Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)
The 6 Suites for Violincello solo
Anastasia Kobekina (cello)
rec. 2025, Théâtre Saint Bonnet, Bourges, France
Sony Classical 19802954682 [2 CDs: 144]
This new set of Bach’s six cello suites enters a crowded field of outstanding recordings, but offers a highly personal and appealing interpretation. From the opening Prelude of the First Suite, her tone feels intimate yet unforced, aided by the warm resonance of gut strings and the absence of an endpin. This choice immediately sets her apart from modern steel-string interpretations such as Yo-Yo Ma’s polished, almost orchestral readings. Kobekina’s phrasing breathes with flexibility; she shapes sequences as if in conversation, never rushing or indulging in excessive rubato. The result is a performance that feels alive while at the same time grounded in Baroque sensibility.
Where Rostropovich’s monumental approach often wrestles with the technical demands of the Sixth Suite, Kobekina’s use of a lighter violincello piccolo in this work allows the dance rhythms to sparkle, giving the Sarabande a luminous clarity. Compared to Pierre Fournier’s aristocratic elegance or Steven Isserlis’s warmly rhetorical style, Kobekina occupies a middle ground: less overtly romantic than Fournier, less idiosyncratic than Isserlis, yet never neutral. Her articulation in the courantes and gigues has a spring-like buoyancy, while the allemandes unfold with meditative poise.
The recording venue – a small French theatre – adds to the sense of intimacy. The sound is close, almost tactile, capturing fingerboard taps and the performer’s breathing. Some may find these details distracting, especially if accustomed to the pristine polish of modern studio productions like Jean-Guihen Queyras’s Harmonia Mundi set. Yet for others, these sonic traces underscore the immediacy of Kobekina’s presence, as though we are seated a few feet away. Despite the intrusions, the recording itself is beautifully produced, with little of the extended decays that are sometimes apparent for higher frequencies in larger church or chapel recordings.
Interpretively, Kobekina resists the temptation to impose a grand narrative across the six suites. Unlike Yo-Yo Ma’s “journey” concept or Isserlis’s overtly spiritual framing, her approach feels more fragmentary, more like a series of portraits. Each suite has its own character: the Second Suite’s darkness is rendered with restrained melancholy, while the Fourth radiates a sunlit confidence. This refusal to homogenise the cycle is refreshing, though it may leave listeners seeking a more unified arc slightly unsatisfied.
If there is a criticism, it lies in occasional moments where her expressive freedom borders on unpredictability – certain cadential hesitations feel mannered, and some dynamic swells are perhaps overly romantic. Yet these are minor quibbles in a reading that otherwise balances historical insight with individuality. Kobekina does not aim for a “definitive” Bach; instead, she offers a deeply personal interpretation that invites dialogue rather than closure. In a crowded field of Bach recordings, this album earns its place not by radical reinvention but by its sincerity and sonic beauty. For this listener, Henrik Dam Thomsen’s 2024 complete set (review) is the pinnacle among recent recordings, but Kobekina offers a refreshing and very impressive alternative. Highly recommended.
Peter Bright
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