Three books on music, part 1: The Cello Suites
As Maconchy said, to write about a piece of music is as if one sought to paint a smell.It's hard to write well about classical music. Books intended for an academic audience presuppose a grounding in music theory and an ability to sightread; readers lacking either may quickly become lost. Books intended for a non-professional audience often assume too little knowledge, belabor the obvious and repeat the well-worn. In books aimed at either audience, the use of audio and video to illustrate musical points is still strangely uncommon (even today most music books lack a companion website or an online playlist).
—Anna Beer, Sounds and Sweet Airs [1]
This and my next two posts will review three recent(ish) books on music: Eric Siblin's The Cello Suites (2009), Jane Glover's Handel in London (2018), and Anna Beer's Sounds and Sweet Airs (2016). All are intended for a general rather than a specialist audience, and each succeeds in finding that engaging middle ground between the esoteric and the over-familiar. Each would have been enhanced, though, by a judicious choice of musical clips; I've supplied a few to make up for their absence.
The Cello Suites: J. S. Bach, Pablo Casals, and the search for a Baroque masterpiece. Eric Siblin, Anansi Press, 2009. 320 pp.
Image: ericsiblin.com
Pop music journalist Eric Siblin discovered Johann Sebastian Bach's Suites for Solo Violoncello by hearing them performed by Laurence Lesser at a recital he attended out of "idle curiosity." But as he also writes, "I might have been searching for something without knowing it." That was also my feeling when I first heard the suites three decades ago, in the recordings made in the 1930s by Pablo (Pau) Casals.
It is to Casals that we owe the rediscovery of this magnificent music. As Casals described his own first encounter with the suites at age 13 in a second-hand sheet music shop in Barcelona,
I did not know of their existence, and no-one had ever mentioned them to me. It was the great revelation of my life. I immediately felt that this was something of exceptional importance, and hugged my treasures all the way home. I started playing them in a state of indescribable excitement. For twelve years I studied and worked on them every day, and I was nearly 25 before I had the courage to play one of them in public. Before I did, no violinist or cellist had ever played a suite in its entirety. [2]
Portrait of Pau Casals by Ramon Casas, ca. 1902-1904. Image: Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya
Siblin quotes the program notes from Lesser's recital describing how the cello suites were seen for 150 years after Bach's death as merely exercises for practice. Casals' first public performance of a full cello suite took place in 1901, but it wasn't until 1936, when he was approaching 60, that he went into Abbey Road Studios in London and recorded two of the suites (Nos. 2 and 3). He recorded the remaining four suites in Paris in 1938 (Nos. 1 and 6) and 1939 (Nos. 4 and 5). These recordings and Casals' concert performances revolutionized how the suites were heard. They are now established at the heart of the cello repertory and are considered among Bach's greatest works. Today there are dozens of available recordings (with more added to the catalog every year) and the suites can be frequently heard in concert halls, cafes, and even busked in the subway. Still, Casals' performances of 80 years ago set a standard that has rarely been equalled and, in my view, never surpassed.
Here is Casals' performance of the Prelude from Suite No. 1 in G major, recorded in Paris on 2 June 1938:
It is not known precisely when Bach wrote the cello suites. The most complete and authoritative manuscript is in the hand of his second wife, Anna Magdalena Bach, and dates from Bach's time in Leipzig around 1730. But the pieces were probably written a decade or more previously, during the period in which Bach was Kapellmeister (music director) at the court of Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Cöthen. There he had two virtuoso cellists in the court orchestra, Christian Ferdinand Abel and Christian Bernhard Lingke, and the suites may have been written for performance by either or both of them.
Title page of Suites for Violoncello Solo, manuscript ca. 1730. Image: Wikimedia Commons
Siblin's book aptly describes the "aching soulfulness" of the suites. The book is structured in three parallel stories: the first is that of Bach and the creation of the suites, the second that of Casals and their rediscovery, and the third that of Siblin's encounter with and investigations into the music.
The book is very readable, although the rigid structure sometimes seems constraining and Siblin's tendency to employ journalistic shorthand or hyperbole can be misleading. An example: on page 41 we learn that in 1895, after Casals was pressured by the Spanish court to compose a Spanish national opera instead of focussing on playing the cello, "the family left Madrid, never to return." But on page 43 we read of Casals' "trips to Madrid and an emotional reunion with the Count de Morphy" just a few months later. So apparently we are to understand that Casals never again visited Madrid with the rest of his family. But since Casals was by this time approaching adulthood and becoming independent, and since his family was in any case native to Barcelona, this doesn't end up seeming especially remarkable.
Another example: on page 226 we read of Bach's trip to the Prussian court of Frederick the Great in Berlin, "Six months earlier. . .Prussian troops ended their occupation of Leipzig." But Siblin never informs us when the Prussian troops began their occupation of Leipzig, so the significance of this information isn't clear. In fact, Prussian troops occupied Leipzig in late December 1745, and departed in the first days of January 1746. Bach visited the Prussian court (where his son C. P. E. Bach was employed) in May 1747, a year and a half—not six months—after the Prussians took, then quickly abandoned, Leipzig. The key point isn't made until two pages later: Bach was in the employ of the Leipzig City Council; for him to visit the court of the city's recent conqueror may suggest that he was on a semi-official visit of reconciliation. Or it may suggest that Bach's frequently antagonistic relationship with the Council was continuing, and the trip was an act of defiance. What is known is that after the trip Bach dedicated another of his masterpieces, The Musical Offering, to the Prussian ruler (and flautist) Frederick the Great, who had provided its theme.
Portrait of Johann Sebastian Bach by Elias Gottlob Haussmann, 1746. Image: Wikimedia Commons
But all of this is somewhat peripheral to the Cello Suites, which which were likely composed decades earlier. Although the documentary record is sparse, more about Anna Magdalena Bach and her role as Bach's copyist and fellow musician (she was a singer and, some speculate, may have written music in her own right) would have been welcome.
There are other strange omissions as well. For example, although Siblin quotes the great Dutch cellist Anner Bylsma in his text and lists his book on the Cello Suites (Bach, The Fencing Master (2001)) in his bibliography, Bylsma's profound second recording of the suites from 1993—second only, in my view, to Casals' interpretation—is not mentioned in Siblin's "Suggested Listening."
Anner Bylsma's performance of the Courante from Suite No. 1, played on the Servais cello built by Antonio Stradivarius in 1701:
Occasional awkwardnesses and elisions aside, Siblin has three compelling stories to tell, and he generally tells them engagingly. Particularly if you either have not yet or have just recently discovered Bach's Cello Suites, Siblin's book is an appealing and accessible introduction to these inexhaustible works.
Other posts in this series:
- Jane Glover, Handel in London: The Making of a Genius
- Anne Beer, Sounds and Sweet Airs: The Forgotten Women of Classical Music
- Anna Beer, Sounds and Sweet Airs: The Forgotten Women of Classical Music. Oneworld Publications, 2016, p. 330.
- Quoted in Lionel Salter, liner notes for J. S. Bach: Suites for Cello vols. 1-2, performed by Pablo Casals, EMI CDH-7 61028 2 and CDH-7 61029 2
Dear Pessimisissimo,
ReplyDeleteThoroughly enjoyed this post about Eric Siblin's book on Pablo Casals and the rehabilitation of Bach's cello suites. I play the cello and, like probably all of my cellist colleagues, was introduced to Bach's solo cello suites during the first year of my university music program (I learned two of the six suites). Of course, Casals was considered a god and his 1930s recordings set the standard against which other cellists had to distinguish themselves -- Janos Starker, Jacqueline du Pré, Mstislav Rostropovich, and, most popular in the moment, Yo-Yo Ma. Like you, my favorite recording of the complete suites is the one by Anner Byslma, moved by the joyful and melancholic sentiments invoked by his stretched tempos and rich tones, performed within the constraints of rhythmic continuity.
I am somewhat sympathetic to Siblin's biographical missteps. The biographer who delves deeply into research sometimes fall prey to the details, feeling compelled to share choice stories. Bringing life and art together comes alive for me at key intersections -- notable performances, the support of patrons, friends and family, and interactions with other composers, musicians, artists, publishers, critics and impresarios (in the modern era, virtuosity is a commercial enterprise, after all!). For me, "life and times" becomes most meaningful when such intimate connections are established, lose power when done in a sweeping manner, and may become irrelevant when merely "an expression of the times" (perhaps true, but so what?). Yet I understand the temptation for the biographer to share what has been unearthed with readers, even if the discovery isn't particularly enlightening.
Again, many thanks for the post! I look forward to the following ones.
M. Lapin
Cher M. Lapin:
DeleteI think you're right that Siblin did a lot of research that he couldn't bear to exclude from the book, even if it was somewhat peripheral to his main story. The structure he followed—successive sections devoted to Bach, Casals, and his own story—also meant that he sometimes had space to fill to maintain the parallelism. So we wind up getting compressed biographies of Bach and Casals, and inevitably some of the material that in a full-length biography would provide context and indicate the significance of certain incidents was left out. The book remains quite enjoyable; if it is aimed primarily at engaging the interest of listeners who are beginning to expand their musical horizons, I think it succeeds quite well.
As for performances of the suites, I confess that my expectations—for tempo choices, rhythmic flexibility, and overall approach—were set by the Casals recordings. Any performance that departs radically from his ideas inevitably seems somehow wrong to me. Anner Bylsma brings his own magnificent interpretive skills and the rich sound of his Stradivarius cello to his 1993 recording. While in individual movements the differences between his approach and that of Casals can be notable, somehow the overall feeling is similar without being musically imitative. Others may find their standard set by Pierre Fournier or Yo-Yo Ma.
And speaking of Yo-Yo Ma, I recommend Barbara Willis Sweete's film of the Mark Morris Dance Company's Falling Down Stairs, choreographed to Suite No. 3 as performed live by Ma. It's a brilliant interpretation of Bach's music in a different medium.
Many thanks for your comment!
Best,
P.