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Alix Goolden Performance Hall
October 4, 2020
Although Georg Phillip Telemann is still unchallenged in the Guinness World Records as history's most prolific composer, his career got off to something of a shaky start.
Despite being proficient on "almost every kind of instrument" and having attempted to compose his first opera at the tender age of twelve, he was financially dependent on his mother (his father having died) and, at the age of twenty, he made her a solemn promise to abandon his musical pursuits and set out for Leipzig to study law at the university.
Fortunately for posterity — although doubtless his mother did not view it in the same light — he stopped off in Halle along the way, where, he later remarked, "from my acquaintance with Handel, who was already famous, I again sucked in so much of the poison of music as nearly overset all my resolutions".
Although he did proceed to Leipzig and his legal studies, at his lodging house there, "I perpetually heard Music of all kinds, which, although much worse than my own, again led me into temptation".
Telemann first visited Paris in 1737, by which time his legal studies had long been abandoned and his fame as a composer had preceded him. The first six of what would (much) later become known as the "Paris" Quartets had been composed in 1730 but were reprinted in 1736 by Le Clerc, in anticipation of his visit.
It was with the fourth of these, in E minor (in the German style) that Soile Stratkauskas, Chloe Meyers, Natalie Mackie and Alexander Weimann closed their enchanting recital on Sunday afternoon.
I will readily confess that, as a non-baroque specialist, the fine distinction between the German, French and Italian styles (the set consists of two of each) escapes me; but, I cannot help but wonder, does that really, almost three centuries later, matter?
What surely does matter is the quality of the music and of the music-making, both of which were exceptional.
There were some surprising moments, such as the almost cadenza-like passages for the violin in the opening Prélude, or the pairings of flute and violin, gamba and harpsichord in (I believe) the movement marked Gracieusement — the latter pair most definitely not constituting a continuo — or the triple-time-but-definitely-not-a-dance syncopation of Distrait. All of which were capped by the extraordinary slow final passacaglia, with its florid flute, violin and gamba parts, and its complex textures.
All of this was performed with flair, style and a distinct élan by all four musicians.
Which led me to reflect, and not for the first time, how extraordinarily fortunate those of who live in Victoria truly are. In these extremely trying times live musical events are few and far between; furthermore in many places, having to rely entirely on local musicians has doubtless led to a general lowering of standards.
But not here; doubtless there are many reasons why so many world class musicians decide to make this their home and we whose only musical ability it to listen with grateful ears can only be glad that they have and are prepared to share the fruits of their talents with the rest of us.
Handel is far from my favourite composer, yet I thoroughly enjoyed his Trio Sonata Op.5 No.1 which opened the programme. Whether it was the poised elegance of the slower music or the spirited exuberance of the quicker. I was particularly taken by the way the players managed to make the concluding gavotte both quick and stately.
The music of Alessandro Stradella was previously a complete blank as far as I was concerned (one cannot help but wonder whether there wouldn't be somebody else in town better equipped to review this concert), but his Sinfonia in D, for violin, gamba and harpsichord, certainly did not put me off further encounters. I especially enjoyed the opening dialogue between Meyers and Mackie, and the dancing finale.
Which just leaves us with the one slight mystery of the afternoon: who, precisely, composed "Bach's" Trio Sonata, BWV1038?
Apparently the bass line is definitely by J.S, as he also used it in one of his violin sonatas. But did he compose the other parts, which his son Carl Phillip Emanuel then edited, or was it in fact an exercise for his son?
We may well never know and, really, it does not matter one whit: the music is delightful, as was the performance, whether it was the feline grace of the opening largo, the lively flute-and-violin dialogue with its buoyant continuo of the succeeding vivace, the exquisite adagio or the joyous final presto.
All in all it was an afternoon to make one count one's blessings.
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