Gramofon: J. S. Bach: Solo Cello Suites – Interview
Miklós Perényi: “The microphone shouldn’t be a source of stress”
He is continually looking for connections – the notes that belong together. For every performance, he strives to position himself in the given musical texture, to find the ideal tempo, and to let the composition speak in the most authentic manner, according to the composer’s intentions. Miklós Perényi first played one of Bach’s six solo cello suites when he was nine years old. He also made sound recordings and DVDs of the cycle, and five years ago performed the suites, divided into two concerts, at the Liszt Academy of Music, Budapest. We spoke to him about his new recordings of Bach released by Hungaroton, about the most treasured moments of teaching, about his experience composing, and about why it is still wonderful to play Bach.
Gramofon: Your first recording of the six solo cello suites by Johann Sebastian Bach was released nearly four decades ago, also on the Hungaroton label. How far has your concept of these pieces changed since then?
Miklós Perényi: I have known and played these works for over sixty years now, and I am constantly examining the more profound interconnections. I performed the first suite at the age of nine, and the second a year later, and then, one by one, the others. I studied the works with many teachers, but however many times I turned (and turn) to them, I always deal with them as though they were new. I write my remarks into music which has no interpretative annotations. I took a copy of Anna Magdalena Bach’s manuscript as the benchmark – even if the phrase marks are either absent or in a different place, and so they cannot always be adopted. After that, one needs to think about how the notes should be interpreted, grouped together, according to the musical texture. However many concerts I play these works in as a cycle, over and over I find myself questioning my earlier annotations, or finding them vindicated. During teaching too, new connections can be noticed in the works, and all these types of experience build up. I seek connections. In the cello suites, the motivic relationships derive from their polyphony, but tonal implications also play a role, and every approach is important. Here the voices are not as hierarchical as in the later classical repertoire, and it’s delightful to have the opportunity to deliberate over how to group things. That’s why it is such a wonderful experience to play Bach’s music: because every voice has a continuation, and it can always be found.
G.: When you are making new recordings, do you listen to the earlier ones?
M. P.: Not usually, because I always set out from the moment, from the ideas I have annotated, from experience, and from discoveries. I position myself in the given musical texture, and I listen to which side of the voice-leading and the key structure comes to the foreground. Although I generally don’t listen to my earlier recordings, when they are being made, they have to be checked repeatedly, after the mixing. I was curious about the tempi of the cello suites of four decades ago, so during the recording I asked the studio technicians to show me them. With the tempi, you are always striving to find the ideal balance, where the tempo of the piece “sits” most comfortably, the one that helps you to present the character of the movement. This is particularly true of the dance movements. The tempo is important, but at the same time, as far as possible, all the other layers of the piece must be shown. This is the beauty of Bach’s pieces: alongside the chordal structure we see the constant presence of linear polyphony.
G.: Five years ago you performed the six solo suites in two concerts. Does being in front of an audience affect your playing, or do you play the same way in a studio recording?
M. P.: In a studio recording it’s important that a microphone shouldn’t be a source of stress. In a recording lots of things can be disturbing, even changing strings, so you have to concentrate more. It’s like when you’re driving a race car, and the bends are coming. Here too, much intricate muscle work is required in order to avoid any unnecessary sounds. A recording requires a tighter, more concentrated presence, but the advantage is that you have the opportunity to repeat it. Because sometimes, when you listen to the recording, you take a deep gulp and you say: next time I will play it better, with more freshness... I’m happy to repeat a recording several times. Fortunately I’m not fussy enough to stipulate that I’m only willing to play each movement three or four times in the studio. If I’m not satisfied, then I talk to the recording director, and we record the entire thing over again. That reduces the number of edits.
G.: As you once said: every note has a meaning.
M. P.: That’s what I strive for. But at least if I don’t contradict what the musical texture presents, then I’m doing well. I always concentrate on the musical work as notated, because the composer’s intention comes first and foremost.
G.: How are the cello suites affected by being played one after the other?
M. P.: The preludes to all the suites are different. Each of them has a different rhythmic motif, and it’s interesting how the voices interleave over and into one another. As to how an audience receives it, to what extent it affects them differently hearing them in a concert, I don’t know, because as a performer I cannot concern myself with that. However, it is important that the public can hear the performance free of disturbances. That they get not more ego, but more genuine authentic presence. The audience deserves peace, after all the reason they come to concerts is to hear the given work – played authentically, if possible. Often the public has only the merest hunch of how deep a performance is, though afterwards it arouses transcendental thoughts in them. It perturbs them and unsettles them if such depths are revealed in a piece, but that is the very reason they go to the concert hall. Catharsis stirs them up, but later they will certainly be grateful for it. In Bach’s works these depths do not always need to be emphasized in bold, as it were; it is sufficient to display them. For if I emphasize something, another facet of the piece might suffer. This is why the artist must bring the various layers into a synthesis. Bach’s pieces are of material in which much can be foregrounded, and for that very reason there is no guarantee that I will play these works in the same way even two years later, for instance.
G.: And what if a student brings the cello suites to a lesson?
M. P.: The thing with Bach’s music is that it can be played in as many ways as there are teachers. The same thing can be called black by one, and white by another. I find this strange, because I believe one should always seek for the optimum. And if a piece has taken shape, then there’s a concept behind it. What the composer was thinking of – that’s what ought to be conveyed. Beyond that, the composition can be played on several levels. I’ve never forced my own views onto my students; I always first let them play the work according to their own ideas, and I only indicate the points where it’s worth considering a different solution. It’s very good when all this proceeds of its own accord in our work together, and the pupil brings their own new discoveries. The inspiration the student gets is different from practising at home.
G.: You’ve been teaching for more than forty-five years now. I imagine your work with students also affects your analyses, and your own musical language.
M. P.: It’s a long process, that of arriving at the point where you proffer your spontaneous ideas about a work, or make remarks, or share your feelings about a piece, while teaching. It takes time, and experience too. Fortunately I have that now, more and more, from the lessons at the Liszt Academy and the masterclasses. The most valuable experiences in the lessons are when I am moved. Then, in the middle of teaching, suddenly the spirit of the musical work reveals itself. This has great weight, and these moments are truly a gift, even though they don’t occur every day.
G.: Thanks to Pablo Casals, the cello suites have gained their rightful place. You too regularly went to the masterclasses of this legendary musician...
M. P.: I went many times between the ages of 17 and 24, I was most touched by his artistry, it was a deep experience, and it stuck with me. Ever since, I too have always been searching, and former teachers and studies are slowly fading into the past. For a long time I have had to teach myself. One point of reference for this is the work of others, and feedback from colleagues, and one does well to take heed of this. And of course over the years and decades, to some extent the emphasis in my interpretations changes.
G.: As well as giving concerts and teaching, you regularly produce your own compositions too. I imagine that this again affects you as a performer, and reinforces your commitment to being present, with your personality, behind every note.
M. P.: I’ve been composing since the age of thirty. There were periods when I had less time for it, but this activity always interested me. And it is thanks to this that when playing I hear things better, a stray note sticks out more. Three years ago I wrote a quintet which will be premiered now in the Chamber Music Festival at the Liszt Academy in November, and I’m working on a string septet, too. In addition, recently I have been working on cadenzas I made earlier for Haydn’s cello concerto and a piano concerto. I’ve revised them, and this was a very interesting and useful stylistic study for me in classical harmony and also regarding Haydn’s style. You accumulate experience, you learn what is not appropriate to do in a harmonic progression – even if it might otherwise be permitted. The best thing is when you finally know what you can do with the notes. But it’s not bad if you at least learn what not to do with them...
Zsuzsanna Réfi
Source: Gramofon