Mendelssohn: 3 Flute Sonatas 1820, 1823, 1838 (After The Violin Version) – Andrea Mogavero

The practice of transcribing a musical work originally conceived for an instrumental medium or ensemble, and to transform it into a piece for a different sound medium is an extremely ancient artistic form in its own right. Among the main qualities of sound, traditionally described as pitch, intensity and timbre, the last is frequently considered as the least important, or the most expendable. Thus, for some, transcription is simply the mechanical transposition of some “notes” from one timbre to another. On the other hand, others acquiesce too readily to the prescriptions of “authenticity” and “fidelity” (which seem occasionally to have displaced creativity as the highest criterion for judging a musical performance). For those listeners, only the sound originally conceived and heard by the composer is worth pursuing, and all other versions are more or less deplorable betrayals.
Both criticisms miss the point, of course. Firstly, in fact, even when two instruments play the same “notes”, a noteworthy degree of creativity is required of the “transcriber”. A number of interpretive choices must be taken, and they require a mature musical personality, one capable to engage with the composer’s style, musical imagination and writing when reproducing the piece on another musical medium. For instance, every instrument possesses peculiar sound qualities throughout the spectrum of its range; one instrument’s most brilliant or most powerful octave may be very different from those of an instrument with a similar range. Moreover, there are objective impossibilities, such as performing double stops or chords on a monodic instrument, or slight differences in range which force the performer to modify some notes. Choices regarding breathing, articulation, dynamics and tempo should also be made, and they may conflict with those established in the performing tradition of the original medium. This brief survey demonstrates the “artistry” of the transcription process, and that this process is worth of consideration as an intensely creative undertaking.
Moreover, a properly understood concept of “authenticity” is not bound to an antiquarian model of pure restoration of a lost sound. Though it is undoubtedly praiseworthy for some artists to engage, in cooperation with musicologists, in the reconstruction of period sonorities, instruments and performing practices (and these operations may be very creative in turn!), another kind of authenticity might rightfully claim that to be authentic is to be creative. If Baroque, Classical or Romantic composers did imagine that their works would be played after centuries (and it is likely that this idea never crossed the mind of many of them), they would have been probably surprised by our attempts to reconstruct “their” sound. Music used to be a living art, an art in process; an art in which adaptation was welcome, and the possibility of finding new ideas in older pieces was encouraged. Thus, one could say that fidelity to the spirit of the musicians whose works we play might imply a certain freedom as concerns the fidelity to the letter of their scores.
For this reason, a challenge such as that undertaken in this Da Vinci Classics album is a highly artistic, a perfectly legitimate and a thought-provoking one. At first sight, the violin (for which these Sonatas were originally written) and the flute may seem to share many qualities: both are high-pitched instruments (though the flute’s low notes are sensibly higher than the violin’s), both share a vocation as a solo instrument, and both are well suited to both expressivity and virtuosity. Yet, the differences are also numerous, and they are so important that the idea of playing Mendelssohn’s Violin Sonatas on the flute is daring and fascinating at the same time.