8053.FanfareRev.html

One of the last of the French clavecinists, Jacques Duphly (or Du Phly, to use the alternative name chosen by Lyrichord) was born in Rouen on January 12, 1715. He started his largely uneventful career as organist at Evreux, following which Duphly returned to Rouen to serve in a similar capacity in his home parish, St. Eloi. After gaming a second organ post in Rouen, he gave up both (and the organ) to move in 1742 to Paris, where he established a considerable reputation as a harpsichord teacher. He remained there for the rest of his life, dying in the city on July 15, 1789.

Duphly's extant output consists of four published books of harpsichord works that appeared between 1744 and 1768. Despite Lyrichord's claim that this is a "world premiere recording," Yannick Le Gaillard recorded all four books for the French label Adda in 1988, while Jean-Patrice Brosse has also recorded them for French EMI (Books 1 and 2), and Pierre Verany (Books 3 and 4). There have also been single discs by Brigitte Tramier and Mitzi Meyerson, so Duphly has hardly been neglected.

I suppose I'd better be honest and confess that the thought of over three hours of Duphly's harpsichord music did not exactly set the pulses racing. The four books contain the expected mixture of dances and the kinds of genre pieces popular with French instrumental composers. The names of some of the personages involved are identified in the notes, their presence in many cases suggesting that Duphly moved in cultured circles after settling in Paris. It would be intriguing to know the background to some of the unidentified names. Who or what, for instance, was the inspiration behind the virtuosic La Cazamajor (Bk. 1), with its little touches of orientalisms? Or the brilliant toccata-like La Larare (also Bk. 1 ), with its curious interposed passage of reflection?

Throughout most of the first three books, the ear is constantly drawn to Duphly's stylistic influences. There are pieces like the densely textured La Boucon (Bk. 1), or the Couperinesque and delicately eloquent Les Graces (Bk. 3), where he seems to be looking back over his shoulder at an earlier generation of clavecinists. Elsewhere, as in the Courante from Bk. 1 or La de Beuzeville, it is Rameau who seems to be a clear point of departure, while two successive colorful pieces in Bk. 2, La de Vatra, and La Lanza suggest that Duphly was familiar with the keyboard works of Domenico Scarlatti.

Bks. 2 and 3 both open with imposing works. La Victoire, with its celebratory fanfares and majestic mien, is both a literal and metaphorical tribute to Bk. 2's dedicatee, the second daughter of Louis XIV, while the similarly grand La de Villeroy takes its name from the duchess of that name, an important court arts patron. Bk. 3 opens with La Forqueray, justly one of Duphly's most famous works, and a tribute to the famous viol-player that appropriately spends most of its time in the lower register. Equally impressive is the big Chaconne that follows it, and a tensely dramatic piece entitled Medee, presumably named after the furious sorceress crossed by Jason. Thereafter, Bk. 3 concentrates on rococo pieces, presumably those for which Duphly provided an obbligato violin part, which is not employed here. In Bk. 4, published 10 years after the third, in 1768, the composer has moved irrevocably into the more modem galant style of Italian composers such as Galuppi. It would be pleasant, but ultimately vain, to challenge the general verdict that Bk. 4 represents a marked fall in quality. In truth, with the exception of the final work. La du Buq, which curiously evokes the sonority of the organ, the instrument Duphly rejected, it contains vapid works. Alberti basses wearisomely abound,
and it's difficult to escape the conclusion that tins newly emerging world was not one suited to a composer who elsewhere provides such a vivid portrait of the final decades of the ancien regime.

All this music is admirably played by John Paul, who here emerges as a performer of considerable distinction. He has the technique to encompass all Duphly's frequently virtuosic demands, playing with great clarity, and articulating ornaments cleanly; but more important, he gives every impression of being thoroughly at home with the style. His rhythmic sense, too, is excellent; among many other things, he gives an admirable flow to the two fine Allemandes of Bk. 1, while never forgetting that they are dances. Rubato and registrations are judiciously handled, Paul often using the latter to highlight the impression of solo and tutti alternations Duphly obviously sought in some of
the earlier pieces. He is aided by the use of a splendidly full-bodied and richly sonorous instrument, a copy of an Antoine Vaudry of 1691, which has been exceptionally well reproduced (along with some occasional extraneous mechanical noises) by Lyrichord's engineers.

It is obvious from the foregoing that I owe both Duphly and John Paul an apology for inferring that an excess of three hours in their company might be overdoing it. In fact, I heard all three discs in one day (with breaks), ending it not with a feeling of fatigue, but rather with admiration for the composer's multifaceted craftsmanship and Paul's outstanding realization of it. The set is a real credit to all involved, and an important document that will repay considerable further investigation.

Brian Robins

Fanfare March/April 2006