Catalogue

Summary:

So little is known about the gifted musician Gaspard Le Roux that, among the theories that abound around who exactly he was, we even have the suggestion that he might not have existed at all  – and that the Pièces de Clavessin published in Paris in 1705 bears a nom de plume, perhaps that of a noble or someone with royal connections. Matters are complicated not least by the number of musicians named Le Roux, Roux, Leroux and so on active in France at the time, and the contemporary convention of mostly relying on last names in records. A death date of 1707 has been the accepted norm on the basis of a notary receipt of the inventory of the estate of a Gaspard Leroux on 17 June 1707. But even this has been problematic to verify. And since associating any documentary source unequivocally with the Le Roux of the keyboard Suites is so troublesome, arguing an approximate date of birth remains pure speculation. As for Le Roux’s activities in Paris, when he arrived there, the nature of his reputation – all that is shrouded in mystery. In fact, ‘enigmatic’ is the description most commentators turn to at some point – a word that implies not just a riddle to be solved, but indeed something inexplicable to us, so that in using it we also unwittingly elevate the creator of these undeniably charming pieces to a certain degree. Or: does the spectre of an anonymous composer add charm to pieces that, viewed from a certain perspective, might appear rather conventional?

For those interested in the current state of scholarship on Le Roux, the meticulous work of Jon Baxendale is to be recommended. Reading him carefully teasing out the puzzle presented by looking at the currently-known relevant evidence in toto makes for fascinating contemporary insights, but also serves to show that there is virtually nothing that can be said with any certainty outside what is suggested by the 1705 edition itself. What we do know is that, on 4 April 1705, a Gaspard Le Roux sought to obtain the Privilège du Roy for the rights to publish and sell his work. This would extend for another decade – and here one must assume that Le Roux died before further ambitions in print could be realised. We may also cautiously assume this to be a first publication (although the granting of the Privilège in a matter of days suggests Le Roux was not a complete unknown) – perhaps of a youngish composer in the course of establishing his reputation, not least as a teacher, and pursuing a measure of success in the French capital.

All in all, it is a fascinating document. On the top half of the page, one can see a beautifully engraved keyboard score, and below it, a version for two melody instruments and accompanying continuo of the same material. Most, but not all of the pieces, are given in this trio incarnation, which on occasion contains subsidiary or supplementary voices that are not to be found in the keyboard score. As a demonstration, Le Roux also includes in this book five dances elaborated into a version for two harpsichords. (A single ‘original’ harpsichord duet, the Gigue in G rounds of the collection – on this recording in turn transcribed as a one-keyboard piece.) There is therefor a kind of multi-purpose, or even do-it-yourself element built into this collection, where musicians, depending on their abilities, are encouraged, even required to use the music in the form most suitable and enjoyable to themselves. The potential pedagogical and commercial dimensions of this in early-1700s Paris cannot be denied, but it nevertheless puts us, engaging with this music now, quite explicitly in an interesting position. The pieces are generally easy to listen to, and not too difficult to play – thus fitting for an amateur market. But the very ‘space’ that such a text allows for potential additions, elaborations or amendments, alongside the intrinsic finesse of the writing – the sensitive ear of its composer, and the gentle idiosyncratic touches – opens up possibilities for artistry and artifice which is the sole domain of the professional.

One could regard presenting a score like this as a kind of perfected object as commonplace now, not least as evidenced by several currently-available recorded versions – on harpsichord, as harpsichord duet, and in its manifestation as a trio. One of the things that make the book of pieces so intriguing, and acts as further invitation to read it as a coherent whole, is the confident organisation into seven Suites, the first in seven movements followed by one with four movements, followed by another with seven, then three, then seven again, then four.  The final suite, in this scheme, should have seven movements to complete the palindrome but it overshoots, as it were, and includes an extended variation set on a Sarabande theme that well exceeds the bounds and ambitions of anything in the other Suites – a concluding tour de force, if you will. The overall disposition of the set is so elegant and makes for such a pleasant listening experience all the way through – at around 90 minutes – that it can be presented as it is, without ‘programming’ interventions. Care seems to be taken to avoid repetition, to keep everything concentrated, for ideas not to overstay their welcome, and for each Suite to have its own distinct character in the arrangement of the whole – from our vantage point seemingly in keeping with a modern, enlightened sensibility, and quite unlike so many rather unwieldy earlier French keyboard Livres or the later, sprawling Ordres of François Couperin, for example. A similar sensitivity can be felt in the quality and nature of the craftsmanship itself. In terms of their style, the pieces could be said form a kind of bridge between the old regime of French keyboard masters like Louis Couperin and D’Anglebert and the more avant-garde masters of the 18^th century, Rameau and François Couperin. In this, Le Roux stands beside the better-known, but rather different Elisabeth Jaquet De La Guerre. On the surface, much of the writing feels on the somewhat conservative side, but never staid; everything is sonically beautiful without a hint of awkwardness, and with some strikingly individual or cryptic turns of phrase beautifully folded into the elegant whole. Such a flattering view of the set is perhaps somewhat at variance with Baxendale, who takes Le Roux’s relative obscurity as basis for assuming that dance sets of similar quality by other unknown composers are only waiting to be discovered. Undoubtedly making absolute value judgements of artwork in genres that are accessible to craftsmen of all abilities will always be slippery territory, but it seems to me that something like the powerful simplicity of a piece like the haunting Sarabande of the F-sharp minor Suite is only an apparent simplicity and, indeed, evidences the hand of a master. One could impute a jewel-like quality to virtually every piece in the set, not least in movements like the exquisite concluding Courante of the first Suite, the yearning but also rather grand D-major Allemande, the finely-proportioned F-major Chaconne or in the piquant character pieces of the final Suite.

For this first recording of these Suites on piano – in both the do-it-yourself spirit of the score, and also in that of inviting the modern listener to treat Le Roux’s set as ‘art object’ – I have fashioned a version where I conflate Le Roux’s solo harpsichord and trio iterations of the same music, adding some of the extra inner voices or descants from the trios to the keyboard version on repeats, but in such a way that the delicate poise and occasionally elliptical voice-leading of the original keyboard score would still be largely maintained. (Only occasionally does the score allow for the intrusion of a 19^th-century, gothic style of baroque transcription where textures are filled out with little left to the imagination.) At times there is the option of experimenting with registral displacements at the octave, or some doublings at the third or sixth. And the occasional extra repeat or mini-reprise, or even omission of a repeat, could be an aid when striving to balance the elements within a suite or across the whole set, according to one’s taste. Needless to say, colouring through voicing, pedalling and touch, and finding adroit ways in which to deploy the different varieties of notes inégales, not to speak of the many possibilities for executing and refining the ornaments which proliferate everywhere, provide the modern pianist with a rich repository of means for developing techniques and creating characters or states of feeling – in ways that not only may go beyond the mere ersatz representation of what we suppose of early 18^th-century keyboard music (or of Le Roux’s intentions), but which must go beyond that. One may well debate the merits of such a ‘raising of the stakes’ in technical terms, of such an anachronised ‘aestheticizing’ exercise. But in our efforts to bring something entertaining and affecting to life with this score, the modern performer must play this rather strange, but already rather well-known game with the plethora of performance traditions and practices, old and new, and to mine expressivity where we may find it: appropriating what we need to ourselves and our milieu. Perhaps something of the essence of the original does remain intact. But ultimately it must remain unknowable how future listeners might perceive what we do now: perhaps who we are will seem as much of an enigma to them as Le Roux remains to us!

- Daniel-Ben Pienaar

Tracklist:

GASPARD LE ROUX (c.1670–c.1706) 

COMPLETE KEYBOARD SUITES (Pièces de clavessin – 1705) 

CD1

Suite in D Minor
1. I. Prelude 
2. II. Allemande la Vauvert 
3. III. Courante 
4. IV. Sarabande grave 
5. V. Menuet 
6. VI. Passepied  
7. VII. Courante luthée  

Suite in D Major
8. I. Allemande grave
9. II. Courante 
10. III. Sarabande gaye
11. IV. Gavotte  

Suite in A Minor
12. I. Prelude 
13. II. Allemande l’Incomparable  
14. III. Courante 
15. IV. Sarabande 
16. V. Sarabande en Rondeau 
17. VI. Gavotte 
18. VII. Menuet et Double, Second Menuet  

 Suite in A Major
19. I. Allemande gaye
20. II. Courante la Venetiene
21. III. Gigue 

Suite in F Major
22. I. Prelude 
23. II. Allemande grave 
24. III. Courante 
25. IV. Chacone 
26. V. Menuet, Double, Double de la Basse  
27. VI. Passepied  
28. VII. Allemande  

CD2

Suite in F Sharp Minor
1. I. Allemande gaye
2. II. Courante et Double
3. III. Sarabande grave en rondeau
4. IV. La Favoritte

Suite in G Minor
5. I. Prelude
6. II. Allemande
7. III. Courante
8. IV. Le Bel-ebat
9. V. La Piece sans titre
10. VI. Gigue
11. VII. Sarabande en 12 Couplets
12. VIII. Menuet  

 13. Gigue in G (arr. Pienaar – originally for 2 harpsichords) 

Daniel-Ben Pienaar, piano 

Recorded 5 and 6 March 2022 at the Concert Hall, Cardiff School of Music
Sound engineering and mastering: Adaq Khan
Mapping and editing: Daniel-Ben Pienaar
Piano score: Daniel-Ben Pienaar