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Juan Sebastian Bach among arrayanes

The second installment of the Bach Modern program, in which the music of Eisenach's solo strings is interwoven with short pieces by Gyorgy Kurtag (Hungarian-Romanian composer).

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Juan Sebastian Bach among arrayanes

The second installment of the Bach Modern program, in which the music of Eisenach's solo strings is interwoven with short pieces by Gyorgy Kurtag (Hungarian-Romanian composer). On Sunday, it was the cello who sought refuge under the Gothic ribs at the Royal Hospital. Tuesday, it was the two large, lush myrtle trees in the courtyard with the same name that witnessed such a bizarre amalgamation.

Isabelle is a woman who loves Bach. A violin with a great sound and an undeniable musicality. She is meticulous in the treble, quick to jump between the two distant strings, and skilled in the fugues that create echoes, which Bach was undisputedly the master of.

A cold concert, however, is not conducive to enthusiasm. Antithesis to the Bach Modern on cello. Isabelle Faust simply read the score. There was no complacency, no smirk, no memorized passages, and certainly not a movement with the almost massive andantes or long, meditative ones. In a Festival of any worth, the absence of presence is almost a stain. It creates concerts out of the heap without trace or history. We were saved from boredom by the bayberry under the stars and the sebka on the porches because there was no expressiveness in the performer.

In the Hungarian author's pieces interfering with the Bach sonatas, a timid eagerness to see a filmtographic story and a superficial brush of sentimental microsounds disappeared. Isabelle made a brief gesture of anger, an antagonist of music without horizon and a bouquet muted sounds on her violin bridge. Then back to the reading, the coldly calculated correction, and finally to the flawless translation of the score. She never lost her eyes, despite the terrible spurious shriek from the heavens.

We heard a trio concert at the end. The reader's violin, the chirping swifts before they go to bed, which is as audible as Kurtag's pieces and the irritating noise of an airplane flying low over the Alhambra repeatedly, are all part of the wonderful music. This high-altitude tourism ought to have been stopped, or its noise should be publicly exonerated.

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