The Future of Bach's Partitas - Francesco Tristano
Six Partitas - Francesco Tristano
The booklet of this new release from Tristano-Schlimé communicates the artist's desire, he writes, to record all of Bach’s keyboard music. I became aware of his pianistic talents in an earlier release entitled On Early Music, which featured his own compositions alongside music written for virginals. It was a particularly fresh-sounding approach to baroque music, and one that revealed for me his technical ability with clarity and technical facility, especially in the faster passages. The sound of that album, too, was special; the piano and how it was captured is warm, and close, and the first track of that album is an addiction for me.
Introduction and the Partita in B-Flat, BWV 825
This album reveals again the pianist’s traits for me, particularly strong with the faster material. The Gigue from the first partita flies by quickly! The Corrente is much of the same, showcasing the merits of his fleet fingers. But what is also apparent, especially so when we’re bedazzled, one could say, by the articulation, is that there isn’t a strong sense of phrase or a place to, you know, breathe.
Listen to the first of the pair of menuetts. That evenness of playing and consistent tempo is something. There’s some articulation differences, at least dynamically, in the B section. But I was left gasping for air by the time we get to the second dance. Whew! The opening Praeludium is born out of the same aesthetic, I think; the music starts forward and in some way, the entire piece feels like one big phrase. I am not sure how else to describe its effect upon me.
For this review I used an IMSLP copy of Bach’s original published score as I listened. I often do a “drop the needle” preview listen to an album before settling in for more formal listening before sometimes yes, putting my nose in. But following along closely reveals Tristano’s dedication to rendering all of Bach’s notated ornamentation, without going further to introduce his own. (He does, as I'll reveal in the pieces I focus on here, but as a general rule, he seems focused on rendering the score as is, although I can't say he used this original edition.) His touch and quickness with the ornaments, I'll add, is always very clean.
Where I felt Bach was betrayed was in the first partita’s Sarabande. The feel was off, it felt too clean, too removed from the world of this dance, which we’re told emphasizes the second beat. There is seemingly a real literal approach here, meaning, he’s reading what’s on the page with fidelity, but what’s missing is a stylistic element that the score doesn’t convey.
Revisiting András Schiff’s recording of the same movement from his ECM recording is like night and day; Schiff not only places emphasis on the second beat, but he seems to teach us about how to use rubato to give phrasing to the dance, which is all missing in Tristano’s recording. Schiff’s approach is more relaxed and elegant. The same can be said for the Giga, which takes on a lightness with Schiff’s differentiation of attack between the melody notes and the underlying quick harmonic-rhythmic filler notes.
My take away is that I find Schiff’s interpretation more interesting, but then again, he’s also doing some things at the piano that Bach could not have done at a harpsichord. Which makes me wonder if Tristano is limiting his approach for historical reasons?
The Favorite, Partita in E minor, BWV 830
The opening Toccata from this suite is… well, profoundly rich. Tristano mentions this is his favorite partita, and I was interested to see how he rendered this opening movement. As ever, his consistency in articulation and control with consistent tempo in all the repeated figures showcases his amazing technical ability at the keyboard. Really. His comment about the piano, having an amazing sound, comes through and shines here, a Yamaha CFX concert grand.
But… is there a but? I pulled out Igor Levit’s version, from 2014 (Sony). My first impression is that he’s slowed the tempo in order to try and mine the riches within. There’s space to actually take real breaths. This isn’t, by far, my favorite rendition of this movement, because I lean toward the selfish desire to squeeze even more out of the piece, amplifying the fruits of Bach’s invention for all their emotional potential. Levit’s approach is more nuanced, he is showing us the way, but restrains himself. Which, while similar to Tristano, is more nuanced. It’s clear that Levit and Schiff have more in common with one another than either has with Tristano.
The Allemanda again feels like there is some aspect of the feeling the dance missing. What’s rendered is beautiful, and this is where I first detect Tristano adding additional ornamentation in the repeat. He does a small bit again in the B section. Listening to Levit, there’s a lighter approach, one that, despite using pedal, provides short phrase groupings, in alignment with baroque aesthetic, considering small rhythmic groupings as a phrase group. I felt his phrasing gave the shape to this dance that was missing in Tristano’s.
The Corrente goes my quickly, without a repeat. It’s in the Air where I again encounter Tristano adding his own ornamentation in the repeat. I sat back, admiring the departure from the score, and it felt like a rush of wind from outdoors came in and ruffled the page. My imagination aside, I did feel as if Tristano really loves this dance, and if I’m right, it was a good thing.
Phrasing is again what differentiates Levit from Tristano in the Tempo di Gavotta. I prefer Tristano’s tempo and his overall heavier dynamic. Levit’s approach, closer to a dance, with more elegance.
There’s something extremely modern in Bach’s final dance, a Gigue. Somehow the flavor of the theme reminds me of a portion of Beethoven’s Hammerklavier sonata. Like the opening Toccata, however, I feel Tristano is not willing to try and exploit the theme’s weight in his interpretation. I tried out Mahan Esfahani’s rendition on harpsichord, in which both his instrument’s character and his own touch mimics to some degree Tristano’s fine hand control and articulation style, but Esfahani plays a bit with tempo, around the presentations of the theme, giving us a little easier way to hear each entrance and how the atmosphere of sound changes with each. Then I wanted to hear how Gould approached this same piece; Gould plays with a post-baroque sense of phrasing by going long with a crescendo; like Esfahani, he also groups the shorter phrases in a way that we get a regular pulse to breathe by.
Tristano’s approach seems to push the envelope in terms of overall tempo, which showcases his technical skill. But again, I feel like the music is all going by so quickly without an opportunity to breathe within the spaces of the music’s phrasing. Because there isn’t a lot of phrasing!
Partita in C minor, BWV 826
The opening movement, marked Sinfonia, is interesting in that it is quite explicit for building in spaces for breath. The opening seems like it would be at home in a cathedral, played at a large organ, with the opportunity to enjoy the reverb of the space. Tristano dosesn’t just roll over these, but there is, I think, resistance to try and luxuriate in these opening chords and dotted rhythms, even though the spaces for taking a breath are there. The connection to another instrument, a guitar, or lute, is brought out in the way Richard Egarr performs these large opening, arpeggiated chords in his recording on harpsichord for Harmonia Mundi. Tristano’s reluctance to roll is understandable, if you look at the score, which has none of those wavy lines in front of the chords. He reads it, verbatim.
His treatment of the next section, I like, giving consistent emphasis to the right hand’s melodic material. The next section in three comes fast and hard. The fleeting nature of all those 16ths is exhilarating. Tristano is almost forced to showcase the smaller phrase structures by the way Bach put-in spaces, which is what I’ve been longing for in his interpretation. But despite the thrill ride, I felt there was room for more support of the music with phrasing.
The Allemande like the first partita’s sarabande, felt sterile.
The Courante is more successful to my ears, with some dynamic variation in both the right and left hands. My only quip is giving the player and listener a place to breathe.
The Sarabande needs that second beat emphasized as a matter to give shape to the music. Martha Argerich, in her 1980 performance of the Sarabande for DG, plays with what I’d call, again, post-baroque concepts of phrasing, but hey, there’s phrasing! Her interpretation, I think, is both interesting for the dynamics employed and her meandering dynamic inflections. For an even further departure, Pavel Efremov’s recording on écoutez of the Sarabande on accordion is a lesson in phrasing, for sure, if you can take your Saraband with more legato than what’s typical.
Unusual, perhaps, is Bach’s inclusion in the second partita of less popular movements: a rondeau and a capriccio. The Rondeau is perfect for Tristano, and I have no criticism. It demands his gifts and he delivers.
More of the same can be said of the Capriccio, although there are some spots he might have brought out more, with taking a breath here or there, but his technical evenness in touch, not to mention his solid internal clock is what this piece can benefit from. Not perfect, but it has a lot going for it. More my style might be the rendition by Vladmir Feltsman, from his 2013 recording. He adopts a similar tempo to Tristano’s, but he’s also a bit more creative. I get the sense that he’s breathing and it’s evident in the way he groups the various phrases, mostly brought from the right hand. His creativity is spilling over, showcasing that he’s got more than one trick up his sleeve.
Final Thoughts
Tristano-Schlimé’s notes are short, but speak to this release as part of an “Into the future!” aesthetic, which honestly, I am not sure what that means. He speaks to the century of recordings of this work, which tells me, like I have tried to do here, that he’s aware of some of the many recordings made of these works before he committed to recording this exquisite set of Bach’s first opus himself.
What I will say, in terms of artistic integrity, is that he is fairly consistent across this recording with his approach. As sublime as he thought the piano was, it does come across as a real star, honestly, and while I think there is beauty to be had in any number (and age) of pianos, this one is also well-captured by the engineers. The mechanical nature of a piano sometimes fights a player, and I felt here that Tristano’s technical assurance and touch were a great match to this instrument.
Second, there’s artistic integrity in having your own sound and vision and not copying others. There’s little doubt that Tristano could have imitated an Argerich performance, or tried to emulate Schiff. That’s not as high art as pushing your own interpretation forward. For this, I applaud him and we can hear what happens when you rob this music of what I’ve been calling phrasing. But it’s also not a clear ignorance or rejection of historical practice, either. The times he does roll a chord, or articulate ornamentation without it appearing in the score, is tapping into the wealth of knowledge that does not ever appear in a score.
Hearing the music with less intrustion of human phrasing is interesting. It's not as bleak as hearing Bach played back through MIDI files. But its cleanliness is at times jarring. There's a moment in the first partita's sarabande, again, with an ornament placed on a long note (m. 21). Clearly on the harpsichord, you'd keep this going, to sustain the note. When Tristano doesn't, and the left hand moves forward without anything on top, it sounded bizarre. Is it wrong? I can't say. He has the key depressed. But it's a stylistic thing. One could call it ignorance, but I can't insult him. He's clearly a well-versed musician, and not new to Bach's music. He chose to do this, to expose the left hand like that. Why? I can't say.
For me, there’s a very rich, emotional tapestry in Bach’s music, one that is difficult to see or articulate into words, in the same ways we can talk about rhythm, tempo, or dynamics. It’s more theoretical, it is deeply rooted in harmony and how that harmony moves us. But Bach’s genius was to codify this into a personal style. We might say he composed the way he did because he heard it that way as better, as more profound.
While keyboardists aren’t oboists, they do need to breathe and feel the music. While I appreciate having the opportunity to step away from that, I feel Tristano’s profound talents would be amplified if he took a more holistic approach to his playing and allow himself those moments to breathe. It’s how I find how to phrase music, even if it’s not rooted in historical practice.
As I’ve tried to illustrate by pulling from both HIPP and non-HIPP examples, it’s that personality around rubato, phrasing, and even articulation that makes a performance interesting. I am not convinced that beyond the novelty of the approach here, that listeners will find long interest in this approach.
You are of course free to disagree. Instead of avoiding this album, I think it’s worth your time. Tristano is, as I have said, an extraordinary player. But as he looks forward into the future, I hope he finds he is able to further refine his personal style and push in those areas where Bach’s music whispers to us to reveal with nuance, elegance, and flair. Tristano knows flair well. It’s the other elements that perhaps haven’t yet fallen into place to the same degree.
