Mr. Abel, a musician who learned the flute, gamba, harpsichord, and cello at the feet of his father, left Dresden for London to join his friend J.C. Bach in 1758. The two of them together established hegemony over the already perpetually active concert life of the city, starting in 1762 with the first of the Bach-Abel concerts. These showcases gave each musician a chance to shine, and they shared the conducting duties for the orchestra as well. Strangely enough, Abel, whose specialty was on the viola da gamba, an instrument already archaic and exotic by this period of history, made the most of his success by featuring this instrument, and people flocked to hear his concerts. His playing started at least a small revival of the instrument, and many contemporary composers (Vivaldi, Couperin, and Rameau among them) wrote for the device.
He eschewed virtuosic playing for its own sake, and indulged himself only when he felt he was in the mood for such antics. Most of what he normally played in public was rather simple, though testimony at the time indicates to us that his playing was remarkably affective, and his adagios in particular possessed an unusually powerful emotional content. “I do not chuse to be always struggling with difficulties, and playing with all my might. I make my pieces difficult whenever I please, according to my disposition and that of my audience”, reports Charles Burney of Abel’s own words to him.
Only a musician of considerable skill could afford to make such a statement, and we can easily see that Abel conducted his concerts on very much his own terms. What we get on this album is decidedly not what he gave to his public most of the time; there are 30 pieces residing in the British and New York Public Libraries (24 recorded here) that show a different side to the composer, one who wrote intimate music for friends and special occasions, and of considerable difficulty. Multiple stops, elaborate ornamentation, and a dramatic temperament show each of these miniatures to be quite a challenge, the work of a master of the instrument displaying how exactly one should write for it, and this about 80 to 100 years after the instrument’s heyday!
Susanne Heinrich proves herself a worthy heir to Abel’s virtuosity and considerable gamba skill, and gives fluid accounts of this music. My only qualm is that as a program it doesn’t always work—most of this music is in D major or minor (with few exceptions), and this tires the ear easily, especially after nearly 80 minutes. As a reference recording, it will serve specialists well, but for general listening it might have been more appropriate to break it up with some pieces by other gamba composers of the same age, and maybe spread these across a couple of discs. Nonetheless, and despite my half-star deduction for the monotony factor, Hyperion gives us a very fine recording, finely recorded in delicate, warm sound, and recommended in the same manner.
– Steven Ritter
