One More Vacation Post

I wrote this during our trip to London this summer, but didn't post it for some reason.
***
During lunch on Sunday we bought a Time Out magazine, which our guide book said is the best place to learn what's going on with classical music. And who should be playing tonight (6/19) but Fretwork, the gamba ensemble I have a couple recordings of! Their most recent CD, of Bach organ pieces transcribed for viols, is among my very favorite records of the last five years. They were playing tonight at 7:30 at Wigmore Hall, only a few miles straight up the tube from our hotel. So I decided to go, and split from Susan once we were back near the hotel in familiar territory.

A viola da gamba is something of a precursor to the modern violin family, but like Neanderthals and Homo Sapiens the two families of instruments existed side-by-side for a while before the violins took over completely (Bach's famous Third Brandenburg Concerto features choirs of both violins and gambas, and they trade phrases so that easy comparisons may be made of their character). Like the violin family, viols exist in several sizes corresponding to the pitch range in which they speak. Where violins have four strings, viols tend to have six or more, and the strings are usually gut and not wire-wound. Also, where instruments of the violin family are fretless, viols tend to have frets which appear to be lengths of gut string material tied around the neck and adjustable for tuning purposes (rather than inlaid bits of metal as with a guitar). The sound from a viol is similar to that of its corresponding violin cousin, but differs in some key and, to me, appealing ways. The sound is a bit quieter and more nasal in character, and there is a bit more scrape from the bowing. And viols are played with little or no vibrato compared to their more modern counterpoints. This is especially appealing to me, as the sound has a great purity and blend, and intonation becomes absolutely key. Modern string players seem to have a kind of palsy where a fairly wide vibrato is employed at every moment, and the ensemble blend of a small group is turned into an imprecise haze. It is this vibrato more than the actual timbre that makes a solo violin almost unlistenable to me. The gambas by contrast sound almost organ-like in their steadiness.

The concert was fabulous. They played a full program of Orlando Gibbons, all six of his Fantasias in six parts (there are six members of Fretwork), and then a host of other pieces from between two and five parts. I've a bit of Gibbons in my CD collection (and he is the favorite composer of one of my most beloved pianists, Glenn Gould), but he's just the tiniest bit early for my tastes overall and an hour of him is a tad much. Still, he's far from distasteful, and it's fascinating to watch the ensemble at work. Firstly, it's an odd choice for a musician to pursue an instrument which so locks you into an antique time period (though Fretwork have commissioned contemporary works--I'd love to hear some). But there's something very appealing to me about devoting yourself to an instrument where your only possible role is to support the group. Except for perhaps the first chair Treble player (maybe the equivalent of first chair violin), it was quite a challenge, even when watching, to figure out exactly who was playing what. There's something intensely self-effacing about choosing that role for your musical, and vocational life. As an aside, though my hero Maurice Duruflé was also a modest and self-effacing man, still he played an impressive solo instrument which could, by his hands alone, deeply move and awe a room full of people. It must be a huge coup for a viol player to become part of a successful group like Fretwork, but even at this ladder's top rung, it's largely an anonymous life.

They were all dressed appropriately for the concert hall, though in a mishmash of styles. One of the guys wore a suit with an open collar and no tie, the other a turtleneck and jacket. And one of the women wore strange knickers-like pants with strange elastic bands just below the knees--like sock garters without the straps and socks--and then kept a vinyl or leather apron on her lap to hold her viol. This was just one strange getup. Another woman had hair which looked like she'd forgotten to tend to it for some months (and didn't have a clue what to do with it at that time). Overall, they seemed like nerdy intellectuals who didn't know how to put an outfit together; and I applauded them for it. It was a subtle way of saying "if you're looking at this you're not paying attention to the right stuff." But hey, an hour of Gibbons is a long time.

Their encore was one of my favorite pieces from their Bach album, the middle section of the G Major Fantasia, BWV 572. A perfect end to the day. Everyone applauded enthusiastically, enough to get them out for an encore, and then went home. Nobody stood, which seems sensible (they hadn't cured cancer). I then walked the couple miles back to the hotel, ruminating on the day and night. It seems fabulous that the members of the premier viol ensemble would live and give concerts in London. Even though my musical heart is in Paris, among those churches and organists but also with Ravel and Debussy and even back to the transplanted Chopin, I bet nearly half of my CD collection has come from performers based in London. This just seems THE classical music place on the planet. Looking at the TimeOut, there is something of note--often several things--every night of the week. Even New York could not match it. The next week's magazine comes out on Wednesday, so I'm curious to see if anyone else is playing that I can't avoid seeing. A concert by the Holst Singers or Polyphony or the Hilliard Ensemble or the Tallis Scholars would be a must-see, as would anything involving Trevor Pinnock or John Eliot Gardiner. I've probably spent enough money: here's hoping it's a quiet week.