Cellist Wispelwey Gigues Till You Drop

Last Thursday night's performance of all six of J.S.Bach's cello suites rivalled Wagner's Ring Cycle for rights to the lengthiest-musical-experience prize, while dazzling--and exhausting--fans.

In a four-hour whirlwind of Baroque frenzy at the Museum of Fine Arts, audience members marvelled as dishy Dutch virtuoso Pieter Wispelwey became transfixed by the power of the polyphonic magic he was creating. Sharing his emotionally raw and whimsically timed rendering of the complete cycle of suites for solo cello, he invited all present to share in his sensual interpretation of these rich and technically brutal pieces.

Amid the last decade's early music boom, Mr. Wispelwey emerged as one of Europe's first general specialists, performing on both modern and historical instruments. Purists delight in the integrity of hearing a Scarlatti sonata on harpsichord or a Telemann fantasy with an oboe d'amore, as opposed to the anachronistic performance on modern piano and clarinet. Fans extoll the virtues of hearing the compositions of such Baroque uber-studs as they would have been heard once upon a time. For this, the unaccustomed ear might have been a little challenged upon hearing the more delicate and subdued tonal color of Wispelwey's early eighteenth-century cello and violincello piccolo (small cello).

The meaty, warm sound of a modern cello to which we are accustomed does not do justice to the intricate and acrobatic exposition required by these suites. Even the manner in which he handled the instrument was interesting: lacking a modern steel base, this cello has to be gripped between the performer's thighs, requiring him to be quite athletic, as well as allowing him a greater range of motion.

More than once, Wispelwey swayed so wildly with the music that his feet came off the floor for noticeable intervals. As a performer he was mesmerizing to watch, gingerly holding the bow and creating grand embellished circles with his arm as if to give his phrasing one last master's touch.

Of the half-dozen suites, the first is by far the most melodic and novice-friendly. In the resonant key of G major, Wispelway's cello soared as he tenderly executed the audible and pleasant arc up to the final G of the prelude. Particularly impressive was his rendering of the rocket fast Courante in the second suite. Shallow, Lamaze-style puffs were audible as Wispelwey frantically kept pace with the technical demands of double and triple stopped crotched chords in an actually quite introspective piece.

It was in the third suite, however, that he carried us to Nirvana, majestically transporting Bach's popular Bourree and finally enrapturing the auditorium with a sweeping and textured Gigue. For the sixth suite, Wispelwey played a "periodically correct" violoncello piccolo with five strings, as opposed to the contemporary cello's four, entrancing the listeners with a frolicking and triumphal first Gavotte.

By then, however, most of them were a little antsy, anticipating the last run of the Green line. Unfortunately, one can go blotto on sensory overload. Individually these suites represent landmark innovations in technical experimentation and extraordinary lyricism. All stuffed together like a blue-light-special, all-you-can-eat fest, they tend to blend together and become tragically diminished. Bravo to Mr. Wispelwey nevertheless for earnestly sculpting each suite with a combination of restraint, virtuosity and playfulness.

And for not passing out.