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Fanfare

This is not the first time Graham Lynch and Francois Couperin have collided on disc—or on Divine Art, for that matter: Harpsichordist Assi Karttunen’s disc presented a string of Couperin pieces against seven pieces by Lynch (with one overlap: the short piece Ay!, so if you own both discs you hear it on both harpsichord and piano; Fanfare 38:5). Entitled Seria Ludo (serious matters treated in a playful spirit, the title of the new Divine Art disc takes from one of the pieces in the third White Book), this recording offers a superb introduction to Lynch’s pianistic output.

The first piece is White Book 3, a recent collection of five movements. It is an amazing achievement in that the music sounds simple, yet holds multiple mysteries; there was a lot going on to get the music to this concentrated state. The second piece, “The Hesperides,” is magnificent, the power of its harmonies emphasized by their internalization in the final measures. The music moves from loud to quiet, but somehow intensifies. The pieces of the third White Book were inspired by the abstract paintings of newly knighted (2021) Portsmouth-born artist Sir Christopher Le Brun (a master of color). It is Lynch’s aphoristic responses that are so fascinating; the sense of play in the fourth movement, “The Rhine,” for example. And what a beautiful performance that movement receives from Sanchez; grand, noble, reflective, yet shot through with internal light, something faithfully reflected by the superb recording from Divine Art. The composer himself admits a proclivity for French music and there is a delicacy here that reflects that, but also he acknowledges a more “Northern European sensibility” in “The Rhine.” That feeling of concentration, of distillation, is most pronounced in the final “Landscape with Angels,” the only movement not based on just one single Le Brun painting. Two paintings are reproduced in the booklet (“Travelers in a Landscape,” and the beautiful “The Hesperides.” Throughout, it is evident that Sanchez enjoys complete resonance with Lynch’s output; there is the most blissful sense of comprehension, of melding even, in these performances.

The very end of White Book 3 hangs in the air. The hard touch required by the opening of Absolute Inwardness comes as a nice contrast but subsides to reveal a piece that again has one foot in the physical and another in the etheric; the composer links the atmosphere of the piece to a “world of intense feeling and subjectivity reminiscent of Novalis and Holderlin.” What is magnificent about Sanchez’s performance is his absolute lack of hurry; the music just unfolds.

The juxtaposition of Absolute Inwardness and The Couperin Sketchbooks is inspired—chalk and cheese, but taken from the same cupboard, one might say. In the latter work, the themes are much more immediately perceptible (and that French influence is very clear, sometimes heading towards Impressionism). Lynch intersperses passages from Couperin’s own works with his own voice, avoiding the more famous of that composer’s output, and at the very end quoting from an earlier work of his own, the harpsichord Pastorale, notated in the manner of an unmeasured prelude. Sanchez’s control of his instrument at the very lowest dynamic level is highly commendable. A gripping performance of a work that is compositionally fascinating in its juxtaposition of worlds; and despite that thematic clarity, the overall envelope remains elusive. A quick word of praise is in order for Sanchez’s finger evenness, a prerequisite for this piece and heard in delicious abundance.

The Priory disc Undiscovered Islands includes performances, by the excellent Mark Tanner, of White Books 1 and 2. Book 2 was written for Tanner and first performed at Wigmore Hall (the U.S. premiere was by Albert Kim, who plays it here). The performance of White Book 2 by Tanner is remarkable; as it is the only overlap, there is no real reason not to hear and own both discs; after all, you will have the performers who gave the UK and U.S. premieres. Tanner plays with disarming textural clarity in “Undiscovered Islands,” Lynch’s portrait of an imagined society. And here is where the swings and roundabouts begin. Kim’s performance is a fine one (if not quite as captivating as Tanner’s), but the recording on the new Divine Art disc is notably finer. The second movement, “Night Journey to Cordoba,” inspired by Lorca, is full of a sense of dread of an as yet unrealized (and possibly imaginary) outcome, and here Kim takes the laurels; his staccato repeated figure at the opening is more insistent, more foreboding, and he sustains the atmosphere, and musical argument, better than Tanner. The third movement, “Dragon,” takes its inspiration from Chinese dragon designs and so has a certain lightness. Here both pianists seem perfectly attuned to Lynch’s demands; perhaps Kim just pips the post with an extra sprinkling of draconic magic. The set has a “still centre” in Lynch’s words (and English spelling): the fourth movement, “Inner Moon,” where notes quietly disturb a prevailing silence. Kim takes all the time in the world, relishing Lynch’s sometimes ravishing harmonies; Tanner is a touch more hard-edged, a touch more objective.

Comparison between the two is a riveting experience as, although Tanner’s center is certainly still, it is simultaneously quite disturbing, while Kim tends more towards a peace profound. The fourth movement is entitled “The Sadness of the King,” and includes a hint of melancholic tango; Kim’s is the more dolorous performance of the two, and I hear more of the tango element. Interestingly, Lynch opts to end the book in upbeat fashion, with “Toques,” an Impressionistic evocation of a guitar. Fine though Kim’s performance is, there is the odd moment that sounds just a touch studied, a little studio-bound; here it is Tanner to whom I would return. One should feel spoilt, though, to have two such remarkable artists in the service of this fine music. So, buy both discs: Mark Tanner, incidentally, is a notably underrated pianist and musicality underpins everything he does.

The final work is the 10-minute Ay!. A tango nuevo piece in its original harpsichord guise, in Assi Karttunen’s performance it is somewhat akin to hearing a dance preserved in aspic. The 3:3:2 rhythm, so beloved of Piazzolla, is present and correct, but we are many air miles away from the dance’s origins. The title refers to a Spanish ejaculation. There is no mention of an expanded version, but the harpsichord recording lasts 3:42 and this piano one, 10:04. Sanchez’s performance is beguiling; and the performance on piano actually takes us closer to the dance’s roots given the multiplicity of tango-based pieces for piano.

This is a remarkable, and satisfying, disc of Graham Lynch’s engrossing piano music. I did say “buy both discs” earlier in reference to the Tanner, but really, add the Karttunen for a hat-trick and enjoy that brilliant harpsichord juxtaposition of Lynch and Couperin as a bonus.