Hello again from Kronberg-sur-Seine. When I last wrote to you, I was about to leave for the Théâtre du Châtelet (so many raised eyebrows in that name…) to hear Gautier Capuçon play three Bach suites – the three even ones, 2 (D minor), 4 (E flat major) and 6 (D major). I believe I said that I doubted one so young (he is 26) could shed new light on these major cello works which have been recorded by almost every great cellist, and by some not so great as well. I was dead wrong.
It was a good thing that, being the early riser you all know, I wasted no time getting there, and was standing in line for the free seating tickets at 9:45. By 10:05, I had secured two excellent seats and waited for my cousin Lise to arrive and for the recital to begin at 11. By 10:30, the house was packed. These Concerts du Dimanche Matin are a great Paris musical staple. The time is perfect and the programs usually first rate. A wonderful way to start a Sunday, especially such a beautiful, only slightly hazy, blue-skied one as this. Also, the young man is a native, not Parisian, but born in Chambéry, which is enough to arouse all the bleu-blanc-rouge instincts, especially the day after France was kicked out of the Rugby World Cup by the English, on their home turf. Sweet revenge for those of us who remember a certain soccer World Cup played on the very same grass…
The young man came on stage punctually, and wasted no time in attacking the first piece. Attacking is certainly a very badly chosen word to describe the sweet and velvety tone with which he played the somber Prelude, immediately setting the mood for what was to come. The whole suite was perfect, with the right measure of poignancy, delicacy, virtuosity, spirit and elegance this and all the Bach suites require. To think this was the same piece I heard Lynn Harrell butcher in Kronberg a few days ago and that this kid would, if the occasion arose, probably be sitting on the student side of a master-class, is mind-boggling! I will not bore you with all the bowing and fingering details I made a note of, as this is the suite I am now butchering myself, but I’ll just say that they showed a perfect mastery and control, not a note played thoughtlessly – but more about this later.
Then came the E flat major, the first of the last three suites. Let me digress to say that I believe the suites are neatly divided into two groups. The first three are technically quite accessible and rather easy to grasp. The last three are unplayable except by very skilled musicians and are very hard to fathom. Capuçon’s bow in the Prelude of the 4th was a tad too heavy, in my opinion. But that was definitely not a consequence of lack of skill or control, as I said before. It was very deliberate, because that is how he wants to stress the phrasing. Other cellists prefer a more détaché approach, a lighter bow to render the loose and transparent structure of the piece, practically all in eighth-notes , with wide jumps from the pedal notes to the melody. If I could play, I think that is the approach I would choose. But that is the only reservation (and even that is only a question of choice) I would have in the whole performance.The other dances were as perfect as those in the second suite, with suitably rustic allemandes, exhilarating runs in the courantes, almost religious sarabandes, graceful minuets and lively gigues.
The sixth suite is arguably the most beautiful of all and also the most difficult, especially if one chooses, as Capuçon did, to play it on a modern cello instead of on a five-stringed piccolo. Throughout the suite, he took a definitely more sedate tempo than in the first two. This is obviously not for technical reasons, as his virtuosity is indisputable. No, it was a very deliberate ploy to make sure that even the slightest grace note of this incredible musical edifice was perfectly discernible. Strangely enough, the sixth suite is written in the key of D major, considered the most brilliant of all keys (cf. the Hallelujah of the Messiah), and it sounds, especially the allemande, as if it were written in a minor key – a characteristic which the slower tempo accentuates.
All in all, this was an awesome performance, and I use the adjective exactly as a teenager would! I can’t resist a totally uncalled-for observation about our young man’s bearing: he is elegant and good-looking, but he wears his hair somewhat like a Maltese dog, long forelocks that completely cover his eyes, which one would like to see more of! I am tempted to suggest a style in favor with Maltese owners, lifting the locks and tying them fountain-like with a bow at the top of the head, pink for girls and blue for boys… or he could simply have a hair-cut.
Another remark, self-serving this time. I was maliciously pleased to notice that the open A string is dangerous even for the most seasoned of performers, and that intonation can be a problem even on cellistic Mount Everest. The occasional slips I noticed provoked (and this is for Oboe to understand exactly what I mean) the same satisfaction a 25 handicap golfer derives from seeing Tiger Woods three-putt.
A word about the audience. Forget about Germanic restraint and Latin exuberance! Had this performance been in Berlin or in Kronberg, it would have brought the house down. Capuçon would have gotten a standing ovation and interminable bravos and olés. He would have had to give at least three encores before anyone budged from his or her seat. Here in Paris, as soon as he lifted his bow from the string at the end of the last gigue, some people got up and headed for the exits without even looking back. Yes, there was hearty applause, a bravo here and there, and he did play an encore (don’t know exactly what it was, but I believe it was Prokofiev, a transcription from Lieutenant Kije perhaps?), but it was all very polite and hardly enthusiastic. I attributed it to: a) the fact that it was one o’clock and at that time lunch is foremost on a Frenchperson’s mind; b)the fact that a Frenchperson wouldn’t be caught dead acknowledging that anything is up to his or her exacting standards; c) Bach was not French. But apparently I got it all wrong. According to my cousin Lise, it’s just that the French are simply tone-deaf and not at all musical. She may be right, but how does one then explain this crop of fabulous young cellists – Gautier Capuçon, Jean-Guihen Queyras, Ophélie Gaillard, Emmanuelle Bertrand, Anne Gastinel, Marc Coppey, to name only a few – that French conservatoires are churning out? Your guess is as good as mine.