Fanfare Magazine
November/December, 2004

Violinist Rachel Barton Pine: Shedding New Light on Bach
by Robert Maxham

Rachel Barton Pine is one of only a handful of violinists who, eschewing specialization, regularly perform on both the Baroque and the modern violin. What sparked her interest in period practice, and how has she integrated period performance into the career of a soloist in the standard repertoire? “A lot of my colleagues have first come to historically informed performance when they’ve reached about my age (Ms. Pine was born on October 11, 1974). I was very fortunate to have grown up in Chicago, where there was a strong early-music scene. When I was fourteen, studying the C-major Corelli Sonata, I discovered what was supposedly Corelli’s own ornamentation. I realized that I ought not to play that sonata without ornamentation. Up to that point, I’d been approaching it as I would any other piece of music. But age fourteen was a transitional year for me, when I moved into a new stage of my musical development. I became aware of Urtext editions that year, of studying orchestral scores of concertos, and in general began looking deeper into the music I was creating. And the historically informed aspects of earlier music were a component of that widespread exploration.

That same year, I studied the Fauré A-major Sonata, and for the first time in studying a sonata, I got out the piano score, set the violin down, and looked at the music to figure out who had the Hauptstimme , who had the Nebenstimme and where the harmony changed. In the case of Baroque music, I wanted to know what types of articulation were most appropriate. I already knew how to approach Mozart as versus Brahms, how to approach Shostakovich as versus Schubert. But now that I was integrating earlier 18th-century music—the music of the High Baroque—into that, I needed to find out how the Baroque approach to tone color differed from Mozart and how it diverged. So I sought out people who knew, and learned as much as I could from them. It was a gradual process, because I didn’t go all in one fell swoop to gut strings and Baroque ideas of vibrato and A=415. It was step by step, and I began by doing more of the appropriate types of phrasing. In the Romantic period, when you go from tension to resolution, the resolution often is the stronger moment—of course, that’s a vast generalization. But in Baroque music, much more often the tension has the louder dynamic; and the resolution or release has a calmer quality—completely opposite to how harmonic progressions affect phrasing in later music. I discovered that Baroque phrases weren’t so long and sustained but reflected how singers took breaths—notes were more spoken than sung. And of course the ornamentation. Very soon after that, I began using a Baroque bow; and that, of course, made everything that I wanted to do so much easier. Once you get the hang of the bow, once you get used to how it feels in your hand, if you just go with what it wants to do, you have already found 90 percent of your answers. Even with modernized set-up on the instrument—the new neck and the new bass bar—the Baroque bow itself brings you more than half the way tonally. So from that point on, I always used the Baroque bow with my modernized violin whenever I played Baroque music—with the exception, of course, of the Vivaldi Four Seasons with a modern orchestra, or something like that, where you need to compete in volume. But whenever I performed unaccompanied Bach—or even Baroque sonatas, with the continuo played on the piano—for a recital, I’d use the Baroque bow. I didn’t use the Baroque bow when I competed in the 1992 Bach International Competition in Leipzig, because I didn’t know how the judges might feel, and I didn’t want to knock myself out of contention for some superficial reason in the first round. But, of course, I did try to create what I wanted with the modern bow. For the winners’ concerts, though, I did use my Baroque bow—when I knew nobody could take my prize away from me. I recently went to the Web site of the Bach Competition; and now the Competition is open to violin or Baroque violin. The world is gradually changing. Then too, for a while, getting used to low pitch was a challenge, because I have perfect pitch, and to me, A is a fixed point. When I was younger, it was a challenge going between A=440 and A=442 with different orchestras. So going all the way down a half step was just impossible; especially once I’d get out of first position. It took a couple of years to become comfortable with that. But now I use low pitch consistently for most of my Baroque playing—although not when I throw one Bach sonata into a mixed recital program, where I would play a Bach sonata, and a Brahms sonata and a Beethoven and some showpieces. But if I play a concert with my permanent chamber group, which is the personnel from the Handel album (Cedille CDR90000 032, 21:1)—John Mark Rozendaal on viola da gamba or Baroque cello and David Schrader on keyboard—it will always be at Baroque pitch, and has been for years. I’ve actually assimilated 415 so that when I think of certain composers, like Handel or Vivaldi, I actually think of A as a modern G-sharp. I don’t even notice that I do that. Then, when I think of Brahms and I think A, it’s a different A, and I have to fight against that if I’m playing Baroque music at a higher pitch. I began to want to use gut strings so that the quality would be more mellow and beautiful. But before owning a Baroque violin, every time I wanted to use gut strings in a Baroque concert, I’d have to restring my modernized old Italian instrument—first the Amati, then the Strad I was borrowing, and then, of course, the del Gesù that I’m still lucky to be using these days. Once I had it strung with gut, anything that I needed to practice for a future concert—which I usually needed to play on non-gut strings—just wouldn’t work on gut ones, and I couldn’t practice them for those few days. Of course, I didn’t want to borrow some random, modern-made Baroque violin, because once you’re playing a Strad, you’re not going to go to some lesser piece of wood. It was a great relief when I finally came across this amazing Gagliano that had never been modernized. It was in completely original condition and had been brought to my attention a number of years ago by a friend who happened to know that it was in Charles Beare’s shop in London. It’s ironic that so many people working as specialists in the early-music world don’t earn enough money to purchase one of these great instruments. Of course, this instrument was not exactly in my price range, either; but being in the modern-instrument world, I was connected to the pool of patrons and music-lovers who do these kinds of things, and I was fortunate to find someone who would purchase it for my use—a real blessing. It’s an extraordinary instrument because not only does it have the original neck, but it also has all its original varnish—it looks as though it’s just left the maker’s shop. We’re used to the romantic look of an old Strad or Guarneri, with very complicated mottled varnish—of course, some of the varnish has worn off and there have been damage and repairs, and the violin ends up with an antique look. The hilarious thing is that modern makers want to make antiqued violins so that from a distance they don’t look modern and prejudice people against their tone quality. They recreate a used look— and here’s a violin made in 1770, and it’s absolutely perfect. Even the neck—there’s a short, fat, Baroque neck on the Gagliano—has varnish on it. Now, when I look at my del Gesù, it looks worn.”

If Ms. Pine were playing a different instrument, would it change her musical ideas substantially? “Not in macro sense, I think. Passages that have a certain character, as stronger or lighter, more energetic or singing or dolce—that judgment doesn’t come from the instrument. It comes from what you feel the harmonies are, and the rhythms, all of those things that are on the page and that you hear in your head, singing the music to yourself without the instrument and then bringing them to the instrument. But the detail that’s coming from the instrument, that’s the micro level. So if you want a cheerful dancy quality, one violin will create that cheerful sound in one way; and a different violin with a different voice will create a different cheerful sound—but it will still be a cheerful sound. A del Gesù has a very deep, dark, rich quality and a Strad has a much more soprano quality, and that can be a significant difference that can affect interpretation. Among Baroque violins, there’s that type of variety as well, but yet I think even with the Strads and del Gesùs, it’s really a question of the mood you’re trying to create and of what colors a particular instrument offers to create that mood.”

Ms. Pine has said that the Gagliano has helped her realize her sound ideal for Baroque music. How would she describe that ideal? “Among modernized instruments, I’m more drawn to a del Gesù, with a dark, powerful, and rich sound on the lower strings. That’s the type of violin I prefer for all of the later repertoire. I don’t feel soprano-type violins fit with my playing or personality so well. Since I haven’t played as great of a variety of Baroque violins in my life, my ideal was to have a Baroque violin—a beautiful one, of course, because certainly there are modern-made Baroque-style violins and lesser instruments that have been re-Baroqued and even some great Amatis, for example, that have been re-Baroqued and just haven’t come out of the operation quite sounding healthy. My ideal was to have a great Baroque violin that would sound beautiful in the very general sense, that would have a gorgeous, Baroque-type voice, that I’d be able to play the music of Bach on, with gut strings and lower tension, so that the right resonances and a complexity of tone color would be created, enabling me to create a vast variety of sound with beautiful Baroque colors. And that’s what I was so lucky to be able to realize with this extraordinary Gagliano.”

Why has the German Baroque taken so long to develop an audience? “Well, take the Biber Mystery Sonatas , in particular—each one has a different scordatura , and to undertake scordatura is a very specialized skill—cross-tuning the strings is something that most violinists never contend with. But the German Baroque in general . . . think about the French Baroque. How many modern players ever play the French Baroque except for some Leclair sonata or other that they play completely as it shouldn’t be played. But Italian Baroque pieces are written in such a way that they’re more easily grasped by people who don’t know a lot about historically informed performance practice. Vivaldi, Corelli, Tartini can be played by violinists who don’t ornament, who vibrate every note, slur everything, shift into the upper positions—by those who interpret them as if they were written in the 19th century. Somehow or other, those pieces work that way. I’m not such a purist. ‘Historically informed’—it’s all guess work in the end; and the only criterion by which we should ever really judge is, ‘Does it sound good?’ I feel more comfortable using some of what I believe to be historically informed elements of interpretation; but I can love a Romantic performance if it’s done effectively. With the Italian repertoire, it really can be done effectively—and Handel, of course, too, because his writing was so Italian. But the very different language of the German Baroque just doesn’t work romanticized. It really has to be done more in a more historically informed way for it to come to life—and the French music, too, for sure. Its concept is foreign to the way we play later music. It’s harder to do with the modern bow, and somehow, the dialect just doesn’t translate.”

Rachel Barton Pine’s next project focuses on music for violin and orchestra based on Scottish folk melodies. “It draws me into the debate about what crossover is. That’s such a tricky issue these days. Yet as I’m playing the Bruch Scottish Fantasy , I wonder, ‘These are folk melodies. In some works of Mozart and Beethoven, there’s a folk melody here and a folk melody there. Does that make them crossover? Where is that fine line, anyway?’ There’s so much to tell about working with legendary Scottish fiddler Alasdair [Fraser], and how I approached this repertoire, which I think is perhaps different from any way in which it’s ever been done before. It’s another one of my albums in which I showcase a well-known work in a way in which it hasn’t previously been presented. You know, the Brahms in the context of the Joachim, the Bach in the context of the German unaccompanied polyphonic tradition. This will be the Bruch Scottish Fantasy in the context of other works for violin and orchestra based on Scottish folk melodies. You hear it with the Bruch First Concerto or the Bruch Second Concerto or the Mendelssohn ‘Scottish’ Symphony, which is hardly Scottish; but it’s never been put with other Scottish fiddling. And there’s actually a piece by Sir Alexander Mackenzie, which is the twin of the Bruch in terms of substance, length, orchestration, and quality—and written around the same time. Sarasate asked Mackenzie to write something that sounded Scottish. That’s how the Pibroch Suite came to be; and it was dedicated to and premiered by Sarasate. The Bruch Scottish Fantasy was also dedicated to and premiered by Sarasate. And Sarasate wrote his own Scottish Airs for violin and orchestra. That’s more of a showpiece, strung together with virtuosic flash, not as substantive and serious a work as the Mackenzie and Bruch. The Sarasate has never been recorded with violin and orchestra before. McEwen’s ‘Prince Charlie’ Rhapsody was published for violin and piano, but the orchestration was never published. It existed only in manuscript, and he added a wonderful cadenza when he orchestrated it. It was recorded in the violin and piano version, but not the orchestration and cadenza. He wrote this around the time of the war—I don’t think it ever got played. I was able to get the manuscript from the Glasgow library and had to have it entered into the computer, but it’s an absolutely gorgeous piece. Of course, you know, McEwen was the leading Scottish composer of the generation right after Mackenzie. I took an amazing trip to the Scottish highlands before I went to Edinburgh for the sessions; and I got to live in and feel the atmosphere that these composers were trying to evoke. And, of course, talking to Alasdair, learning about the fiddle style and putting in a lot of—I don’t want to call them ornaments, because it’s really not about embellishing, it’s about speaking with the right accent or the right dialect. It’s about doing what you would do with the tune if it had traditional rather than orchestral back-up, but doing it within the concerto, so as to give these tunes real Gaelic flavoring. Of course, there’s an ethical question here. What was Bruch’s intention? Did he want to Germanize this tune? Did he want to get it away from its Celtic roots and make it sound less Celtic? Am I going counter to Bruch’s intentions? Well, unfortunately, there’s no correspondence, there are no materials to which one can go to find the answer. And I can’t help but think that a guy like Sarasate, who was a composer himself and so enthusiastic about Scottish fiddle music—you know, Scott Skinnner dedicated a piece to Sarasate—I can’t help but think that if he had this sound in his ear, like the sound I got into my ear, that he would have put in some of these ‘Gaelicisms.’ Because once it’s in your ear, you almost can’t not do it.”