent approach to these pieces, he’s created a sound world that can be a difficult one to get into. I might hypothesize that this album is somewhat like visiting an intricate garden. You have to commit the time to visit, it won’t be quick. You may survey the garden and see that your favorite flowers aren’t here, it’s not the time of year for them. But there is enough you can see, like the prickly bush represented by the Ballo alla polacha con il suo saltarello by Picchi, that you go forth and begin to explore. As you walk, you’re moved not only by the features of the flora, but by the kind of deep reflection they inspire. And your mind changes as a result. Your pulse relaxes and you start to find beauty in things that at first, well, they may not have appeared so beautiful.
It take me some time to adapt to this recording but it is time to shine the light upon it. My appreciation to Mr. Rondeau for sharing this repertoire with us. His art goes beyond technical prowess, which is on display, but also his emotional depth as a person, which comes through these forgotten gems.
