Bach once said that the task of the composer is to balance invention with harmony. In similar spirit, Gardiner said that the genius of Bach is its marriage of the horizontal with the vertical – the art of devising a good tune, with strict canons of harmony.
It is a wonder what Bach ever saw in the Aria which begins the Goldberg Variations. It is a parody of French galante simplicity – a rather aimless melody which labours under the weight of heavy ornamentation; precisely the sort of kitschy ditties Duphly was composing. To compose a set of thirty variations on it, consisting of canons, dances and virtuosic show-pieces, (not to mention fourteen canons essayed on another scrap of paper) is the sign of the genius which David Malouf saw in Shakespeare – the ability to take an inch and give an ell; to see the infinite within the finite.
The stage was tastefully bedecked with a couple dozen candles, with a two-manual harpsichord in the middle. The hall was very dimly lit. It gave the impression of a domestic soiree – precisely the sort of environment in which the harpsichord shone in the 18th century. This is intimate music composed for the salon, not the modern concert hall.
Erin Helyard made creative use of both manuals in his performance of the aria – as he did in the second variation. The repeats were studded with tasteful ornamentation. In the first variation – a jazzy polonaise – Helyard changed the register to activate both sets of strings. The sound filled the concert hall.
In the third, the first canon, each voice was made distinctive by Helyard. That is no small feat. The bassline in the third variation is notoriously busy. With some over-legato, he let the D major chord that closes the A-section wash over the audience.
The fourth variation, a stately passepied, was fast and energetic. One could glimpse Helyard’s bouncy playing style, which made full use of the jack’s damper to punctuate the melodies and cut out voices when needed. The same energy could be seen in his performance of the seventh, a Canary gigue, which was lively and which exaggerated the syncopation in the melodic lines to give a jarring, Frenchified, effect. All these are also hallmarks shared by the twenty-second variation.
In the fifth, a showy arabesque with much hand-crossing, we get a sense of Helyard’s dexterity on both manuals. Despite the vigour of it all, the economy of Helyard’s hand movements showed the sign of a virtuoso – moving no more than necessary. That could also be seen in the tenth, a busy fugue.
The twelfth variation is something of a miracle. It would be very difficult today to find someone who could compose a canon in inversion at the fifth based on a set ground – and a pleasant one at that! The chromatic mirrors in the B-section look forward to the fifteenth variation. It is altogether surprising that the fifteenth was played without repeats. It is precisely the sort of meditative piece on which an audience needs to ruminate for a while. So too the twenty-fifth – the dark pearl of the third decade of variations – which was here played with an interesting twist on the descending parts of the melody.
That said, the fifteenth ends on something of a question mark, on opposite ends of the keyboard. The question is answered, resoundingly, by Helyard’s performance of the sixteenth variation – a bright French overture.
It must be said that Helyard has a creative advantage. He has directed countless operas, and other drammi per musica. A sense of the operatic could be seen in his flamboyant interpretation of the overture, which got straight into the fugal B-section without hesitation.
The quirky sense of humour one finds in most Baroque operas shines through in Helyard’s performance of the twenty-third variation. The two voices chase each other up and down the extremities of the keyboard. They are sometimes played staccato, to give a whimsical effect. At other times, the scales are played over-legato. And in the twenty-seventh, we get an early denouement – a false finish – before the real conclusion kicks in. It is clear that much thought has been invested in this.
It is also clear Helyard knows how to make full use of his instrument. In the thirteenth variation, for example, Helyard plays the bassline with the buff stop, which gives the effect of a lute. The first notes of the repeats in the twenty-first variation are performed an octave lower to give a percussive effect. And while the twenty-ninth variation is a variation that is usually rushed over with the cheery abandon of a dilettante, here Helyard shifts registers and changes manuals throughout to give a delicious chiaroscuro effect.
Consistently with Bach’s very Renaissance love of fractals, the final variation is a variation within a variation. The bassline is not just one but two North German folk tunes – the other being what sounds like a fragment of Mein junges Leben hat ein End, a theme which also inspired Sweelinck’s penchant for the art of variation more than a century before Bach put quill to paper.
This review would not be complete without mentioning the tasteful use of lighting in each variation. With the final clash of G and F# in the aria da capo, Helyard fades, unassumingly, into the dark.
That is just as well. In this performance, Helyard does not set out to amaze, to stun, or to provoke. Helyard approaches this masterpiece with the intellectual humility it demands. He does not let his voice drown out the author’s. The result is an interpretation which engages the mind of the student as much as the ear of the listener.
