Biber: 1681 Sonatas • Bojan Čičić
I’ve been waiting for someone to make a visual pun on Biber’s name, and at last, this album’s cover does just that—and well.
The Illyria Consort, led by violinist Bojan Čičić, brings us Biber’s 1681 collection of sonatas, an essential counterpart to his more famous Mystery Sonatas. Together, these works form the core of Biber’s output for violin and showcase why he’s remembered not only as one of the world’s finest violinists but—as I’d argue—a damn fine composer too.
The continuo group here is especially rich, featuring harpsichord or organ, theorbo, and harp. This lush texture is one of several reasons this recording stands out.
These are the same sonatas that first introduced me to Biber, in the recording by Andrew Manze and Romanesca—an album Čičić himself cites in the liner notes as his own point of discovery. It’s a full-circle moment. That earlier version included lute and harpsichord, a sound I still find fitting and formative.
In preparation for this review, I also revisited the Gunar Letzbor/Ars Antiqua Austria recording, which I last reviewed here. I recall liking Letzbor’s first version better than his more recent one. Compared to that release, the Delphian recording with Čičić is markedly superior. There’s more presence, less reverb, and an overall sense that we’re sitting closer to the musicians. I’d also encourage listeners to check out interpretations by Monica Huggett (Sonnerie) and John Holloway, each of whom brings something distinct to these works.
A compelling point of comparison is the opening of Sonata No. 6 in C minor. Both Čičić and Holloway maintain even tempos, but I prefer Čičić’s approach—it feels more grounded. Manze’s reading, with his distinctive tone, begins evenly and slowly, but soon becomes more rhythmically fluid.
Čičić’s playing shines all the more brightly when heard against these other excellent recordings. A major part of this is the engineering, but also the contribution of his continuo partners, whose variety in texture and timbre breathes life into the sonatas.
Stylistically, Čičić and Manze couldn’t be more different—not better or worse, just distinct. Čičić’s approach feels more rustic, in a good way, while Manze seems more formal. It’s not just interpretation, but also their instruments. Manze’s instrument excels in the upper register with a thinner sound; Čičić’s instrument has a fuller tone, with a bloom that comes through particularly in double stops. Both are beautiful, but if you know the Manze recording well, you’ll find Čičić’s sonority a welcome contrast. Huggett’s tone is the lightest of the three, which can be thrilling when used for expressive delicacy.
Musically, Čičić interprets the stylus phantasticus well. Though he’s less dramatic than Letzbor, he compensates with clarity between contrasting sections. A fine example is Sonata No. 7 in G major. Its opening Preaeludium, accompanied only by harp, offers an uncommon but effective continuo texture—especially striking since we less frequently hear harp in instrumental contexts. The following Aria, featuring harpsichord, shifts the mood. The ensemble often varies the continuo forces between sections, which helps sustain interest and shape each sonata’s arc.
In that same G major sonata, Elizabeth Kenny opens the Adagio on lute with great imagination. Čičić responds with a variety of articulations, including a vocal-style ornament at a cadence point—an expressive and tasteful touch. The following Ciacona is executed with energy and detail, where his choice to avoid overly legato phrasing keeps the music buoyant. Biber’s writing naturally shifts between harmonic outlines, lyrical moments, and technical fireworks (especially double stops), all of which Čičić delivers with confidence.
The album includes two additional sonatas not in the main set: No. 84 in E major and No. 81 in A major. The A major sonata presents immediate technical challenges in the opening, particularly with its double stops in higher positions. Čičić’s instrument seems ideally suited to the harmonic play of these passages. Steven Devine’s harpsichord sparkles in this sonata, and the instrument by Colin Booth really stands out here. While Čičić plays with assurance, this movement might have benefitted from more emotive shading.
The following Presto is brisk and effective, and Čičić seems most at home in these faster movements. In the Fantasia, he adds tasteful vibrato to longer notes, though the interpretation remains conservative. Lina Tur Bonet, who recorded several 1681 sonatas (but not this one) in her 2022 release, offers a point of comparison. Her E minor sonata reveals a greater use of rubato and dynamic inflection. In repeated figures—same notes on adjacent strings—she emphasizes the dissonance, lending dramatic weight. Čičić’s approach is cleaner but slightly less affective. Tur Bonet’s upper register also has a certain sweetness absent in Čičić’s more grounded tone.
The A major sonata concludes with variation movements that, alongside the preceding Aria, show Čičić’s comfort with Biber’s technical demands. His use of accentuation is smart and never tiring. The E major sonata’s authorship remains uncertain, but the A major’s idiomatic writing strongly points to Biber. I couldn’t find other recordings of this A major sonata; though its variations felt familiar, it lacks a catalog designation (no “C.” number listed on this album), which might explain its relative obscurity.
The album booklet includes thoughtful liner notes that discuss the collection and the individual sonatas, adding welcome context.
All told, I enjoyed this album even more than the Illyria Consort’s earlier explorations of Walther and Handel. Paul Baxter deserves special praise for capturing the sound so naturally—clean, intimate, and unclouded by excessive reverb, despite the church setting.
