The common thread here is harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani, who brings into our living rooms three different conceptions of the harpsichord concerto for our own time. One could argue that the harpsichord is an old instrument that belongs in the past, but it made a spectacular comeback in the twentieth century, in both high art and popular music. The historical models of Bach’s time and earlier were set aside for newer, louder instruments we now call revival harpsichords, which could compete with the size of a modern orchestra. Esfahani’s album doesn’t identify which instrument he plays, but my guess is that it’s his own: the Jukka Ollikka with a 16′ course of strings and carbon-fiber reinforcement for a little extra volume, otherwise following historical models from Bach’s time.
Whichever instrument it is, it comes through clearly in these recordings, cutting through even the thickest textures of the Bryars concerto that closes the album.
American composer Caroline Shaw (b. 1982) opens the recording with a concerto in three movements of nearly equal length, a plan borrowed from the Venetian model popularized by Vivaldi. It is performed with the chamber ensemble 10:10, directed by Clark Rundell. Placing it first was the right choice: it is the most tonal and likely the most approachable for listeners who enjoy the harpsichord from its early-music beginnings.
Shaw writes accessible music, and this concerto earns its place. The first movement, marked Warm, but distant, delivers warmth through a double bass that enters early and stays audible throughout, bowed and pizzicato. Repeated figures in the strings give the movement a contemporary, film-score feel. Repetition is one of the ways Shaw makes her music approachable, and she applies it to both the orchestral parts and the harpsichord solo. The ending of the first movement breaks apart in a way that I think shows very clever writing.
She pulls us into the second movement, Morning Bird, with a repeated cucu figure that ended the first. The harpsichord against the twittering motion in the strings is a pleasure: sharp and metallic against warm and rounded. She makes good use of the instrument’s timbre.
Gangbusters, the third movement, opens with the harpsichord playing repetitions that highlight her harmonic foundation. The nod to birds returns before a structural change a third of the way in. When the harpsichord comes back it shows its sharp claws again, and Shaw’s ability to exploit the instrument’s articulation and timbre against the strings is perhaps more interesting than the material she gives the player.
The inspiration for the second concerto, by Gary Carpenter (b. 1951), is expressed on the cover: the artwork of Piet Mondrian. Carpenter is another British composer, and his Mondrian is in four movements. His approach is perhaps the most abstract of the three. Better than the others, he pulls us into listening to the harpsichord itself, especially in the second movement, marked Andante. The booklet notes that the scoring takes its cue from Manuel de Falla’s harpsichord concerto.
The Scherzando third movement reminded me of Charles Castleman’s album of twentieth-century violin and harpsichord sonatas; I suspect the Walter Piston sonata is the one I’m hearing references to. As in the movement before it, Carpenter gets us to focus, and shorter movements help: they all hover around four minutes.
The final movement is almost like zooming out after studying the finer details of a Mondrian painting, so that we see the entire concept and how things fit together. Or so it seems to me; who knows. Esfahani’s playing is articulate and virtuosic. Like Shaw’s finale, the movement exploits the harpsichord’s timbre, here with interesting combinations of winds, to make something musically satisfying. This is the movement I could audition over and over.
Bryars (b. 1943) is a British bassist and composer, and he appears, middle I’m guesssing, in the photo in the album’s booklet. His concerto, Busoni’s Chickering, spans tracks 8–12. It is the album’s longest and, I’d say, most complex piece, and the one that may challenge listeners most. In some ways it’s the most interesting, and it deserves continuous listening without pausing between tracks. The title points to Ferruccio Busoni, who owned a harpsichord made by Chickering and Sons, and Bryars draws on Busoni’s theories of harmony. Like other composers, he also takes inspiration from the baroque, here by giving the soloist a number of improvisatory opportunities. The recording is made with the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, directed by Andrew Manze.
The long meno mosso section in the first three-quarters of track 11 tried my patience most. Its move into the poco più mosso, however, was musically satisfying, worthy in my estimation of accompanying something highly dramatic on the silver screen. The ending gets special color from Esfahani’s instrument: a switch to the lute stop, then that final low note.
I don’t know how often I can return to this concerto, but it has something to say and is worth an audition. The harpsichord may not be its most striking feature, but it becomes the thread that unites the work from start to finish, while the composer uses the orchestra and the appearance and disappearance of tonal harmony to paint vivid pictures.
Conclusions
This music will not appeal to everyone who knows Esfahani from his Bach recordings. It isn’t his first recording of contemporary repertoire for his instrument, but this time I found things to admire in both the performances and the music itself.
The program would make an excellent concert, or, for the ultimate in contrast, each work could be paired with some baroque concertos. I could readily see the compositional skill of both Shaw and Carpenter. Bryars is less to my taste, but his may be the more profound statement made on this album.
Esfahani’s performances are sharp and engaging throughout, and the mastering, for recordings made in different locations with different ensembles, provides excellent balance and sound.