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The Consort

As Gilbert Rowland informs us, most of the music by Mattheson (1681-1764) was lost when Hamburg was bombed in World War II, and these suites, which survived through publication, are unfairly neglected. The music is often technically demanding. Its content is highly varied, and Mattheson had an unusual ability to incorporate really fine melodies into the format of the baroque suite. Some of his ‘airs’ suggest arias from operas (sadly now lost). His style is personal, and his keyboard virtuosity clear. Both are equally true of the player in this recording.

The Twelve Suites of 1714 were published both in London and Hamburg, with contrasting frontispieces: the German title (translated) was Harmony’s Monument, and the English title page was in fashionable French (Pièces de Clavecin). Engraving was expensive: Handel, the colleague of Mattheson’s youth, also published just one set of suites (the eight ‘Great Suites’ of 1720), only – as he himself said – to compete with pirate editions. He probably also wanted to ‘cap’ Mattheson’s London publication. Mattheson claimed that the two men were reconciled after their infamous duel of 1704, but Handel kept his distance thereafter, to Mattheson’s lifelong disappointment.

Performing these pieces is not always straightforward. No manuscript survives, but only a rather imperfect edition (available in facsimile), whose errors prompted the composer to issue a list of corrections. The recent Walhall edition (EW 652 and 658) uses ‘modern’ clefs, otherwise reproducing the score largely as found. Many details are wrongly transcribed, and some new errors introduced. I would recommend using the attractive facsimile, albeit with discretion.

Mattheson was not a scrupulously accurate composer, and his technique depended upon notational conventions. For example, while a varied treatment of most repeats would have been expected (and Rowland does not disappoint), Mattheson wrote out many trills and decorative elements in full, but did not intend these to be played exactly as written for both first time and repeat: a simpler treatment the first time was probably implicit. On the other hand, his notation of ties to reinforce the harmony is inconsistent: many need to be inferred from explicit examples.

In Suite 3 Mattheson used duple notation for the Gigue. As Rowland points out, this anachronistic method (originating in Froberger’s time) was to be adopted by Bach in his sixth Partita. It demands a vigorous ‘swung’ treatment, like that which is applied here. Two passages of block chords designed for arpeggiation appear, in Suites 2 and 6. Elsewhere Mattheson illustrated his own treatment of such chords. Rowland uses his own rather more complicated realisation.

Mattheson considered himself a fashionable member of society, and gave his pieces French titles. A French harpsichord is used here – sonorous and excellently recorded. Rowland’s playing might be termed German in approach: most rhythms are as written, and while he swings some courantes in an exciting, vigorous, non-French manner, he rejects the arguments offered in the pages of The Consort (vol. 71, 2015, pp. 44-6) concerning the presence of rhythmic hints at the start of many of Mattheson’s dances. Undoubtedly expressive, Rowland enjoys long trills for their own sake, and uses ritenuti and pauses – even adding a beat or two of his own at the end of some dances. Mattheson, a skilled dancer, might have been nonplussed, but Rowland doubtless considers these pieces to be divorced from actual dancing.

Within the booklet, I would have preferred more about Mattheson (who receives one and a half pages and a recommendation to consult Grove), and less analysis of the suites, which occupies four and a half pages, along the lines of ‘varied semiquaver figuration’ and ‘flowing contrapuntal textures’. Rowland writes ‘that he had a very distinctive style’ although, as a harpsichordist who has recorded the complete keyboard works of Handel, he compares the music to that composer’s on five occasions.

I have come to think that in many cases the original idea may have been Mattheson’s, who at one point complained that Handel had stolen a number of his best tunes. It should be mentioned, nevertheless, that Mattheson himself ‘borrowed’ three movements from Georg Böhm for his final suite in F minor. Again, the fugue placed before the start of Suite 11 is not just ‘unorthodox’, but a clever musical joke. The Walhall edition wrongly places it within the Suite itself. There are several good jokes elsewhere, which, to be effective for listeners, could have received more attention from the player.

Should a performer try to reflect the personality of Mattheson himself? In his writings we see an uneven character, whom even his friend Handel ultimately seems to have found hard to take. He was witty and good company, but egotistic and peevish. I find the player’s carefully considered and over-elaborate playing of some slower pieces less easy to reconcile with Mattheson’s character, but the affecting success of some slow playing, like that in Suite 11, is undeniable, and the composer’s forceful and dramatic side is vividly portrayed throughout this recording.

In any case, today as in Mattheson’s own time, all players will automatically inject their own personality into the performance. Even more than with most composers of the baroque, we simply cannot be sure how Mattheson and his contemporaries expected some of this music to be played, and every fresh performance is not just to be warmly welcomed, but is really valuable. This is a very attractive set, which will help to give greater exposure to an unfamiliar composer of great character.