J.S.Bach: The Well-Tempered Clavier

Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier, written as the composer himself adjusted appropriate in 1722 ‘for the profit and use of musical youth desiring instruction, and for the particular delight of those already skilled in this discipline’, might on the face of it seem rather far from the context in which modern performances operate, the very concept of a ‘performance’ itself having moved away from the intimate setting the composer implies.

The emergence of the modern piano (roughly half-way between Bach’s time of writing the 48 and today) as the instrument on which to play Bach may, form a purist’s standpoint, have closed as many doors as it has opened, both as regards musical conceptualisations and technical concerns, and we would probably delude ourselves that with every new recording or academic paper on the subject of Baroque performance we move closer to what Bach actually had in his imagination, close on three centuries ago. What matters, to my mind, is not whether we could ever succeed in pleasing the great German composer in our representations of his music, but whether we can apply our scholarship sensibly to provide satisfying music-making for a modern audience wearing twenty-first century ears.

As Ying Chang observes in her reassuringly pluralist booklet notes with Jill Crossland’s new disc, this might come down to whether one considers such performances to be reconstructions as opposed to reinterpretations (or even perhaps, re-creations rather than creations). In all probability we engage today with the 48 in a quite different way from how Baroque keyboardists may have done, leaving aside our response to the manifestly contrasting characteristics of a piano and, say, a clavichord, harpsichord or organ. For many Bach lovers this does not preclude the possibility of a wholesome and meaningful interpretation – and in any case, who can predict with any certainty what will pass for acceptable performance practice of this music in another one hundred, let alone three hundred years?

So, the litmus test for this new recording, or, to be more pragmatic, my litmus test, is the extent to which Crossland is able to embed herself in a communicative and consistent style that stands a chance of drawing in the listener for the two hours it takes to unfold the first Book of the 48. That said, not everyone will choose to digest Bach’s music in this way – and perhaps BBC Radio 3’s recent packaging of the 48 over a course of six weeks, to the accompaniment of the listener’s breakfast crackle and pop, is more conductive, especially since it has encouraged comparison between new and old readings, period instruments with Steinways and revered performances with less well-known ones. Either way, I report on the Crossland discs with a smile in my voice, as the pianist so often succeeds in coaxing from the instrument an effect that coincides with my personal perspective of what the music amounts to, always accepting that for each of us the criteria will vary and the emphasis contrast significantly.

The slippery business of tempo selection is a major criterion here – Crossland rarely disappoints or antagonises with extremes, catching all the brilliance and nimbleness of the Prelude No. 21 in B flat major one could ask for, in stark contrast to the stately poise and pathos that she achieves in its successor, Prelude No. 22, which in accordance with Bach’s key scheme is of course B flat minor, triggering a five-voice fugue – Crossland’s is a reading of great weight and intensity. Angela Hewitt’s recently re-released 48 for Hyperion has acquired bench-mark status for this music, although Crossland wins by a hair, at least in respect of the fiery Prelude No. 21, which has just that bit more brittleness and knife-edge quality to it, taken a notch faster. There is an enjoyment of the here-and-now in Crossland’s playing, across the whole of Book 1, but also a feeling for its spiritual dimension expounded in the booklet notes. This is a polished and compelling account of Bach’s Old Testament; Book 2 is awaited with eager anticipation.

ClassicalSource.com, February 2008

“Bach’s solidity gives me what I can only describe as spiritual nourishment and solace, lifting me above the mundane yet remaining absolutely rooted. He is the only composer to whom I can return infinitely often.”

In ringing terms, Jill Crossland announces her allegiance to Bach. How do you react? Implicitly, she raises issues of style and interpretation. Three centuries on, is a performer of the work of a Baroque master justified in looking for “spiritual nourishment and solace” in a secular work, or, indeed, finding it? Should we castigate these as subjective activities, inappropriate here? Shouldn’t we be better employed in an act of musical archaeology, meticulously and objectively revealing some ancient relics? Further, what is the legacy of the Bach-Busoni phenomenon? Is it still an over-substantial spectre – too rich and grand for us, Edwardian and morbidly obese? Or, has sufficient time passed for us to allow aspects of its grand, humane non-authenticity to surge back in?

With self-assurance and authority – and unabashed – Crossland incorporates many of these issues into her interpretation(s) of the Preludes and Fugues in Book I of The Well-Tempered Clavier, ‘The 48’. She presents this work as a collection of different pieces in different styles. That is, she dares to be subjective – to look on each Prelude and each Fugue as evoking a mood. Determining the most appropriate interpretative technique seems to have come secondary to spending much careful time sensing what a particular piece might be about.

What strikes first is the sheer variety of Crossland’s styles – a virtuosity of interpretation. Her performance modes allow both softness of touch and hardness of articulation, emotion and dispassion, plainness and the occasional vigorous ornament, flexibility – exquisite and bare – together with rich, swelling loudness. At times her fingers seem made of jelly, at others of steel. She can produce notes in a torrent (such as the latter parts of the C minor and E minor Preludes). These are hailstorms – in contrast to the light, dancing rain of her G major and A flat Preludes. For some of the grander pieces, such as the Fugues in C sharp minor, E flat minor, B flat minor and B minor, she slows down considerably, giving these pieces a magnificent, monolithic dignity, with rock-hard depth and space – allowing herself to be both towering and moving.

At all times, her playing is assuredly clear and controlled, delineating the parts with steady definition, especially in the middle register. Her sense of structure and form is outstanding – making the might of climaxes an experience of passionate dynamism and something inexorable.

Crossland has put her admirable technique in the service of her cool-headed compassion. Her sensibility reclaims Bach for mankind, exhibiting him as one of the broadest and must human of composers. Credit is also due to Ryszard Bakst and Paul Badura-Skoda – the teachers who inspired Crossland to delve deep into Bach and take her courageous stand. I also reveled in engineer Jonathan Haskell’s achievement in recording the piano so faithfully – mellow upper tones, rich bass, magisterial resonance in louder passages and a gripping limpidity when tripping faster and lighter.

Several choices exist for collectors who seek intimacy and lyricism above all else in piano versions of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier Book 1: namely André Vieru, Michael Levinas and, more persuasively, Jill Crossland. Indeed, this recording represents a quantum leap over the bland and enervated Goldberg Variations she made a few years back (Warner). Within seconds you’re drawn into the gentle hammer-strokes that unlock Crossland’s warm, rounded and perpetually singing sonority, gorgeously captured via Jonathan Haskell’s engineering.

The preludes inspire Crossland’s best work. I especially enjoyed the C major’s intelligent dynamic build and subtle shadings, the D major’s perky left-hand accents, the G major’s skittish yet impeccably controlled finger-work, the A flat major’s controversial thrust and the A minor’s brisk, angular profile.

Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier has to be one of the most searching pieces of writing, both as a compositional exercise and as one of the most testing of all performance vehicles for keyboard players.

While some are perfect miniatures, others are profound, soul-searching exercises which do much to put Bach’s very art into sharp perspective. This set of the pieces often referred to as the ‘48’ uses every note of the diatonic scale upon which to construct a prelude and a linked fugue and this recording, of Book One – the first complete 24 prelude and fugue cycle – is by the eminent and revered Bach interpreter, Jill Crossland.

While purists amongst us might prefer these pieces performed on a harpsichord, the approach to the piano is not one of flamboyant Romanticism but a clear, pure vision of what Bach intended. From the gentle opening – possibly the most famous of all of these pieces: the C major prelude – to the impassioned, almost ferocious A minor prelude, to the fascination of the two-part invention of the D major with the sheer drama of its associated fugue, this is a great new interpretation of these seminal works.

Perhaps the most poignant of these interpretations is the truly heart-felt B flat minor Prelude, a fine performance which ekes out every ounce of pathos but builds into a massive, explosive climax.  Then there’s an almost playful performance of the B major prelude, a bright key anyway, but made that much brighter by this powerful performance.

These are balanced, finely worked miniatures and a good introduction to this major work. There’s not a feeling of being on top of the piano but rather in a room and set at an appropriate distance. A highly fitting addition to any collection of piano repertoire but, perhaps more importantly, a searching look at these major and scholarly works of Bach.

One could compare English pianist Jill Crossland’s 2003 recording of Book One of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier with Angela Hewitt’s 1977 recording or András Schiff’s 1984 recording. But while her performances would stand up well against them, a better comparison would be with Jörg Demus’ 1970 recording or even Edwin Fischer’s 1933 recording. The reason is simple: Crossland’s interpretations are much more on the “lyrical expressivity” side of the Bach scale then on the “linear severity” side. This is not to say that Crossland is not interested in articulating the works’ Preludes and Fugues with luminous lucidity: anyone hearing her performances will clearly be able to hear every strand of counterpoint. This is to say that she is more interested in the expressing the music’s emotional content through the counterpoint. Like Demus and Fischer, Crossland is the old-fashioned sort of pianist who values what the music says more than how it says it. Performed with a graceful technique and a pellucid tone, Crossland’s interpretations belong among the finest of recent years and perhaps among the finest of all time. Signum Classics’ sound is cool, clear, and deep with a wonderful sense of space.

When the first CD started and I heard a light, tinkly tone in the opening Prelude, I was prepared to dislike this performance, but by the time that Prelude finished and we were on to the first Fugue, I realized that Jill Crossland was taking an extraordinarily individual view of this well-worn music and, moreover, that I enjoyed her vision tremendously.

The opening Prelude is a case in point. Though not nearly as well pointed as many past performances, she played it as a long, slow crescendo, suddenly relaxing the volume in the closing bars. Then, in the Fugue, she employed a surprisingly effective rubato and imparted feeling and direction to each of its four voices. Prelude No. 2 began with a headlong rush, but then broke itself up into little rhythmic cells, and Fugue No. 2 danced lightly over the keys with an odd, ever-so-slightly halting rhythm that reminded me of a folk dance rather than a court pavane.

These performances are full of interesting, original, inviting touches like this. Crossland, who has lived with this music for most of her life, has evidently played it so often that she has thought, and rethought, and thought again about how its many little pieces could be divested of bland tradition and reassembled into a musical mosaic. Thus I found the cover art, an assemblage of 17 oddly spaced squares with various shades of blue within them, thoroughly apropos to Crossland’s coloristic approach.

For this is, indeed, Bach played with color, make no mistake about that. I may be wrong, but in my mind I heard an almost organ-like conception of this music, as if Crossland were employing the range of tones she can draw from her piano as if they were crisper, neater organ tones. The fact that she takes slightly more relaxed tempos in the set than we are generally used to hearing is of no consequence. The further one progresses in the series, for instance in Fugue No. 4 for five voices, the more one is aware of the grandly singing quality of the music and less consciously aware of the underlying structure. Fugue No. 5 creeps up on you like a murky dark cloud that you see approaching from the distance that ultimately becomes a sharp, clear, definable steamroller of a storm. Prelude No. 6 flits across the mind like a swarm of fireflies; its corresponding fugue is a slow walk, almost a death march but for the double-time figures. I think you get the idea. Each and every individual piece in this set “paints a picture,” and Crossland’s palette of sound colors is not only varied but also apparently limitless. In a sense, then, this is Bach à la Rosalyn Tureck, or at least a Tureck-like approach to Bach—the operation of a finely honed, first-class musical mind upon one of the most meticulously scored, finely honed collection of short pieces ever published. No offense to the many conscientious and very serious artists who have committed the Great 48 to disc, including (but by no means limited to) Wanda Landowska, Gustav Leonhardt, and Craig Sheppard, but of previous versions the only one I would demand to keep alongside this one is Glenn Gould’s. Gould’s approach was more propulsive, more straightforward in tempo, the most sheerly exciting WTC I’ve ever heard in my life, particularly in Book 2 where most of the others give us slower tempos but far less well-bound structures. Crossland’s approach is so very different, so unique, that one must bow to her and say, “You got me. I never expected to hear Bach played like this!”

I am really looking forward to hearing her recording of Book 2. This is one recording you’ve simply got to experience for yourself to appreciate fully