While this might not be the moment that all of us have been waiting for, itâs certainly titillating to catalogue another casualty report in the Harpsichord Wars. In March, Mahan Esfahani hurled a set of observations (some say accusations) against the mainstream harpsichord world, among them shortsightedness, conservatism, as well as a pervasive fear of new music and modern instruments.
Mahan Esfahani, a harpsichordist with a big mouth, spoke in turn about Rondeau, a harpsichordist with big hair. Esfahani did not mention him by name, but said, âHaving funky hair or playing a little bit of jazz doesnât make you iconoclastic if your harpsichord playing is perfectly orthodox.â Considering Rondeauâs reputation for dabbling in jazz and free improvisation, as well as his shabby-chic aesthetic, it was unlikely Esfahani was referring to anybody else.
Yet in the various responses to Esfahaniâs comments about Rondeau or the rest of the harpsichord world, there were few retorts that actually disproved them or picked them apart. So, rather than beat around the bush, I decided to see if there was any weight to the claims made against Rondeau.
Rondeau has garnered a reputation for breaking boundaries at the harpsichord. He won the Bruges International Harpsichord Competition in 2012, at age 21. He has exceptional technical ability at the instrumentâa fact that should not be underestimated, as the harpsichord has a notorious reputation as a difficult instrument to play musically, with any discernible element of expression. His recordings of Bach are (arguably) gorgeous, and his performances of music from 18th century France move at lightning speed with impossible ease. But the question remains whether this is his only discernible departure from the mainstream harpsichord world.
His career, itâs safe to say, is multifaceted. In 2016, he was approached by director Christian Schwochow to compose music for âPaula,â a film about the life of painter Paula Modersohn Becker. âAt first, I didnât want to do it as I thought I wouldnât have time,â he told me in a recent phone interview. âAlso, I had never done anything like that before.â Rondeau composed just over 20 minutes of music for the emotionally reticent film. He also included an arrangement of Bachâs organ chorale âIch rufâ zu dir, Herr Jesu Christâ as the viewer witnesses Paulaâs final moments. I asked him if the arrangement had personal significance to him, or spoke to his relationship with Bach. âNot really,â he answered. âI really wanted to use some music of FaurĂ© originally, as it would have been appropriate for the time period in which the film was set. But we had trouble getting the rights for FaurĂ©âs music, and so I chose this piece by Bach.â (FaurĂ©âs music has been in the public domain since 1994.) Rondeau couldnât tell me which of FaurĂ©âs pieces heâd considered for the end of the film, but when I asked him why he chose the Bach work, he said, âWell, itâs a piece about life and death, joy and sadness. It was fitting for a death scene.â
There are fascinating parallels between improvisation in early music and in jazzâboth offer vivid expressive freedom in exchange for the mastery of sets of elaborate rules. Rondeau is recognizable for his work in both fields. âBoth disciplines have so much to them, that itâs hard to define exactly what they are except under the category of guided improvisation,â he said. He added that the styles both foster unknown ideas and healthy âdoubtsâ about the interpretation of music. Despite this, he told me that improvisation has little role in his approach to harpsichord repertoire with the exception of playing over basso continuo.
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Rondeauâs jazz album with his ensemble Note Forget is, to my ears, quite conservative. I asked him if he thought his harpsichord background could help him add new things to jazz, a genre crowded with viscerally exciting experimenters. âI guess I donât think of harpsichord repertoire and the instrument that way,â he answered. âHarpsichord repertoire is about unlocking a past language and figuring out how things were done back then, and not so much about finding something new.â
Rondeauâs website shows him in a modern light; one large photo has him posing in front of what looks like a work of contemporary art. Does he disdain what some might see as the stuffy associations of the early music world? âIn terms of how I am marketed and presented in the media, perhaps itâs best to ask someone else,â he told me. âI donât really think in those terms. The term historical performance and words like it are just labels. I think about music and honesty to the past. I try to be juste.â
He uses this term, literally âjustâ or ârighteous,â to reflect a thorough, considered approach to performing music from the past. âI only play on beautiful instruments,â he said, adding, âonly instruments from the 17th and 18th centuries or historical reconstructions.â This is not an uncommon view among harpsichordists, though it is perhaps more surprising for a performer known for his openness to other forms of music besides the baroque. âItâs true that the harpsichord was revived in the 19th century,â he told me, âbut it was not in the correct form.â The underlying paradox of our conversation found consummation as he suggested 19th and early 20th century harpsichords to be âcompletely new, more like pianos…ahistorical.â

When I asked Rondeau if he played contemporary music, he enthusiastically informed me that he had done two pieces by Ligeti, a concerto by Francis Poulenc and a concerto by Bohuslav MartinĆŻ. (The youngest of whom, Ligeti, was laid to rest over a decade ago.) Would he make an exception to his rule of only playing period instruments when it came to Poulenc or MartinĆŻ? âNo,â he said, âbecause the sound is not correct.â But are these instruments loud enough for modern repertoire? âIt is easier just to amplify the harpsichord,â he said. âItâs too complicated to deal with matters of balance. It interferes with the music.â Hard-pressed to describe what makes historically inspired harpsichords better than the harpsichords built in the early 20th century, to told me that itâs about a âsoundâ that was simply âbetter.â You might detect a trace of irony that while he wouldnât play Bach on a modern instrument, heâd happily amplify MartinĆŻ on a historical instrument. But, he reassured me, âItâs very complicated.â
âI really love playing contemporary music and I intend to make it part of my career,â Rondeau went on. âItâs essential that the instrument moves forward.â When asked if he played any music by living composers, he said, âYes, I write my own music sometimes.â I asked him what other repertoire from the 20th and 21st century heâs interested in. âI donât really know of any. Iâm usually disappointed when I hear anything modern for the harpsichord,â Rondeau said. When asked if there are any living composers he would love to have write for the instrument, he said âNot really.â There was a pause, and he continued, âMaybe Iâm not the best person to ask about this. Iâm sure there are others who know more about it. But writing for the harpsichord takes someone who can really get inside the sound of the instrument in order to move it forward. This is why I think I ought to write my own concerto, rather than ask someone else.â
I began to wonder whether Rondeauâs strict views about whatâs right were more a matter of feeling than a matter of intellectual conviction. Thatâs an artistâs prerogative, of course. He even admitted that these are his own views, even stating outright that hopes that there are people who will disagree with him. Yet as a harpsichordist, I felt strange that he was trying to convince me that playing the harpsichord properly wasnât a matter of history, but instead what he frequently referred to as juste. âLet me see if I can find a word in English. I donât think I will,â he said. I could hear him typing on his computer to try and find a translation. I asked him if âproperâ or âcorrectâ would work for the interview. He said, âNo. We should use the word juste. Thereâs no equivalent in another language.â ¶
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