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MARAIS, Andrea De Carlo

Tombeau pour Mr. de S.te Colombe

  • Andrea De Carlo - Marin Marais "Tombeau pour Mr. de S.te Colombe"
  • 01. Prelude Le Soligni - Suite en La mineur (1:49)
  • 02. Allemand La Facile - Suite en La mineur (1:50)
  • 03. Sarabande - Suite en La mineur (2:44)
  • 04. La Mariee - Suite en La mineur (1:19)
  • 05. Gavotte - Suite en La mineur (1:37)
  • 06. Gigue - Suite en La mineur (1:15)
  • 07. Menuet - Double - 2e Menuet - le Menuet - Suite en La mineur (3:13)
  • 08. Petit Caprice - Suite en La mineur (0:53)
  • 09. Rondeau - Suite en La mineur (2:47)
  • 10. La Bagatelle - Suite en La mineur (0:47)
  • 11. Prelude - Suite en Mi mineur (2:31)
  • 12. Fantasie - Suite en Mi mineur (1:23)
  • 13. Allemande - Suite en Mi mineur (2:16)
  • 14. Courante - Suite en Mi mineur (1:33)
  • 15. Sarabande a l'Espagnole - Suite en Mi mineur (2:29)
  • 16. Gigue La Badine - Suite en Mi mineur (0:58)
  • 17. Rondeau Champetre - Suite en Mi mineur (3:17)
  • 18. Passacaille (2:05)
  • 19. Menuet - Suite en Mi mineur (1:14)
  • 20. Tombeau po'. Mr. de S. te Colombe - Suite en Mi mineur (6:25)
  • 21. Prelude - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (4:45)
  • 22. Allemande - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (3:35)
  • 23. Courante - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (1:35)
  • 24. Sarabande - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (3:29)
  • 25. Gigue - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (1:59)
  • 26. Gavotte - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (1:08)
  • 27. Menuet - Suite en Re Mineur a deux Violes (1:20)
  • Andrea De Carlo - viola da gamba
  • MARAIS

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“Marin Marais” Tombeau pour Mr. de S.te Colombe” contains three Viola da Gamba suites from the massive collection of works “Pieces de Viol” by the renowned French Baroque composer and Viola Da Gamba player Marin Marais who composed 6 books of suites, some of the most revered, recorded on this album by De Carlo. Andrea De Carlo - bass viol (Sergio Marcello Gregorat, Rome 1997, after Nicolas Bertand) The absolutely most famous suite is Suite en Mi mineur (2e Livre, 1701) which contains the “Tombeau po’. Mr. de S.te Colombe”. This piece was one of the highlights of the French film “Touts le matins de monde” about Marin Marais and his teacher, S. Te Colombe, in which the renowned Spanish Viola da Gamba player, Jordi Savall was featured thruout the soundtrack. De Carlo (who can also be heard on Buenos Aires Madrigal/M063A), plays the same piece here, as with all others on this recording with a decidedly powerful “Italiano” approach. ********************************************* Rue de L’Oursine, le 15 Août 1728 The elderly Marais kept his eyes closed, and listened to the noises filtering through the blinds he firmly shut against the light. Even the sounds seemed to melt from the heat and, semi-evaporated, rose in fat bubbles to the window of his bedroom, where they burst into drops of thick air, laughing, rumbling of carriages, banging of hammers. The humidity made breathing difficult, and relief only came in the form of occasional and brief spurts of drowsiness which caught him by surprise like bursts of fresh air, without warning, spreading through the house, freeing it of stagnant smells and releasing the light trapped in the dark corners. As he hesitated, on the edges of perception, undecided whether to give in to this new breeze or not, something caught his attention, leading him towards a new consciousness. A different sound pierced through all the others, and escaping the meteorological distortions, reached him as if brought by a wind he had himself created. It was the sound of a Viol. Someone was playing in the street, maybe even in his own house. He leapt up, sitting in the bed for just a moment. Even in this position the notes seemed to come from every part of the room, as though produced by the walls themselves. He stood up, for the first time in many days, ignoring how tired he felt. Without knowing why, he abandoned the idea that the sound might be coming from outside, and moved towards the door of the room. He opened it and took several steps, but still the music seemed to come from everywhere, from the staircase, from the room he had just left, from the floor, and from the ceiling. Thus he began to concentrate on what he heard, and surprised himself because it was a music unlike any he had ever heard, unlike anything he knew, but that nevertheless spoke to him, touching and almost moving him. He had an urge to know who made these sounds, these movements so incomprehensible and fascinating, to understand these harmonies which seemed so abstruse and yet so familiar, so he rushed down the stairs, drawn more by curiosity than the source of the music, and began to walk through the empty house, unsurprised that there was no-one there, not bothered that the arrangement of the rooms seemed different to what he remembered, that the furniture was either different or absent and that, apart from a few weak candle flames, no light entered through the windows. At the end of a corridor that there had never been, but that he now remembered perfectly, was a green and gold door, decorated with birds and plants, which told him that it was there he would find what he sought. Opening the door, he found himself in a large room with pale walls and without windows, but with a diffused light of unknown origin, completely empty, except for a chair turned towards the wall at the other end, on which, with back turned, someone, unaware of his arrival, played the Viol. He left the door open behind him and remained silent. At once he was charmed, disturbed, grateful, and impatient. It seemed to him, even if it was improbable, that the music had slightly changed since his arrival. It was the same as before, but seemed to slowly become ever more simple, as though the person playing sought to bring forth the essential elements of those harmonies, to make them clearer and more understandable. What confused him most was the use of strange dissonances, the way they were arrived at, and how they were resolved. The movement of the voices seemed to him nearly incomprehensible, and yet sounded pleasing to his ear, without his knowing why. As though obeying his own desire, the Viol player tightened the circle ever more, concentrating on a series of dissonances and consonanceswhich repeated again and again. And there, in that circular movement both infinite and unambiguous, he made his first discovery. Something he had always known, or intimately felt, but had never been able to realize clearly. The relation between dissonances and consonances, the movement from one to the other, and its irreversibility were the only things which gave the music a temporal direction, which created a before and an after which couldn’t be switched, a development from which we could not return, similar to our emotions, our thoughts, and our lives. He then began to follow one sound at a time within the harmony, with the leaps, the exchanges with the other sounds, beginning to distinguish the structures which kept repeating themselves, recognising them even before having learned them, so that each moment they spoke to him more, touching parts of his soul, long forgotten or which he didn’t yet know, and he slowly began to understand and to predict the direction of the music, he could have played it himself, already being used to it, and felt the need to change it, to add something different, his new sensitivity required justice and sought attention, and already he wanted to take the place of the mysterious violist who had shown him this new world, when something distracted him, a sound, voices, there was someone upstairs, hurried steps, and he had the sensation that the magic of that moment was about to finish, so he moved towards the chair, while the violist was still playing, whether to discover who he was or just to thank him, he didn’t yet know, but when he was next to the musician, he put a hand on his shoulder, and while continuing to play, the violist turned his face, and Marais saw, himself, as a young man, as he had been at the age of twenty, a boy who smiled calmly, looking at himself aged and stupefied, and felt the need to talk to the boy, to ask him some questions, eventhough he was the old man and it should have been the other way round, but he felt that the young man knew things he had ignored and that he now craved to know, opened his mouth, but no voice came out, he struggled, became agitated, while the young man remained serene and continued to play and smile at him, as though to calm him down, and at that moment he realized that the light, that before had only filled the room, now filled the whole house, came through the gaps under the doors, through the chinks and the window frames, making the air once again heavy and un-breathable, so he left the boy and ran upstairs, to open the windows, absent in the room below, but already on the stairs he met lots of people going up and down, talking in low voices, and he was afraid to hear what they said, because he already knew, and when he arrived upstairs, saw that his room was also full of people, some crying, others praying or wandering aimlessly. He stopped at the doorway, because he didn’t want to go in. He remained there for some moments, waiting. Then he saw his wife, bent in tears on the bed, and felt for her. So he thought he couldn’t leave her alone, and went to put his face beneath her hands. Translation from the Italiano by Agnes Crawford

 

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