Vivaldi’s Cello Concertos: Pleasant Confections, Indifferently Served
Cello Concertos by Antonio Vivaldi
Alexandre Debrus, cello; Elaine Debrus-Boucher, second cello
Arpeggio Chamber Orchestra/Gilberte Boucher
PAVANE ADW 7352 [63:32]
The first annoyance here isn’t musical at all—it’s the maddening incompleteness of the documentation. Three concertos arrive without RV numbers, as though Vivaldi’s catalog were some casual affair rather than the life’s work of scholars who’ve labored to bring order to the Red Priest’s prodigious output. And who exactly is Elaine Debrus-Boucher, the second cellist in the double concerto? A student? A colleague? A relative? We’re left to guess. This sort of sloppiness suggests a certain contempt for the listener who might actually want to know what’s being played.
But let’s get past the irritations and into the music itself.
Alexandre Debrus possesses—and this much is immediately clear—a genuinely lovely tone. Warm, rounded, with that slightly grainy quality that gives Baroque cello playing its particular character. In the opening movement of the first concerto (whatever it may be), he spins out Vivaldi’s cantilena with real beauty, letting the line breathe without the affected hesitations and exaggerated rhetoric that pass for “authentic” interpretation these days. The third movement “Lento ”has genuine poetry. Here’s playing that remembers the cello is a singing instrument, not merely a vehicle for athletic display.
The quick movements buzz along with spirit—sometimes too much spirit, actually. Debrus can be willful, pushing tempos to the point where elegance gives way to mere bustle. His tone thins out in the upper register during the "finale" of the second concerto, and there are moments—I won’t pretend I didn’t notice them—where intonation wavers. Not catastrophically, but enough to make you wince.
The Arpeggio Chamber Orchestra under Gilberte Boucher plays with a certain old-fashioned charm that I confess I rather enjoyed. They’re not interested in the stringent textures and astringent sonorities of period-instrument groups. Instead, they offer plush, well-upholstered sound that makes no apologies for itself. The D major Concerto for strings—a mere seven minutes, yes, but Vivaldi knew how to make his points economically—receives crisp, clear articulation. The fugal writing emerges with admirable transparency.
Now we must address Stravinsky’s famous quip about Vivaldi writing the same concerto five hundred times. (He’s been dead long enough that the number has doubled in retellings.) Listening to this program straight through, you begin to see his point. The G minor Concerto, RV 417, follows predictable patterns: vigorous outer movements flanking a walking-pace "Andante" that… well, it walks. And walks. And keeps walking, without much sense of direction or purpose. Debrus seems to sense the music’s limitations and tries to inject personality—but the effort shows. He becomes mannered, even eccentric, lingering over phrases that don’t warrant such attention, rushing others that might benefit from a more measured approach.
The engineering doesn’t help matters. The cello is thrust forward in the sound picture while the orchestra recedes into what sounds like an adjacent room. This imbalance becomes particularly troublesome in the G minor work, where Debrus’s attempts at rhetorical emphasis come across as merely heavy-handed against the distant accompaniment.
The A major Concerto for strings offers pleasant diversion but no revelations. By this point in the program, the formulaic nature of much of this music becomes impossible to ignore. Yes, Vivaldi had his tricks—the sequence patterns, the motoric rhythms, the predictable harmonic progressions—and yes, they work. But heard en masse, they can induce a kind of glazed contentment that has more to do with pattern recognition than genuine musical engagement.
The Double Cello Concerto, RV 411, provides welcome textural variety. Here the interplay between the two cellists (whoever the second one may be) adds genuine interest, particularly in the slow movement where the instruments weave around each other with real sensitivity. Both players understand how to balance competition with cooperation—they’re conversing, not merely alternating.
This is a disc of mixed blessings, then. Debrus has musical gifts—that tone, that sense of line—but also mannerisms that can grate. The orchestra plays with warmth but lacks the precision and transparency that this music ultimately requires. The release captures the cello’s sound beautifully but fails to integrate it properly with the ensemble. And the documentation is simply inadequate.
For those seeking Vivaldi cello concertos, better options exist. Christophe Coin with the Ensemble Baroque de Limoges offers more stylistic consistency; Anner Bylsma’s recordings bring greater intellectual rigor. This Pavane disc offers occasional pleasures—that opening cantilena, the poetry of certain slow movements—but too much that feels routine, even careless. Pleasant enough for background listening, perhaps, but it won’t displace anyone’s first-choice Vivaldi recordings.
