Catalogue Connection: 21231

This is a reissue of two separate Hyperion discs, originally issued in 1981. But more than that, it is a memorial, and a love letter, to the pianist, John McCabe (1939-2015), from his widow, Monica McCabe. Regardless of your reaction to the music therein, the sense of mourning, of pride in her husband’s accomplishments, and her deep love that pervade her accompanying note are bound to be on your mind as you listen. I’m sure she didn’t sit down and write it with that goal in mind, but certainly it is there, and it lifts this recording out of the stack on new releases with which we are all inundated and into the realm of something special.

The music is a mix of the familiar and the (mostly) unknown. McCabe apparently spent a lot of time mentoring younger composers and playing their works, but everybody knows and loves Scarlatti’s sonatas. Not only did he write a plethora of them (somehow, never giving the listener the feeling that he is repeating himself), but many of them are playable by almost every piano student. I know they gave me a great feeling of accomplishment, even though it was clear that if I ever made my living with a piano it would involve moving it in a truck. Mrs. McCabe waxes rhapsodic about her husband’s way with Scarlatti, and many will agree. My problem here, however, is that my love for the sonatas is based on the firm belief that if they are not played on the harpsichord, too much of their essence is lost. The performances here are in fact excellent; but to me, Scarlatti on the piano is like a performance of Hamlet in which all of the actors are dressed in zoot suits.

Now, all those pianists I referred to above who know and love Scarlatti also know Muzio Clementi—all too well. I was introduced to him when I was about 10, and he shortly became the bane of my existence. And if you are, like me, an ex-piano student from the later Jurassic period, you know what I’m talking about. It was that damn sonatina (in C, op. 36/1)!! The only piece I ever saw with Clementi’s name on it. Through the fog of the decades, I can still hear it: DAH dee dee dump dump, DAH de dee dump dump, dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee DAH dee dee dump dump, etc. I don’t remember exactly how it came to me, but at the time, it seemed as if the entire universe of music for children’s piano study was split by a person named John Thompson, who was famous for being a person named John Thompson, and a person named John W. Schaum, who was famous for not being John Thompson. Each of them had an endless series of piano books that got harder and more complex until the student was ready to make his debut at Carnegie Hall (presumably at the exact time when all the other kids were out in the empty lot playing baseball). Perhaps the sonatina was in one of those. (I checked the net and found that both series were still available, still looking just as they did when they were inflicted on me, leading me to wonder if “John Thompson” and “John W. Schaum” might turn out to be corporate avatars, like Uncle Ben or Betty Crocker.)

But time marched on, as it often does, and as the recording industry took off. We started to hear other music by Clementi—orchestral music. Symphonies. Good ones! So it turns out that after coming home in the evening from his regular job (tormenting children), he indulged in his hobby (writing excellent Beethoven-ish symphonic music). But his route to the Pantheon of Great Composers was blocked, perhaps by that sonatina. My lovingly remembered harmony professor at UCLA, Robert Trotter, referred to all late 18th-century composers who were not Mozart or Haydn as “Carl Cristophe Cannabich”, and this is where poor Clementi ended up.

But recordings like this one may have a hand in changing that. McCabe, showing a great affinity for Clementi’s piano sonatas, uncovers astonishing new realms of beauty, music that leaves Herr Cannabich in the dust. Imagine the composer who could write these would spend time writing The Sonatina From Hell (well, probably money was involved). But the Clementi who wrote sonatas, concertos, and symphonies deserves a seat at the grown-up’s table. John McCabe might well be remembered as the man who started him on the path.

The erudite composer and pianist John McCabe left his mark on British music-making in the 20th century. His gifts as interpreter at the keyboard were very much equal to his abilities as composer. Discographic focus for the majority of his life centred upon neglected composers of old: Haydn, Clementi and Nielsen, among others.

A recent reissue of two LPs that McCabe recorded in the early 1980s is a welcome one, pairing well-loved sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti with somewhat obscure works by the Italian-born English composer, pianist, pedagogue, conductor, music publisher, editor and piano manufacturer (!) Muzio Clementi.

McCabe brings a muscular, cerebral approach to these pieces. One immediately detects a scrupulous composer behind the studio microphones, carefully etching formal structures for the benefit of the listener with accuracy and intellectual rigour. It is evident that McCabe delights in this piano music yet never indulges, electing for efficient lines and tasteful embellishment, reflective of both style and substance.

Among the various highlights of Disc Two (Clementi) is the Sonata in G minor, Op. 50 No. 3, subtitled “Didone Abbandonata” and composed in 1821. Expressive and probing, this music is liberated from the confines of continental neoclassicism, at once mournful and forlorn in prophetic anticipation of 19th century music yet unwrit. From the last of his opuses for piano, Clementi marks the final movement of this sonata Allegro agitato e con disperazione. Such qualifiers were few and far between, even in 1821!

An album it’s hard to say much about: John McCabe plays some great piano pieces very well.

The music was recorded in 1981. McCabe was approached by Ted Perry, of Hyperion, who suggested some Scarlatti sonatas. McCabe wanted to record sonatas by Clementi, in his view an unjustifiably neglected composer, whereas many fine pianists were playing Scarlatti, “and his heart was always in supporting neglected works by great composers,” according to the sleeve notes, written by his widow Monica.

The upshot was two LPs, one for each of the composers, recorded over three days in April 1981, the middle day of which was the pianist’s 42nd birthday.

While McCabe plays the often complex pieces well, it’s got a live feel to it. McCabe felt that, given freedom from interruptions, if a pianist couldn’t record a work in three takes, he or she probably shouldn’t be recording it.

Mrs McCabe recalls the recording being pressured — it was recorded in London and they had to keep nipping out to move their cars, the producer collecting a couple of parking tickets. The pianist of course was left to play; Mrs McCabe says his three-takes rule led to a “spontaneity and freshness” and even though she can tell you of a “less-than-perfectly executed mordent”, or less than smoothly articulated run, the listener probably won’t notice. Although there are, as Mrs McCabe says, a lot of notes and the playing is often fast, there’s also a lot of silence, reminding us of Glenn Gould’s most famous recording. It’s very calming.

Scarlatti was contemporary of Handel and JS Bach and a prolific composer. Muzio Clementi was Italian-born but English; in 1781, he competed in a piano competition with Mozart.

The late John McCabe (1939-2015) was an excellent pianist and a composer of great skill. In the 19th century, the combination of pianist and composer was not an unusual phenomenon, but it became much more of an oddity as time passed. In our current era, classical music is very much a siloed profession. Few performing pianists compose, and most composers are incapable of playing the music they write. This is a shame, as the ability to compose informs performance, and the ability to perform greatly informs composition. McCabe was living proof of this. His compositions reflect a concern for audience comprehension that many contemporary composers lack; that concern was doubtless the byproduct of thousands of public performances. On the other hand, McCabe’s work as a composer influenced his priorities as an interpreter. His recordings of Haydn, Grieg, Elgar Nielsen, Hindemith, Bax (not to mention Scarlatti and Clementi) and others were direct and honest. He never spit-curled the music with affected mannerisms, but instead played the scores straight, attempting to get to the heart of the matter using the information provided on the page by the composer. Many of his recordings are revelatory in their plain-spokenness. Just to provide a single example: the brawny accompaniment to soprano Marni Nixon in Charles Ives’s General William Booth Enters into Heaven. This 1967 recording (from McCabe’s first-ever album) is not only played with great power, but also with a composer’s unique awareness of sonority. I have yet to hear another pianist equal McCabe’s strength and color in that work. One would never know from his effortless playing just how awkward that accompaniment is.

This two-disc set from Divine Art is a re-release of two LPs that McCabe recorded for Hyperion Records in the early 1980s. An affectionate reminiscence provided by McCabe’s wife notes that he recorded the roughly two hours of music over a three-day span. Three days is the amount of time it takes most musicians to record a single hour of music for a commercial recording, but McCabe believed that if you couldn’t nail a piece in three takes, then you shouldn’t attempt to record it. Hyperion wanted a single disc of Scarlatti, but he talked them into a package deal, recording twelve Scarlatti sonatas and three sonatas of Muzio Clementi.

Clementi has been adequately served on disc. His first major champion of the recording era was no less than Vladimir Horowitz, who learned and recorded a number of Clementi’s sonatas during his 1953-1965 sabbatical. Other great pianists to record the sonatas of Clementi include Arthur Loesser, Robert Goldsand, Lazar Berman, Maria Tipo, and Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. The three sonatas selected by McCabe are not among the Italian composer’s most-played works, but all three are worthy of investigation.

Clementi’s only programmatic sonata, “Didone Abbandonata” (referring to poor old Dido of Carthage), is the most interesting of the three. The music is operatic in the best sense of that word, bursting with Italianate tunes and a great deal of swirling drama. McCabe’s performance does not bestow upon the work the nervous energy (bordering on hysteria) and exaggerated grandeur that Horowitz found in some of the other sonatas, but he digs in and makes a serious case for the piece as a worthy companion to Beethoven’s sonatas. Clementi often shared Beethoven’s propensity for melodies that are in fact just small intervallic snippets repeated in varying inversions and sequences lined-up to simulate a single long melody (think of the first movement of Beethoven’s op. 109 for an extreme example). The spacious slow movement of Didone brings to mind the first movement of Beethoven’s “Tempest” (op. 31 no. 2) and the slow movement of op. 10 no. 3. McCabe’s playing is beautifully-shaped in the Adagio dolente, the long-breathed melodies rising and falling without interference from the pianist.

The other two sonatas do not possess the emotional depth of Didone, but would still be most welcome on recording and recital programs. One hears echoes of both Mozart and Haydn in the lighter F Major, while the D Major returns to Beethovenian lyricism and drama. It is of course unfair to Clementi to discuss him in that manner, given that he was a contemporary of those men, and taught them as much as he learned from them. Beethoven in particular loved the music of Clementi, assigning it to his pupils and praising its taste and melodic subjects. Mozart famously despised Clementi (“he is a mere mechanicus” and “a charlatan, like all Italians”), but thought enough of his bag of technical tricks to steal some for his own keyboard writing.

A note on the short fillers on the Clementi disc: the Monferrina is a Piedmontese folk dance originating in the town of Montferrat. Clementi’s op. 49 contains twelve of the little dances. The three selected by McCabe sound for all the world as if they were Bagatelles written by Beethoven (or in the case of no. 12 in C Major, by Weber). These would be perfect for late intermediate/early advanced piano students, and it is a mystery why they are not better-known in the world of piano pedagogy.

The Scarlatti disc is well-played, but the performances lack the sparkle found in the recordings of Horowitz, Tipo, Michelangeli, or more recently, Lucas Debargue. Some listeners may wish to hear a more grounded, sober approach to Scarlatti. If so, this disc provides an excellent opportunity to sample that interpretive stance.

After hearing the Clementi disc, my urge is to discuss the music itself, to explore the parallels between Clementi and his contemporaries, and to discover more of Clementi’s music. There can be no greater tribute to the artistry of John McCabe. When I hear his performances of Clementi (or Haydn, Ravel, or any number of other composers), I feel as if I am compelled to truly listen to the piece in question, noting all of its details. There are no distractions coming from the performer, nothing pulls focus from the music and makes me think “that was a daring choice,” or “What is he doing there?” To be sure, McCabe is making many interpretive choices, but the logic is solid to the point that those choices seem unassailable. Rather than seeming random or whimsical, they are simply part of the fabric of the piece. This is the mark of a great musician.

Composer and a pianist of wide-ranging sympathies, John McCabe gives lively, loving performances of Scarlatti and Clementi – playing the latter with special feeling for a still underappreciated figure. (Awarded four stars)

Wonderful to see John McCabe finally being recognised as a pianist. Recorded on a Bösendorfer in 1981, the sound of these revelatory Scarlatti and Clementi sonatas is astonishingly present. Nice to see more Scarlatti on the piano, too, especially since there are only two overlaps with Lucas Debargue’s superb new set. Both pianists revel in Scarlatti’s exploratory side. McCabe’s use of sustaining pedal and generous sound offer a full-fat experience. Debargue is leaner.

Both Horowitz and Michelangeli championed Clementi, and McCabe’s performances boast a special sort of advocacy, the finale of ‘Didone abbandonata’ (Op. 50/3) a case in point. McCabe sees Clementi’s music as powerful and multi-faceted. Witty, affectionate booklet notes complete an indispensible release.

Note from Divine Art: review written by an apparent ‘historic authenticity’ fundamentalist: points raised are indisputable but maybe we can now be a bit more accepting, as baroque and early classical works have been played on modern instruments for quite a while

The appeal of a new Divine Art release featuring pianist/composer John McCabe (1939-2015), is likely to be wide-ranging, even though McCabe’s renditions of works by Domenico Scarlatti and Muzio Clementi are neither historically correct nor performed on the instruments intended by the composers. Both Scarlatti (1685-1757) and Clementi (1752-1832) wrote for the harpsichord or, in some works by Clementi, the fortepiano, and playing this music on a full-size modern Bösendorfer piano, as McCabe does, is simply not correct. It is, however, mostly wonderful: McCabe does not overdo his pedal use, performs each work with care and clarity, and – with a few notable exceptions – does not make the pieces sound as if they belong in the Romantic era. This is not a new recording: it was made in 1981 and originally released on two Hyperion discs, and it was recorded, mixed and edited on analog equipment before being digitally mastered for CD release. But McCabe’s pianism on these works certainly stands the test of time – and, for that matter, so does the sound, which has greater warmth and richness than did most digital recordings from this time period. Whether warmth and richness are apt for this music is, however, a reasonable question to ask. Scarlatti’s 555 harpsichord sonatas are notable for their clarity of line, their exploratory techniques (many from his middle period feature difficult hand-crossings), and their complexity within their brief one-movement form. Their numbering is mostly arbitrary and does not reflect their dates of composition, so performers tend to come up with their own ways to arrange them, as McCabe does here. He offers three major/minor pairs, in G major/minor (K105/426), D minor/major (K517/490), and F minor/major (K69/518); then a pair in E major (K28/215); and finally a set of four in C, G, G minor and C (K133, 259, 43, 460). Only two of these do not quite work: K517 simply sounds too strongly Romantic with the emphasis McCabe gives to its bass line, and K133 is emphatically chordal on the piano in a way that it would not be on the harpsichord. In the remaining works, though, McCabe’s sensitivity to the music’s structure and his willingness to downplay the piano sound rather than emphasize it lead to a highly enjoyable listening experience, even though it is historically inappropriate. McCabe actually makes a better case for playing Clementi on a modern concert grand, thanks to an excellent selection of music. The Sonata in G minor, Op. 50, No. 3 (Didone Abbandonata – scena tragica) is the highlight of this two-CD release. It is Clementi’s last piano sonata and the only one to which he gave a programmatic title. And it is quite marvelous, evoking the despair of Dido upon the departure of her faithless lover, Aeneas, in three movements whose tempo indications sum up the work’s emotional superstructure exceptionally well: Largo patetico e sostenuto – Allegro ma con espressione; Adagio dolente; and Allegro agitato e con disperazione. This really is a proto-Romantic (if not quite fully Romantic) sonata, and McCabe handles its moods and moodiness with exceptional sensitivity. It is a piece that definitely deserves to be heard more often, providing it can be played with this level of power and beauty (which, however, is by no means assured). The other two Clementi sonatas, although not at this level, are fine works in their own right: the two-movement Sonata in F, Op. 33, No. 2, in which the forceful main section of the first movement is especially impressive; and the three-movement Sonata in D, Op. 40, No. 3, which has a tragedy-pervaded mood despite its major key, the central slow movement being particularly heartfelt. Between those two sonatas, McCabe plays three of the 12 little salon pieces called Monferrinas, Op. 49 – Nos. 4 in C, 3 in E and 12 in C. These are versions of Italian folk dances (from Montferrat; hence the title), and McCabe handles them with considerable spirit and a welcome lightness of touch that contrasts well with his approach to the tragic moods of the Op. 40 and Op. 50 sonatas. McCabe’s skillful presentation of this material occurs, in the main, in spite of his use of the modern concert grand, not because of it: he holds back on the full force of the piano so as to communicate the textures of Clementi’s music more effectively than would be possible otherwise. But this simply draws attention to the reality that Clementi (and Scarlatti) did not write for this sort of instrument at all. True, they might well have been impressed if it had existed in their time. But if it had, they would not have written this music for it – they would have written music to take advantage of what a modern concert grand can do. That said, McCabe provides a generally excellent listening experience in these works, despite presenting them on an instrument quite different from what the composers wanted.

There are times when life does not appear ideal but then there is a release that takes you to the happier land of music. Today there is some joy for me in such a one, John McCabe (1939-2015) playing the Keyboard Sonatas (Divine Art 21231 2-CDs) of Domenico Scarlatti (1685-1757) and Muzio Clementi (1752-1832).

The pairing of composers and performer is not entirely predictable yet when you listen you feel that this coupling was meant to be. Two composers who added between the two of them much to our keyboard sonata riches and a pianist (composer, conductor) who graced our current world so abundantly and artistically, the experience has magic and there is wonderful piano music to hear indeed.

I cut my eye-teeth on Scarlatti via Fernando Valenti’s copious set as played on harpsichord (Westminster), so that hearing these twelve Sonatas by a pianist who brings a firmly idiomatic and poetic, singing approach to them is a pleasant shock of recognition, as old friends become somehow very new. As played on piano by McCabe they sound so…almost Modern and…ethnic if you will pardon the phrase, since everything is ethnic in a way?! The playfully dancing Spanish-Italian flavor of the music comes across so vibrantly here that one can only give thanks to hear them!

And as to the Muzio Clementi the three sonatas op. 50 no. 3, op. 33 no 2, op. 40 no 3 plus the “Monferrine” come at us with very pleasing delivery, on time, a beautiful time indeed. The performances are focused and passionate in a rare blend of performative combustion.

The music was recorded in 1981 around the time of the author’s 42nd birthday and were meant for release on the then brand new classical label Hyperion. They come out here on Divine Art in full fidelity and with a marvelously spontaneous flourish on the part of McCabe.

The whole set is a stunner and well worth having. McCabe with his fingers sings, we mentally and musically dance along and we are all the better for it. Strongly recommended for the repertoire and performances! Bravo!

Hats off to the singularly supportive and ever enterprising Stephen Sutton of divine art for securing the rights to a re-release of this collection of Baroque and Classical gems for the keyboard, simply titled Domenico Scarlatti Muzio Clementi Keyboard Sonatas on a double-CD that will assuredly provide nearly two hours of exquisite playing by the late British keyboard master John McCabe.

Scarlatti wrote his twelve sonatas for keyboard with the harpsichord in mind. Playing them on a piano, as McCabe does on this occasion requires crystal clear articulation, gentle touch, and a very judicious use of pedals. McCabe makes this seem as easy as child’s play. He then spins around and imbues the music of the Italian in nationality yet Mozartian in spirit Muzio Clementi with quintessential elegance and restraint, saving the dazzling passagework and show-stopping agility for the final movements of three of the neglected Italian master’s sonatas.
***** Extraordinary

Liverpool-born John McCabe (1939-2015) needs no special pleading. Regarded by many as one of the most important late 20th/21st century British composers, he was also a pianist with huge technical skill, profound musicianship and a sympathetic understanding of the wide range of music he performed. For me, my introduction to McCabe’s playing was the Haydn piano sonata cycle back in the mid-1970s. Now issued on CD, this remains my go-to account for these remarkable and absorbing works.

The present double-disc set is a reissue of two Hyperion Records (A66025 and A66057) released on vinyl in 1981. I never owned these LPs but recall seeing them in the formerly unique Banks’ Music shop in York.

Domenico Scarlatti was born in Naples in 1685 and died in Madrid in 1757. His reputation rests on his harpsichord pieces and his influence on the development of the forte-piano. Scarlatti composed some 555 ‘sonatas’ and several other pieces for the keyboard. Many of his compositions reflected the urbane dance forms of his day: he was influenced by contemporary Italian music as well as Spanish folk dance. The overarching style of Scarlatti’s music mirrors the trend towards ‘modern’ pianism. He eschewed the reliance on counterpoint so integral to the Baroque era and began to explore ‘new’ musical textures using chords, scalar runs, arpeggios and tremolo effects. Scarlatti wrote a considerable number of operas, which are now largely forgotten, although several have been revived.

I will not give my thoughts about each of these sonatas of which there are a dozen examples here. I suggest that the listener takes them a couple at a time: they deserve concentration. It is difficult to put these works into a chronological scheme, as most were published after Scarlatti’s death. John McCabe plays these works on a modern concert grand piano with no detriment to the success and enjoyment of this music. The tempi of some of these sonatas were criticised in a contemporary review in The Gramophone (January 1982). I am not an authority on the performance of 18th century Italian music; all I can say is that this music seems to me to be played with a studied balance between flair, rhythmic freedom and a characteristic attention to detail. Others may disagree. I enjoyed them all, especially my favourite here, the Sonata in G minor, K.43.

Any understanding of Muzio Clementi’s style must begin from a historical perspective: at his birth, Handel was still alive, and at his death, Beethoven, Schubert and Weber had all been buried. His lifetime saw the stylistic transition from the late Baroque era into Romanticism by way of Classicism. Clementi’s music followed a trajectory from a highly virtuosic style towards a deeper lyricism, but the mood was nearly always ‘classical’ in its outlook. In his final years he was pushing the boundaries towards the pianism of the Romantic age including Chopin and John Field.

Clementi’s earlier sonatas tended to be sub-Scarlatti, but he soon moved away from two-movement towards three movement examples which came to define the genre. He has been dubbed ‘the father of modern piano playing’ who pioneered a greater understanding of the mechanical and technical differences between the older keyboard instruments and the ‘modern’ piano.

For those of us who battled with several of Clementi’s didactic works over the years, the hearing of his major piano pieces as presented on the second CD in this set, will be a pleasant surprise. Clementi composed more than a hundred piano sonatas, with the ‘easier’ ones being designated ‘sonatinas.’ I appreciate the characteristically lighter touch of Clementi’s style. In many ways I enjoy his piano music more than that of Beethoven. Not all will agree with me…

John McCabe’s well-chosen Clementi programme includes three full sonatas and three numbers from the remarkable Twelve Monferrinas, op.49.

The Piano Sonata in G minor, op. 50, no. 3 (Didone Abbandonata – scena tragica) is the only sonata to which Clementi gave a ‘programmatic title’. It was his last essay in the genre. The work is loosely based on an operatic libretto that tells of the tragedy of Dido and Aeneas. The music evokes Dido’s emotions on seeing her lover depart – ‘rage, jealousy and yearning’. This sonata is full of attractive things with a slow introduction followed by music of lyrical perfection. The slow movement is a ‘lament’ which is surely one of the most beautiful things from Clementi’s pen. The mood changes with the finale which romps through a wide range of sentiments with passion and fury predominating. Glyn Pursglove in a review has given a good summing up of this impressive sonata. He declares that it might ‘reasonably be described as “an opera without words” in the sense that Mendelssohn’s later piano pieces seek to be ‘songs without words.’’ I would swap much ‘classical’ piano music for the slow movement, ‘andante dolente’ of this sonata – and the finale fair takes one’s breath away; it is amazingly played by John McCabe.

We are in less-troubled waters with the short Sonata in F major, op.33, no.2. This work is marked out by the slow introduction, followed by a stormy ‘allegro con fuoco.’ There is no ‘slow movement as such’; the work concludes with an intimate and unthreatening ‘presto.’ It is one of those pieces that give pleasure from the first note to the last.

Instead of playing another sonata, John McCabe provides three extracts from Clementi’s Twelve Monferrinas, op.49. They are in direct contrast to the more profound ‘late’ sonatas. This set of pieces explores Italians folkdances from Montferrat in the Piedmont region of Italy. It is interesting to note that these dances had a certain cult following in London during the early years of the 19th century. Clementi took these ‘pop’ songs and reworked them as vibrant piano miniatures. They demand attention to detail, a sense of fun and a creative approach to expression – which is just what John McCabe gives them.

The final work on this second disc is the Piano Sonata in D major, op. 40, no. 3, first published in 1802. The liner notes explain that it could have been written anytime in the previous five or six years. The mood of this work is one of tragedy. The opening movement is certainly an impressive feat with a slow introduction, followed by an ‘allegro’ that deploys some creative modulations. Once again, Clementi provides a middle movement that is effectively a dirge. Who knows what heartbreak he is lamenting? The final ‘rondo’ is a tour de force from start to finish, although there is an episode in the minor key which is deeply felt. The major key returns and all is well.

The documentation by the late Harold Truscott and supplemented by the Monica McCabe is informative, with a good introduction to both composers and an enlightening discussion of each work. There is an enjoyable essay about how these recordings came about, as well as a biographic note about John McCabe.

John McCabe plays this music on a Bösendorfer piano, which was his favourite make of piano at that time. For me this is a good choice. I concede that early-instrument enthusiasts may balk at the use of a modern grand piano and not a contemporary instrument such as a Broadwood or an earlier forte-piano. As always in these matters, rightly or wrongly I feel that if Clementi or Scarlatti had had a modern concert grand, they would have relished it. Besides, I love my Bach and Handel played on the piano, so why not Muzio Clementi, too?