Listeners may wonder why yet another recording of Bach’s suites has been made, cellist Ivan Monighetti muses coyly in his notes. “I admit,” he continues, “it is the outcome of my inner desire.” Oh boy. It’s a shame that the outpouring of his yearning went so horribly awry. In a field crowded with Suites for every taste and budget (Starker, Bylsma, Fournier, Schiff, Wispelwey, ad infinitum), this set has no place on the market. Why? There are myriad reasons, but from the beginning it’s clear that Monighetti’s inner desires have led him far astray. He saws through the G major Prelude with no mercy, weighing down on every open-string bass note until it bleats, by turns speeding up and indulging in grotesque ritardandos at will, and generally making one of the most elegant movements in the repertoire into a thing of utter gracelessness.
The rest of the set is equally depressing: without exception the courantes are lugubrious beasts, and even in the fastest dances Monighetti seems to take special pleasure in landing on the C string with a thud. (I suppose that’s soulfulness.) But even more infuriating is the cellist’s self-indulgent tempos–a little flashy-fast there, then a three-car pileup to stretch out a phrase in an unwitting parody of über-Romanticism. The sound is fine, but who cares? My advice is to stay far, far away from this.
