Hearing one of Bach’s sonatas or partitas for unaccompanied violin in a recital is usually a treat, if the violinist has the technique and imagination to surmount its difficulties and give it a richly characterized performance. And with that same qualification, hearing all six of these works in an afternoon is a kind of classical music nirvana.
One of his main contentions is that the monumental Chaconne that closes the Partita No. 2 in D minor (BWV 1004) is the set’s dramatic and emotional center of gravity, and he has a point: the next movement in the set, the opening Adagio of the Sonata No. 3 in C (BWV 1005) is overshadowed by the Chaconne’s dark mood. Even though Mr. Tetzlaff stopped for applause and a moment offstage between the two works, his use of exactly the same coloration he brought to the Chaconne at the start of the Adagio drove home the point almost as clearly as if he had moved directly from the partita into the sonata.
Mr. Tetzlaff proved his broader point too — that the works expand in seriousness as they approach the Chaconne and lighten thereafter, as they head toward the ebullient Partita No. 3 in E (BWV 1006) — though there was room for debate. Yes, that final partita has the sunniest Prelude and is devoted mostly to zesty dance movements. But Mr. Tetzlaff did not shy away from deep introspection in the Loure, and he showed that the variations in the spirited Gavotte en Rondeau are hardly trifles.
He also demonstrated that the fugues in each of the three sonatas give the Chaconne serious competition in weightiness and grandeur, and simply in formal terms, a fugue trumps a chaconne any day. For that matter, Mr. Tetzlaff’s performances were reminders that there are no insignificant movements in this set: few listeners would single out the Doubles of the Partita No. 1 in B minor (BWV 1002) as particular favorites, yet Mr. Tetzlaff’s phrasing made them more magnetic than ever. And you don’t normally hear the closing Presto of the Sonata No. 1 in G minor (BWV 1001) played with the sheer fury he brought to it.
Technique is never an issue with this violinist. The clarity and solidity he brings to the music’s chordal writing remain among the most striking characteristics of his Bach playing, as does the sharp articulation he uses to suggest independent lines of counterpoint. What has deepened is the intensity of the emotional charge he draws from this music, in readings that match Bach’s 18th-century ingenuity with passion and warmth in the here and now.
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