Mela Tenenbaum, Richard Kapp - The Devil's Thrill (2002)

No matter how you cut it, this is terrific violin playing. And the best–somewhat ironically, considering the disc’s title–comes after the program’s opening Tartini (“Devil’s Trill”) sonata. Mela Tenenbaum is a staunchly confident violinist who projects assured technique and a thorough grasp of the exhibitionistic aspects of the works she presents here. Behind these sonatas, each of which is marked by formidable technical demands, is the work of a composer who was intimately acquainted with the violin (all were acknowledged virtuosos) and who knew how to structure a work for maximum dramatic impact. Tenenbaum, who plays a magnificent Stradivarius instrument, revels in the music’s varieties of mood and expressive possibilities, combining flawless fingering and exceptionally articulate bowing with the sensitivity of dynamics and phrasing that we expect from one who is not only an “entertainer” but an artist as well. (And speaking of artist: She even designed the cover for this disc and its companion, The Devil Made Me Do It, where she performs this same program on viola! See tomorrow’s reviews for that one.)

All of these sonatas are performed with piano accompaniment, and although Richard Kapp’s realizations work well for the Leclair and Locatelli, where the keyboard tends to have a more important role, in the Tartini the part is nothing more than accompaniment of the most rudimentary harmonic kind, and it actually draws attention from the primary interest of the solo line–as quickly becomes apparent in the unaccompanied flourishes near the end of the piece, where Tenenbaum tears the cover off Tartini’s score and momentarily focuses our ears fully on her fiery virtuosity. If you want to hear the piece unaccompanied–and the effect is striking–listen to Andrew Manze’s remarkably compelling rendition on Harmonia Mundi. It’s truly “unearthly” and makes a powerful case for Tartini’s supposed preference for this mode of performance.

As mentioned, Tenenbaum is even more riveting in the Leclair and Locatelli sonatas, whose alternately slow and fast movements offer abundant opportunities to assail a full range of technical challenges, packed into all manner of melodic, rhythmic, harmonic, and temporal guises. Of course, the highlight of the program is the final Allegro of the Locatelli, the latter half of which is a tour de force for unaccompanied violin that will have you on the edge of your seat, thanks to Tenenbaum’s unfettered virtuosity and obvious joy in her performance. The Paganini sonata, which the performers added “just for the fun of it”, is historically and stylistically quite different from the other pieces, but as an encore it’s a real treat. Its seven minutes are jammed with dramatic effects, an instrumental version of a Rossini-esque opera aria, and in typical Paganini fashion, we’re never left waiting around for something to happen. Tenenbaum lifts all the spice and flavor out of this work that we could want, and at the disc’s close we’ve no doubt we’ve gotten our money’s worth! The sound is drier and whiter than I prefer, but it’s sharply detailed and intimate enough and carefully balanced to give the violin plenty of room to sing.