In this new recording for the Paraty label, harpsichordist Paolo Zanzu joins forces with violinist Liv Heym and gamba player Christophe Coin to revisit Bach’s six sonatas in a spirit of living exploration. Varied instruments, diverse textures, and a passion for detail: he reflects on a project woven from memories and musical intuition.
What made you want to record this cycle of sonatas now?
Paolo Zanzu: I first listened to these sonatas a great deal as a child, in the interpretation by Glenn Gould and Jaime Laredo. When I was a young teenager, I played both piano and violin, and with a friend who played piano and cello, we loved to trade places at the keyboard to play, in turn, these sonatas and the gamba sonatas by the same Bach. Later, when I chose to devote myself to historical keyboards, I had the opportunity to perform these works often with many violinists. Meeting Liv made me want to record them.
You chose different instruments for each sonata, depending on their character and writing, and incorporated the viola da gamba into some of them. How did the collaboration with violinist Liv Heym and gambist Christophe Coin unfold in this shared sound exploration?
P. Z.: These sonatas offer a great variety of writing, musical textures and affects which, in my view, can be brought out all the more if the interpretation is supported by the choice of appropriate instruments. The German harpsichord-making tradition of the 18th century produced magnificent instruments, very different from one region to another. These aesthetics reflect diverse tastes, and their distinctive timbres offer a very rich palette of sonorities, which Bach knew well. Liv and I were lucky enough to perform these sonatas many times before recording them: we were therefore able to explore textures and colours, always in the service of an overall sound in which each voice stands out and engages in dialogue with the others. The challenge for Liv and Christophe was then to adapt to each keyboard instrument. The balance shifted not only from one instrument to another, but also from one sonata to the next. The viola da gamba plays a very important role. It’s not just a reinforcement of the harpsichordist’s left hand: it also creates a precious sonic link with the violin’s upper register, gives depth and weight to the bass line, and supports held notes and pedal points. Finally, Christophe Coin’s presence brings precious richness and depth to the interpretation.
You offer two versions of the sixth sonata, which—through its writing, form, and numerous revisions—stands apart from the other five. What do you think it reveals about the evolution of Bach’s musical thought?
P. Z.: While some movements remain almost unchanged across the three versions, others keep their structure but become more complex in the writing. Still others disappear or are replaced by new movements. Bach’s works are always complex, and reveal an exceptionally deep and articulate mind. So, it’s not about detecting any kind of improvement in the writing of this final sonata. What changes, above all, is its form. Its structure shifts from version to version, as does its centre of gravity, depending on the length of the movements or the space they occupy within the sonata. It becomes clear that this is living material, constantly evolving, though it’s difficult to grasp the reasons behind the changes. Each of the three versions works perfectly. One might see them as snapshots in time.
Each sonata is a world unto itself. How would you invite the listener into this recording? Is there a particular movement that touches you deeply, and which could, in your view, serve as a listening key?
P. Z.: My advice would be to listen to them one at a time, and to revisit them, in order to enter into their unique worlds. While each piece is, of course, splendid and I love them all, there are three movements that touch me particularly: the first of the fifth sonata, the third of the second, and the first of the first. Here, we brush the sublime!


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