Biber: Sonatas from 1681 (Ars Antiqua Austria)
In what appears to be a blood-splattered release from this January, Gunar Letzbor and his Ars Antiqua Austria have re-recorded the eight sonatas by H.I.F. von Biber, C. 138-145 on Pan Classics. My first knowledge of these works came during my college years with an album that I think put Biber on the map for many, the two-disc set on Harmonia Mundi by Romanesca, led by violinist Andrew Manze. I can remember the set well, and where it was positioned, at the Borders Books and Music in Rochester, New York. It wasn’t the first recording of music by Biber, but as it was, it became my first.
Letzbor recorded his set of the eight sonatas in 1994, which I hadn’t seen in the U.S. It was re-released by Pan Classics in 2011. Like Manze’s recording, Letzbor’s included the Sonata Representativa. It’s not surprising to me that Letzbor wanted to re-record this set, as he did the same in re-recording Biber’s more oft-recorded Mystery Sonatas. His liner notes suggest that the 1681 one set is harder to perform, and that is why fewer have recorded the set.
In 2001, Huggett recorded some of the sonatas on ASV Gaudeamus, which I enjoyed. Also of note is the set by Plamena Nikitassova and Les Eléméns on CPO. The other Brit aside from Huggett to record from the set includes John Holloway. I also think Anton Steck recorded at least some of these, with strong interpretations.
Letzbor may be one of the most qualified to re-interpret the works, given his long association with baroque music from Biber’s time and location. The detailed liner notes, which cover each sonata, are a worthy read. What stood out from these notes, near the end, is mention of their recording location in Austria in what I believe is best described as a monastery, one with a bell tower. They mentioned that at first they tried recording takes between the chimes but eventually left some of the appearances of the bells in the recording. I did not notice them upon first listen using loudspeakers, but when re-auditioning the album with headphones, they snuck in here and there. Odd, I think, but their appearance doesn’t detract from the recording. They may, of course, lend a flavor of authenticity to the project.
Over the years, Letzbor has made some esoteric choices in his interpretations. Which left me rapt with curiosity about what he might have to say in this new release. I might start by saying that his first recording, which I have never formally reviewed, is characterized by nice phrasing from the violin part, phrase lengths appropriate for this style of music, with emphasis around shorter groups of notes. The overall approach meets expectations for high art or “classical music,” by which I mean, despite the powerful affect of the music, the performers never attempt to sound like the reincarnation of a Jimi Hendrix concert.
Sonata in E minor, C. 142
Hendrix doesn’t always appear, but Letzbor’s approach in this new release is different from the one in the mid-1990s. As in other albums, he’s apt to really draw some phrases out. They are often boldly contrasted by a following section that moves oppositely, very swiftly. A good sonata to start with may be the sixth in E minor, which starts the second disc. The Allegro is played in what almost sounds like half-time, compared to what I recall from the likes of Huggett. An ostinato can build over time, but the opening figure gets special emphasis from Letzbor with its repetitive intonation of the same note, recalling for me, a large bell. This slower empo isn’t the only thing that stands out, the intensity of the playing of the bass part throughout the second movement (more rightly it’s the second track) is definitely deliberate. The section marked Presto comes at you full-bore, fortissimo from the violin and equally loud from the basso continuo. The gravitas with volume is there, but the sense of a “presto” is lost. When the line for violin becomes a bit more histrionic (more fast notes) the affective energy still conveys. But then all stops quite abruptly; the piece’s coda, marked Aria in the booklet, is the only portion of the playing that doesn’t seem slowed down; instead it comes at a decent clip.
As a comparison, the recording of the 5th sonata is nearly 2 minutes longer than the rendition performed by Manze; and three minutes longer than the 1994 rendition by Letzbor! The variations as read by Manze to my ears are dance like, and the multiple runs convey the piece’s virtuosic nature. I don’t want to make this review one of infinite comparisons, but at least with the E minor sonata, re-listening to the Manze after at least ten years, is my preferred interpretation, over this new one.
Sonata in D minor, C. 139
The opening is a blurry, intense introduction with cascades of notes. Letzbor plays them more or less equally, all intensely. It’ll grab your attention. But what’s lacking is any strong sense of phrasing or dynamic variation.
The same effect is adopted in the opening of the Variatio which is astonishing, almost mechanical in style, as if no breathing is required by the performer. There is a very connected style Letzbor is using, with few breaks where one might break to simulate the breath required if singing. It is very intentional, I think, but I cannot speak as to why. It carries through to the fourth track.
A little Hendrix comes out of the woodwork in the fifth movement, which is played to fill the entire church with his intensity in articulation. The dramatic playing is even more arresting in the finale, which is somewhat diminished for me with the intensity of the organ’s sound. The ending comes almost abruptly, which made me feel uneasy. The ringing bells of the monastery fill the remainder of the track.
When I went back to Letzbor’s original recording, the opening was not too far removed from the one I’d just listened to, save for the fact that it’s treated to some phrasing and variation in tempo. Ultimately, I feel this original approach was more musically satisfying.
The variations are spellbindingly quick in the original version, too, but the balance between violin and continuo is better balanced. The variation in dynamics, the presence of clear phrasing, and the recognition of different moods speaks to the stylus phantasticus approach in Biber’s writing. The machine-like approach I mention above isn’t present in the earlier recording. The new recording, given the attention of an anthropologist a hundred years from now might be connected to the state of the world right now, which might be described as post-pandemic disquiet. Or maybe I read too much news daily about American politics. The ending? Equally unexpected, but for slightly different reasons. (Manze, too, can’t escape what I will admit is a strange ending, but does better, to my ears, in attempting it to not sound so abrupt.)
Sonata in D major, C. 141
The seemingly simple opening to this sonata is made more complex by the double stopping. The tuning provides a very sunny effect, maybe one more often associated with G major. Letzbor grabs our attention with the strong accents applied in the downbeats of the Gigue. It’s the kind of fiddling that likely would pull everyone in an audience inward to the running series of notes. The following Più presto keeps our feet tapping. The segue into the big mood change (sixth part) comes abruptly, but did it need to?
Letzbor does provides some phrasing support in the ninth section, marked Aria. The endings of the phrases played first time around come with double stops which he over-accents. The effect is a wake-up.
The Finale is full of glorious flourishes which undoubtedly confirm BIber’s place as not only as virtuosic composer but, as Letzbor argues in the liner notes, a successful and very capable violinist. The interpretation by Nikitassova (Released in fall, 2022) of the same finale for me was a good comparison. I was left feeling that Letzbor’s performance lacked a strong direction on how to put the ending into context, to phrase it in a musically coherent way. Plamena Nikitassova, I think, better succeeds at the task.
Sonata in G, C. 145 & Final Remarks
Letzbor is (at least) consistent in his musical approach across this album; the opening of the second part of the G major sonata (C. 145) felt again, elongated. Then there are parts that aren’t consistent. In the G major sonata again, in the third part, he does apply some dynamic contrast to what we recognized as the “echo” effects with repeated phrases. This I liked!
As with former recordings by this group, there are often moments of what I’ve in the past thought of as strong masculine energy. I toyed with calling it the “Jimi Hendrix” effect here, which isn’t a perfect analogy of course, but the concept of a loud electric guitar is at least enough in the neighborhood. Another example too appears in this eighth sonata, listen to the 24th track, marked Allegro.
The variety of continuo used is nice; Letzbor makes the case in the booklet for the use of bass lutes which make multiple appearances. There are times, I think, that the balance comes into question, typically with when the organ is employed. It’s not a deal breaker, but as I noted above, the balance in Letzbor’s earlier recording was more transparent and put the violin in some cases a tad more forward, however authentic that was, I cannot say.
My criticism of Letzbor’s performance style started with his two recordings of music by Pandolfi, which I felt were almost exploited for drama that seemed artificially placed upon the music. That said, I did not listen to these with a score in hand and I am also not a violinist. As well, I haven’t had the experience Letzbor has, in recording and performing these works many times, finding, I’m guessing, new insight and possibilities over time.
However, I still hold the opinion that his earlier recording, which is now available for streaming on Pan Classics alongside this new release, is my preferred interpretation. Letzbor is a strong player, in terms of conviction and in this recording I feel he’s putting a stress test on the music to see what happens when we slow things down, when we push the energy relentlessly, and push the violin to its limits sonically. The choices he makes are sometimes a bit shocking, at least, for me, if you’ve built up any aural memory of what these pieces can also sound like.
I want to say, given that set as a whole isn’t representative of the way I want to hear these pieces, that pushing things into new directions, even to the point of stress, is a noble exercise in musical performance. It’s the only way, I think, that we make progress in understanding the music’s potential. Alongside that, trying to find solutions around performance when we often have more questions than definitive answers.
You may find this new approach fresh, but I too often turned nostalgic for the past.
