Opera Lafayette, "Idomeneo"

Opera began as a lavish form of court entertainment. Its creators were intellectuals, egg-headed academics who were trying to resurrect the ancient Greek tragedy. Its main patrons and consumers were members of the noble class, supporters of the humanist intelligentsia. In the palazzi of Florence and Rome, in the châteaux of France, operas were one-time pull-out-all-the-stops performances, often the centerpiece of a vast private spectacle, lasting all night, with food, dancing, costumes, masks, intrigue, drinking, and general hoopla, all meant to transport the ruler's guests into another world and impress them with the depth of his purse.

How long did one of these operas -- created by a hopeful, talented young composer named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the Munich residence of the Elector of Bavaria in 1781 -- last at its first and only performance until centuries later? As we learned from Opera Lafayette's integral recreation of Idomeneo last night at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center in College Park, about four hours. The relatively full house dwindled at each intermission, until by the end, the audience could barely applaud long enough to see the singers off the stage. Spectators and performers alike raced for the parking lot, only to be caught by a sudden, drenching cloudburst.

I am one of those egg-headed academics, too, an idealist who in the interest of musical reconstruction believes that Idomeneo without the ballets makes about as much sense as Leonardo's Last Supper with three of the outermost apostles cropped out of the picture. Yes, we can still understand the story, but it's not the whole story. The fear of driving away listeners with attention deficit disorder is a real fear -- I overheard the arguments of a group of people who were trying to decide whether to leave at the first intermission. As this concert performance gave them a few moments of boredom, they left. Part of the problem was that we had all of the music, but not enough of the spectacle. It is high time for an opera company to invite Opera Lafayette for a residency in its theater, as is now more and more the standard practice in Europe. (You know, a performance of Opera Lafayette in this place could be very nice.) Think more feasting and extravagance and less reverent, silent concert attitude. If Opera Lafayette had given these bored listeners some ice cream and a staged performance, they would have stayed.

Other Reviews: Tom Huizenga, A Grand 'Idomeneo' From Ambitious Little Lafayette (Washington Post, June 5) John Wall, Review of Mozart, Idomeneo by Opera Lafayette with the New York Baroque Dance Company (NewOlde.com, June 6)

Musically, however, this production receives generally high marks, under the lilting, buoyant guidance of conductor Ryan Brown. The Opera Lafayette orchestra was supposedly playing on the same number of instruments as used at the premiere and on versions of them similar to those used at the time. The result, as usual, is an instrumental scale appropriate to the singers in this kind of intimate space, so they do not have to do much to force the vocal production. The players are all specialists on these difficult and sometimes unpredictable instruments, and the playing was tasteful and almost free of blemish. (Minor ensemble problems surfaced at points, as some sections of the opera sounded more thoroughly rehearsed than others.) The two flutes have an exquisite, spectral sound, outpacing their colleagues on the oboes, who were good except for occasional lapses (there were a few in the violins, too). The brass were generally excellent, with a few splats in the horns. My only question is where are the trombones that are supposed to accompany the supernatural La Voce of Neptune? The scene can hardly be a tribute to Gluck (and Monteverdi before him) with only horns and woodwinds.

What spectacle this performance did have was provided by members of the New York Baroque Dance Company, who danced in the space in front of the musicians during the ballet music. As noted in the program notes, there is no surviving choreography from the Munich performance, so these dances are inspired guesswork. If you need visual proof of my old saw, that dance music from the 17th and 18th centuries needs a constant rhythmic pulse -- even when stylized as in the Bach suites -- you need only watch and listen to this combination of music and movement for about 30 seconds. The dancing was generally graceful and visually diverse. The only disappointment was the monster that is supposed to rampage through Crete killing people, here depicted by three dancers with pieces of purple fabric. Where were the horrible teeth and the taloned claws?

The voice of Kirsten Blaise (Ilia) should probably be characterized as a lyric soprano or soubrette, with pure and golden tone in the high range and not much in the middle. She sang those money notes all night long, with exceptional beauty, although she was completely covered at other times. (Her reduced volume may be related to the hacking cough we heard from her in the third act.) I was most impressed with the dramatic flair and vocal power of mezzo-soprano Stephanie Houtzeel as Idamante, the role created by castrato Vincenzo del Prato. This is a voice that has edge and tension but none of that overly throaty quality you sometimes hear in mezzo-sopranos. The only negative point was her mannerisms -- conducting herself on long lines, aiming for notes with her forefinger and thumb in a circle. These are singer's affectations that should be left in the studio. The other female lead, Elettra, is the fun role, with an aria calling on the Furies for vengeance in Act I and one of the most memorable exits in the third act, when she collapses in jealous rage. Soprano Millicent Scarlett was a powerhouse in this performance, although she seemed a little tenuous in the first act and really warmed up later.

Also on Ionarts: Opera on DVD: "Idomeneo" (May 31, 2006) Jean-Paul Fouchécourt, Opera Lafayette (February 13, 2006) Opera Lafayette at La Maison Française (December 19, 2005) Opera Lafayette at Hillwood (October 2, 2005) Sacchini's Œdipe à Colone (May 15, 2005) Lully's Acis et Galatée (February 22, 2005) Opera Lafayette (January 23, 2005)

We last heard tenor Robert Breault (Idomeneo) in Washington Concert Opera's Esclarmonde. He has a strong voice with lovely high notes that he can sing softly or loudly, as at the end of his first aria and in the cadenza to a high C D in his Act II aria. At the same time, he has a masticatory style of Italian diction, chewing on some words and sometimes scooping up to notes. It is also not a particularly agile voice, as we heard on the few melismatic passages. Company favorites Robert Baker and Tony Boutté did fine work as the High Priest and Arbace, respectively. Bass François Loup sang much of the night in the chorus and then prophesied from on high, in the balcony, as the voice of Neptune (but sadly not with trombones).

Mozart became acquainted with the famous Mannheim orchestra and many of its players during an earlier visit there. He included a few of the stock sonic effects for which the orchestra was famous, including a great example of the Mannheim Walze (rolls), a notorious long crescendo and decrescendo associated with the orchestra, at the end of one of the choral ballet numbers, and some fantastic brass swells in Elettra's final aria. His comfort with and knowledge of the individual players and singers helped him create a fine score, during this time in Munich which he described as one of the happiest in his life. The wildly positive reaction of the audience and the Elector of Bavaria to Idomeneo must be related to the promise that they heard in the score. If it were the best Mozart had composed, it would be an achievement, but of course he went on to immortal greatness. Still, in the quartetto Andrò ramingo e solo, sung here by four beautiful and well-matched (and well-rehearsed) voices, we hear the kernel of Mozart's greatest ensembles.

Next season, Opera Lafayette will perform a concert version of a favorite opera, Lully's Armide, in conjunction with Maryland Opera Studio's staged production of Gluck's Armide, which uses an adapted version of the same libretto. They are calling this the Armide Project. I think that Opera Lafayette should also perform the music for the court ballet Ballet de la délivrance de Renault (1617), a critical edition of which I am currently working on, and if they need a lecturer on the operatic life of the Armide story, I will be waiting by the phone.

Damien Hirst, Virgin Mother

Millionaire shock artist Damien Hirst, recently named Most Powerful Person in the International Art World and Lord of Toddington Manor, is stirring things up again. He has done a second version of his statue Virgin Mother, which has just been installed in London. His first version of this sculpture is on display at Lever House in New York, and it was pilloried in an apocalyptic article by Jerry Saltz for Artnet. BBC News has a report (Hirst statue unveiled in London, May 22):

A 35ft-tall, 13-and-a-half-ton Damien Hirst statue revealing the insides of a pregnant woman has been unveiled at the Royal Academy of Arts in London. The Virgin Mother has layers removed on one side to reveal the foetus and the woman's skull, muscles and tissue. The BBC News website was given first look at the statue, part of the gallery's Summer Exhibition, From Life. Head of the exhibition Edith Devaney said: "It will be very interesting to see people's reactions." The bronze statue, recalling Edgar Degas's Little Dancer, dominates the courtyard in front of the gallery, and is visible from Piccadilly where passers by stopped to look as a crane hoisted it into place on Monday. "This is the first piece people encounter on the way into the exhibition, and it says everything about the theme," Ms Devaney told the BBC News website. "I don't think people will be upset by it - I think it's still very beautiful. Because there is a baby involved, it is very life-affirming."

It was difficult to cast something this huge in bronze, and it is apparently one of the largest bronze statues in the world. To keep it from collapsing under its own weight, certain delicate parts have been reinforced with a stainless steel skeleton. The Summer Exhibition is open from June 12 to August 20.

The Degas comparison is an interesting one, but the subject matter reminded me of Leonardo's drawings. Part of the shock of this piece is its anatomical focus, something like a vivisection, amplified by its massive scale. Although they were never meant for public consumption, Leonardo did make several sketches in his notebooks from anatomical studies on all sorts of interesting human subjects, including a fetus in the womb, a man and woman in the sexual act, the position of fetuses in utero, and a woman's viscera. Then again, Leonardo sketched a lot of crazy things, but the point I am making is that beauty is not only skin deep.

The Mariinsky Ballet Dances Balanchine

As a part of the XIV International Arts Festival “Stars of the White Nights” currently underway in St. Petersburg, the Mariinsky Ballet Company paid tribute to its most famous alumnus – one of the greatest choreographers of the 20th century and a St. Petersburg native – George Balanchine. For decades Balanchine’s name had been blacklisted in Russia. Only in the late 1980s did the Mariinsky Ballet begin exploring his choreographic heritage and learn to dance à la Balanchine, mastering his classical steps and distinct movement vocabulary. The all-Balanchine program presented on May 23 at the Mariinsky Theater included three ballets from three different creative periods of the choreographer: The Serenade (1935), La Valse (1951), and Ballet Imperial (1941).


Serenade is a music-inspired ballet set to Tchaikovsky’s Serenade in C Major for String Orchestra. This is the first ballet Balanchine created in America and still one of his most popular and widely performed works. Pure dance without a storyline, it allows the audience to create its own interpretation of what happens on stage. Watching the simple, very classical choreography, I felt like I was watching a presentation of young ballerinas demonstrating their dancing talents. The opening reveals seventeen ballerinas in light blue long tulle frocks standing against a blue background with dimmed light creating the atmosphere of mystery and tranquility. This is one of the most beautiful scenes choreographed by Balanchine for the corps de ballet. The performances of soloists Xenia Ostreikovskay, Yekaterina Osmolkina, and Sofia Gumerova were most impressive. The male soloists Denis Firsov and Sergei Popov were technically impeccable at turning, supporting, lifting, and carrying ballerinas about the stage. But the real star was the Mariinsky’s corps de ballet, demonstrating unity of movements, expressiveness, artistry, and absolutely flawless technique.

Balanchine’s La Valse is more than just a dance: it’s a spectacle, it’s a ballroom drama. The first part of the ballet is set to Ravel’s Valses nobles et sentimentales (which were originally designed to become the ballet Adelaïde) with the first waltz played as an overture. Each of the following waltzes is danced by a formally dressed couple or a group of soloists. The ballerinas are wearing long romantic red and black skirts with silver tulle, while their partners were all in black (costumes designed by frequent Balanchine collaborator Barbara Karinska). A couple (Daria Pavlenko, Ilya Kuznetsov) finds happiness with each other in a waltz until an outsider (a figure invoking Death) intrudes, charming, seducing, misguiding the girl into a final waltz that costs her her life. The corps de ballet was superb in this magnificent dramatic spectacle. Daria Pavlenko, one of the company’s truly outstanding principals, danced with a gentle, ethereal grace. (She can be seen in Washington dancing Giselle at the Kennedy Center on June 16.)

Set to Tchaikovsky’s second piano concerto and coming after the darkness of La Valse, Ballet Imperial is a relief and lifts the spirits. This homage to imperial St. Petersburg and its Grand Imperial Ballet presents Balanchine’s choreography at its best. The company’s star, Uliana Lopatkina, danced the leading role of the Queen, while Irina Golub was the Crown Princess. Watching Lopatkina dance effortlessly, it was hard to believe that she was dealing with the most challenging and technically demanding choreography in Balanchine’s repertory. The ensemble performed brilliantly, proving time and again what the Mariinsky Ballet is rightly famous for – its Grand Imperial Corps de Ballet.

This month the Kirov (Mariinsky) Ballet is coming to Washington, D.C., where it will present a program titled “William Forsythe Masterworks” (June 13 – 15) and the ever popular Giselle (June 16 - 18) in the Kennedy Center Opera House.

Generous Beethoven Helpings from Kurt Masur

Kurt Masur (thankfully healthy again), all torso that he is and appearing several inches taller than he actually measures, towers over an orchestra; by name and stature anyway but also by sheer physical presence. The natural posture of leadership he assumes must be what does the trick. Bring his name up among recording enthusiasts, meanwhile, and he will provoke little more than a prolonged yawn – at best he is ascribed “utter competence” or said to be a Kapellmeister of the first order, excellent Tchaikovsky (Teldec) and good Mendelssohn (Eurodisc) notwithstanding. “Too German even for German repertoire” is the damning quip. His Beethoven symphony cycle (on Philips and restored onto SACD by Pentatone) is considered more solid than inspired. In person, however, there aren’t many conductors of his rank and Beethoven expertise to be found. The way he led the National Symphony Orchestra in an all-Beethoven program Thursday night only underscored that.

Other Reviews: Tim Page, NSO Blossoms With Kurt Masur And Beethoven (Washington Post, June 1)

The concert opened with the third of the Leonore overtures, the sublime proto-tone poem that encapsulates the story of Fidelio so well, that Beethoven ultimately decided not to use it. Leonore III has not suffered for it; it is now a staple in the concert hall and usually wedged into opera performances as well; it’s just music too good not to hear. The gravely proceeding rendition of Masur and the NSO was audibly trying to go for more than just the notes; dynamics were tended to with much care and the off-stage trumpets brought that palpable sense of hope and relief to the accumulating darkness of the music’s drama.

In comparison to that overture, the classical 1st Symphony – even in as substantial and dignified reading as Masur gave it – offered glimpses at a genius in the making; a composer with much to say, but not yet quite ready to articulate it. Usually the work’s debts to the symphonies of Haydn and Mozart are played out more overtly – here the gravitas of “Beethoven” already hung thick over it. The result was impressive if leaving the impression of the symphony as a poser: pretending to be the real thing without quite offering enough of its own substance to justify it.

Being asked to pick your favorite Beethoven symphony is a bit akin to being asked which of your children you love most. Maybe there is one that comes to mind – but only at the price of feeling guilty leaving out another. Even leaving aside the two earlier works, one cannot say “three” without thinking “four,” “six” without wishing to have said “seven.” The way out is to announce to love best whichever one currently hears. And the 7th Symphony certainly makes that very easy, full of contrast as it is, with its abundance of light and darkness.

With Masur, it was a bit more on the dark than the light side; brooding and broad the first movement alone. The playing, generally good that night if not technically exemplary (although one wondered how the NSO could have read much of anything from Masur’s suggestive, rather than precise, hand movements) was emotionally charged and well above the autopilot mode they’ve been caught in a few too many times with Slatkin this season. Even if the brass had occasional glitches and sounded bright/borderline brittle (strident trumpets, though), it was a big-boned, traditional, and eminently pleasing performance. Slightly faster – actually Allegretto – than expected in the funereal second, ostensibly slow, movement, Masur offered delicate shadings and dynamics; no repetition of a theme ever occurring as the one before it. Although tenderness and lyrical moments were well present, the conception felt mostly sturdy; the weight of history and reverence on its shoulders here as in the other movements. Driven and explosive but not ‘light on its toes’ – hence purveying aggressiveness more than gaiety – was the third movement before Masur throned over the rest of a regal Presto. The accumulating power of the fourth movement came with consequent glory and fanfares, was weighty, and very (self-)important.

This was Beethoven with an extra layer of Beethoven on top, not recasting the symphony before our ears but a splendid, unabashedly old-fashioned reading instead. One that should well be able to give Washington audiences some of the finest central European, traditional Beethoven they have heard in a while, be it at 1.30PM today or on Saturday at 8PM (apparently sold out: call the box office directly).

Jonathan Carney and the BSO in Khachaturian and Tchaikovsky

This account from Strathmore was kindly contributed by Ionarts guest reviewer John Henry Crosby.

Jonathan Carney arouses different emotions among those who listen to him and watch him – and if he raises others’ ire, I am a fan of his playing and leadership. This is not less true even after his somewhat troubled performance of Aram Khachaturian’s Violin Concerto with the Baltimore Symphony at Strathmore Thursday night.

While technique must always be at the service of artistry, it ought still be remarked that Mr. Carney, while offering great technical command, did not pull the concerto off quite flawlessly. Minor — very minor — lapses of intonation as well as occasional lack of clarity (in the most demanding passage work) and projection kept it some distance from perfection. At least the problem of projection was not entirely Mr. Carney’s fault. Maestro Yuri Temirkanov might well have done a better job to adjust his seemingly overbearing orchestra to his soloist’s size of tone; different violinists project to varying degrees and Mr. Carney was at times drowned out.

Despite my great admiration of Carney, I can’t say that I was “convinced” by Mr. Carney. He did not reach me. And the reason for this was not a missing intention to communicate but certain overly sculpted, overly calculated, overly technical aspects of his performance. I kept thinking how admirably he made use of his bow here, how velvety his tone there, how remarkable his technique in general. But in all of this, the world of the Khachaturian concerto did not come alive for me. The middle of the second movement – that seemingly endless passage in which the muted solo violin has a yearning, searching, plaintive song against the soft, lilting orchestral accompaniment – although played with great feeling, was lacking that icy desolation that slowly grows into unbearable intensity (Henryk Szeryng comes to mind).

The second half of Thursday’s concert featured the Manfred Symphony, the great and too rarely performed symphony/tone poem by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Perhaps the most important accomplishment of a concert performance is to make better known a piece of such magnificence and caliber. Technically, Manfred is extremely demanding, and the musicians of the BSO met the challenge by playing tremendously. The difficult second movement was executed with tremendous élan, and throughout the entire performance there were transcendent moments, especially in the lyrical string passages: truly vintage Tchaikovsky. At the same time, it was not one of those inspired, once-in-a-lifetime concerts. That sense of inner necessity, in which the audience and the orchestra become one, just never came into Strathmore Hall.

This same program will be repeated on Friday and Saturday, June 2nd and 3rd, at 8pm and on Sunday, June 4th, at 3pm at Meyerhoff Symphony Hall in Baltimore.

Cindy Sherman in Paris

The French museum of photography in the Jeu de Paume has just opened the most important retrospective of Cindy Sherman in history, and also the first ever in France. It contains some 200 of Sherman's trademark self-portraits, in which she is disguised as anyone from a Botticelli madonna to a film noir heroine. I have just read the review by Françoise Dargent (Le grand album de Cindy Sherman, June 1) for Le Figaro (my translation):

The exhibit allows you to follow the evolution of an artist who has affirmed the singularity of her work from the start by combining photography with performance art. In the series called Murder Mystery, we see the photographer playing all kinds of roles. With the help of makeup and accessories -- a raincoat, a cigarette, a hat, glasses -- Cindy Sherman becomes one by one a maid, a detective, a vamp, a bad boy, an elegant man. The black and white instant photographs come one after the other and only the viewer's imagination puts together the film of the events in its own way.

At the end of the 70s, the artist refined this method and broke new ground with a series called Untitled Film Stills. Showing scenes from American B movies, they were related to still film shots. They place Cindy Sherman on the set in very diverse costumes, backgrounds, attitudes. Cindy is sleeping, cries, dreams, waits, smokes, fixes her hair. You start to scrutinize the images to reveal something about them. There is precious little information, except for the name of a town, Flagstaff, on one of the shots. [...]

We see her face again in the most recent work. It has aged as have her characters. In the series Hollywood-Hampton types (2000-2002), she becomes "failed or forgotten actors posing for headshots." The makeup and clothing make these faces of aging women pitiful. It's a cruel gesture, but the point is effective yet again. The question of appearance to others, so tangible in today's society, is at the center of her thought. The awesome power of images is identified as such correctly.

Cindy Sherman is open in Paris until September 3.

Just What Are the Bach Cello Suites?

Other Bach Suite Recordings on Ionarts: Yo-Yo Ma (1983 and 2000, heard live in 2006) Mischa Maisky (1985 and 2000, heard live in 2004) Matt Haimovitz (2000) Pierre Fournier (1977) Pieter Wispelway (1998)

Following on our monumental assault on the Goldberg Variations, I wanted to write about some more recent recordings of the Bach solo cello suites. I wrote recently about the recordings of Yo-Yo Ma and Matt Haimovitz, and Jens has reviewed several others (see the links at right). They are seminal works, and it is really not unusual for people to own more than one version. I have been listening to two more that are off the beaten path but that I think are worth serious consideration. Of course, if we are to believe one recent theory, J. S. Bach did not even compose the cello suites. As reported by Vivien Schweitzer (Australian Academic Claims Bach's Wife Wrote the Cello Suites, April 24) for PlaybillArts, an Australian scholar named Martin Jarvis is proposing that they are actually the work of the composer's second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach:

Jarvis first studied the Bach Cello Suites as a student at the Royal Academy of Music in London. Speaking about the works in an interview on Australia's ABC radio, he said, "[The suites] don't sound musically mature. It sounds like an exercise, and you have to work incredibly hard to make it sound like a piece of music." In 2001, Jarvis, the son of a policeman father, learned how to conduct forensic testing of the handwriting on Bach's manuscripts. In the radio interview, he said he "found things that didn't make sense, and seemed to go in conflict with the current thinking on Bach's handwriting. I found Anna Magdalena's handwriting in places where it shouldn't have been. In other words, assuming that the idea that it's her handwriting is correct, then it's in places where we really shouldn't be finding it."

Most musicologists who have expressed an opinion agree that this theory is untenable, so we don't have to give up another Bach work to some other composer quite yet. Yes, the suites are found in a manuscript written by Anna Magdalena (and named for her), but she copied lots of her husband's works. The suites are found in other manuscript sources, as well. However, Yo Tomita, who is a very respected authority on Bach, is reportedly waiting to hear more, so that is worth considering, especially since Jarvis implicates not only the cello suites as possibly composed by Anna Magdalena, but also the aria of the Goldberg Variations and the first prelude of the Well-Tempered Clavier first volume. Can we live in a world where those pieces were not composed by J. S. Bach?

Available on Amazon: J. S. Bach, The Six Cello Suites, Paolo Pandolfo, viola da gamba (released on September 25, 2001)

Bach actually wrote works for the viola da gamba, an instrument that was definitely at the declining end of its lifespan in the first half of the 18th century. He composed the six suites for the cello, or rather for a few variations of the Baroque cello, most for four strings in different tunings, and one suite for an instrument with five strings. The precedents for these pieces, however, are in the virtuosic solo works for viola da gamba, especially those by French composers. (This is probably why the annotations in the Anna Magdalena manuscript are in French.) For this ingenious CD, viola da gamba virtuoso Paolo Pandolfo (whom I heard at Dumbarton Oaks in January) decided to play the Bach cello suites as if they were pieces for the viola da gamba. As he acknowledges in the liner notes, he has transposed the keys of some of the suites, to make them more suitable for the viola da gamba. This is a little anachronistic -- transcribing a work for an instrument that antedates the score -- and there are sections that do not work well. However, I have the sense listening to this recording that Bach was indeed writing for an instrument (or instruments, more on that below) significantly different from the modern cello, and the viola da gamba can realize many of those sounds.

For example, the deepest notes that Bach writes, often as pedal notes or even chords and written as short notes at the start of each measure, often sound very dry and short on the cello. The French viola da gamba, after Monsieur de Sainte-Colombe, often had an extra seventh, very low string, and suddenly those low notes in the ring out and hang in the air underneath as Bach wanted (good examples are in the prelude of the first suite, where the initial notes of each arpeggiated group continue to resonate, and that famous extended pedal G toward the end of the third suite's prelude). Much of the arpeggiated figuration can be handled much faster on the viola da gamba, too, where the sound is much lighter and more spidery (as in the preludes of the second and fourth suites). This fleetness serves Pandolfo quite well in the courantes (as in the first suite). All of the special dance movements -- menuets in nos. 1 and 2, bourrées in nos. 3 and 4, and gavottes in nos. 5 and 6 -- are particularly light-footed and balletic.

The strings and bow of Pandolfo's viola da gamba allow for much greater possibilities than the cello at the soft end of the dynamic spectrum. Pandolfo uses this advantage to create contrast on repeats, which he usually takes (as in the very soft Gigue of the first suite, repeated in a louder and filled-out version). One of the most effective contrasts is in the sarabande of the fourth suite, where the first statement of both sections is in the most charming pizzicato (not marked in the score, of course, but I don't care). Another good example where the softness is an advantage is in the difficult allemande of the sixth suite, a page clouded with 32nd notes, rendered so lightly and effortlessly by Pandolfo, as is the similarly difficult gigue.

Pandolfo calls his versions "adaptations," and he has changed quite a few parts of the score, often actually adding rather than taking away. Single notes often become thirds, and he tends to add chords where Bach could only imply them on the cello (lots of examples in the allemande of the third suite). It all sounds like it comes from the score. This is a highly ornamented performance, too, which is something I miss in all those repeats on many recordings. Years of playing Baroque music lead Pandolfo, quite appropriately, to double dot the French ouverture of the fifth suite prelude and to modify to notes inégales in that suite's courante. The only part of this recording that I could do without is the lengthy extra booklet that contains a text by Pandolfo, Un Libro Antico, an "imaginary dialogue between a violincello and a viola da gamba." The idea is interesting and has plenty of Baroque antecedents, but it is ultimately unnecessary.

The sixth suite is the one that causes real problems, and some of the very high notes, especially in the prelude, are difficult to realize (it was written for a violoncello piccolo). However, in that same prelude, Pandolfo is able to realize the big chords toward the end, which are written as eighth notes, as whispers. His is one of the few performances I know where those chords are actually rendered as eighth notes. I can attest from hearing Pandolfo live -- at Dumbarton Oaks, where I was so close that I could have reached out and pulled the instrument from his hands -- that this is a soft instrument. It would never carry in a room like the Kennedy Center Concert Hall, where Yo-Yo Ma recently played three of the Bach suites. So, the mikes are placed close to Pandolfo, and we hear a lot of noise from the fingerboard and the player's sighs and breathing sounds. For that reason, the sound may not please everyone. For any listener obsessed with the Bach cello suites, however, these discs are worth hearing.

J. S. Bach, The Six Cello Suites, Bruno Cocset (released on October 13, 2003)

Bach composed the sixth suite for an instrument that is definitely not like the modern cello, an instrument with five strings, as indicated by the open-string annotation that precedes the score in the manuscript. What Bach had in mind was probably the violoncello piccolo, a small version of the cello that had a fifth, high melodic string. In listening to many performances of the suites, I have often thought that it would certainly be better to hear the sixth suite on the instrument Bach wanted rather than forcing it to work on the modern cello. French cellist Bruno Cocset, a former student of Christophe Coin, took this impulse to an extravagant degree, performing the six suites on four different instruments. He worked with luthier Charles Riché, advising him on choices of instruments on which modern reconstructions could be based, matching the sounds and set-up of each instrument to the demands of particular suites. The recording is apparently no longer available in the United States, but it can be acquired directly from Europe.

The main problem with this recording is the sound, because the microphones were close enough to bring us every breath -- fortunately, Cocset does not sing along with himself, but he is a heavy sigher -- and the often distracting clack of Cocset's fingers on the fingerboard. If that sort of auditory intimacy with the performer bothers you, then you will not enjoy this disc. However, the performance captured here is like no other and has an immediacy to it that I find appealing.

The other detail, albeit a minor one, that I like about this recording is that the suites are presented in numerical order, which is not always the case in complete recordings. With all that we know about the encyclopedic nature of Bach's collections, the order of pieces in the manuscript must be important (if for nothing else to preserve the ordering of the special dance pieces mentioned above). When listening to the entire set, I think it is better to hear them in the manuscript order or risk losing some of the artifice Bach intended.

For the first and fifth suites, Cocset plays Charles Riché's 2000 copy of a cello built by Gasparo da Salo around the year 1600. Cocset chooses some of the fastest tempi I have heard and does so in a rhythmically vital way, which is exciting to hear. His attack, therefore, is often brusque -- no quasi-Romantic lines here -- and some of the notes come across more as tight-lipped growls than anything else. His ornamentation is fairly limited -- in general, Cocset is very faithful to the score -- but there are some nice changes on the repeats. This instrument makes a lovelier sound on the extensive prelude of the fifth suite, especially in the opening slow section. He has a nice touch on the fifth suite's sarabande, too, one of the most enigmatic dances in the whole set, although the uniform tone is a little gloomy. The gavottes pulse with earthy excitement.

For the second and fourth suites, Riché modeled his 2001 copy on an instrument much closer to the time of the suites' composition, a Pietro Guarneri made in 1734. It has a rich sound, although the big chords of the second suite's prelude and other pieces sound weak played broken up as they are. As with most performances on the cello, the low notes often cannot be held for their full duration: the score often indicates that Bach wanted them to continue to sound longer than a single note of the upper melody. In this suite, Cocset's very rapid tempo in the courante betrays him in terms of accuracy on the A string, and some of the highest notes are off the mark. Most of the sarabandes on this recording are dreary because of the slow tempi, and this one is no exception. The menuets are also not pleasing because the rhythmic flow is slightly off-kilter. In the fourth suite, I do like the beautifully sensitive sarabande, including the nice ornamentation on the repeats, and the agile bourrées.

In the third suite, the instrument is Riché's 1996 copy of an Antonio Stradivari cello made in 1700, which has a lighter sound. The prelude twirls by at quite a clip, especially the long G pedal, which has an ultrarhythmic impetus to it, as do the allemande and charming bourrées. The musette effect in the gigue, also at a rather fast tempo, is unlike any I have heard elsewhere, a little rough and ready and definitely folkish. Certainly, for the sixth suite, in many ways the piece finally makes musical sense, when all those very high melodies can not only be played exactly as Bach wrote them down but also sound full-throated on the tension of that high string not found on the modern cello. The violoncello piccolo Cocset plays is a copy of an instrument built around 1600 by Antonio and Girolamo Amati, and it has the most beautiful sound on these discs.

Having heard many fine cellists sound strangled on the high stretches of the sixth suite, this performance is revelatory. The melancholy sarabande is more stunning than any other performance I have heard, because that high melody is no longer so precarious. The challenging gigue seems to roll off the page more easily, because the nature of the instrument corresponds better to what the composer put on the page. The recording is worth hearing for the sixth suite alone.

Get In On Baltimore's Museums This Fall

Jacqueline Trescott reports (Art Museums In Baltimore To Drop Fees, June 1) on this lovely June day in the Washington Post that the art museums of Charm City will soon be open free of charge to visitors:

The Baltimore Museum of Art and the Walters Art Museum announced yesterday that both museums are eliminating admission fees, a step made possible by an $800,000 gift from the city and county. Anne Arundel County also gave each museum $30,000 for the effort. Free admission starts Oct. 1 and marks a return to a time 24 years ago when it didn't cost anything to get into the two museums. In recent years, they charged $10. The directors acknowledge they are taking a risk in financially tight times, but said they wanted to make the museums cultural destinations for locals and out-of-towners, as well as to increase diversity. "We wanted to do something innovative," said Gary Vikan, director of the Walters Art Museum.

As someone who is utterly spoiled by living in Washington, where the Smithsonian museums are all free of charge, I have to say that I think free admission, or at least the possibility of free admission (as at the Metropolitan Museum of Art) is the appropriate way to make art available to all. Unfortunately, the American Visionary Art Museum did not receive any funds. However, you will not regret any of the cost of your ticket to that place. Also, the Chairperson of their Board of Directors is a great lady.