A solo album for viola da gamba without basso continuo or other instruments is not an everyday phenomenon even in the early music world. Anyone who associates the instrument only with the slow, sultry sounds of a basse de viole in a French Baroque ensemble will be caught off guard by this debut album by Miguel Bonal. From Silence is not merely an exercise in historical reconstruction, but a thoughtfully conceived journey through more than three centuries of gamba music – from the raw, soldierly boldness of Tobias Hume to the dreamy nocturnal atmosphere of Gabriel Fauré.
Bonal, born in 1999 in Zaragoza, studied successively at the Escola Superior de Música de Catalunya with Emmanuel Balssa and obtained his master's degree with distinction at the Royal Conservatoire The Hague with Mieneke van der Velden. His training, which he supplemented with lessons from, among others, Wieland Kuijken and Vittorio Ghielmi, has clearly left its mark: this is not a young virtuoso on display to show off his technical prowess, but a musician who knows what he wants to say and how to say it.
A thoughtfully conceived dramaturgy
The programming choice is initially surprising, but upon closer inspection, coherent. Captain Humes Pavin by Tobias Hume (1569-1645) opens the disc with a tightly rhythmic eloquence that immediately strips the gamba of its delicate image. Bonal plays this with a direct, yet warm-charged energy that makes the composer's almost military-tinged rhetoric tangible. From the first measures, the tone is set: the instrumental voice stands sharp in the space, carried by an acoustics that lets every detail breathe without ever losing its clarity.
Then follows the Sonate in D majeur by Georg Philipp Telemann (1681-1767), in which, as so often, he merges French elegance, Italian cantabile, and German contrapuntal clarity into one stylistic language. Bonal exploits precisely that hybrid nature as a starting point for a playful yet controlled interpretation. In the five short movements, a broad palette of character changes unfolds: the Recitativo takes on something of spoken rhetoric, while the Vivace culminates in a resilient, almost dance-like stream of energy.
Les Voix humaines by Marin Marais (1656-1728) undoubtedly forms the emotional heart of the first half. Bonal plays this restrained character piece with an effortless control that immediately convinces. He seeks no effect, but an inner silence in which the music is allowed to unfold itself. The tension seems not constructed but present in the music itself, as if it were already enclosed in the sound fabric. It comes and goes without emphasis, but thereby leaves behind a subtle resonance that continues to work.
The Sonate in d mineur from the Scherzi Musicali by Johannes Schenck (1660-ca. 1712) makes different demands: double stops, downward shifts, and a declamatory eloquence that is typical of this German-Dutch idiom. Bonal rises above these technical challenges with remarkable ease and never loses sight of the musical line.
Between these larger gestures, a more intimate, galant layer unfolds: the lyrical Arpeggiata from the Drexel manuscript by Carl Friedrich Abel (1723-1787), which prepares the transition to the Bach suite with a soft, almost improvisational character.
Bach as the crowning achievement
The Suite no. 2 in d minor, BWV 1008, by Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) is the only work on this program that everyone knows – or thinks they know. This makes the choice all the more interesting. For on the viola da gamba, the familiar suddenly sounds different: the instrument has more strings, a different bow technique, a different physicality. Not an imitation of the cello, but a reinterpretation – and Bonal seizes that space.
His interpretation avoids any sense of reconstruction and makes the Suite rather a study in breath and weight than in virtuosity. The Prélude unfolds less as a motoristic gesture than as a series of gently shifting tension fields. The Sarabande retreats to an almost immaterial core, in which each note does not so much sound as it lingers in space. In the Gigue, that introspection is not broken but opened up: the movement remains clear, but carries an undercurrent of restraint that colors the entire work.
Boldness rewarded
The greatest leap in the program comes with the two transcriptions at the end of the recording. Recuerdos de la Alhambra – that famous guitar piece by Francisco Tárrega (1852-1909) whose tremolo technique is its trademark – is performed by Bonal with a bow, transforming the tremolo into a sustained, flowing bow movement. The effect is surprisingly convincing: the hypnotic atmosphere is preserved, and there emerges a sound world that does not imitate the guitar version but opens it toward something new.
This is followed by the contemplative Adagio in D major (also from Abel's Drexel manuscript) and Hume's elegiac Loves Farewell, which after the excursion to Tárrega guide the program back to a more restrained, lyrical atmosphere.
The closing with Après un rêve by Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) – accompanied by Jeremy Nastasi on archlute – is the most lyrical moment of the entire recording. The gamba sings the melodic line with a softness that recalls the finest mezzo-sopranos, and the accompaniment supports without overwhelming. Anyone who thought that viola da gamba and late Romantic song form an unlikely marriage will hear here how naturally this repertoire translates to the gamba.
After the silence
From Silence is a debut that is immediately a statement. Miguel Bonal proves himself not only as an instrumentalist with complete command of his instrument, but above all as a musician with a clear artistic vision. The album was recorded in the Capella de la Esperanza in Barcelona with an acoustics that allows the viola da gamba to come into its own beautifully – warm, clear, without the reverberation that often dominates Baroque recordings. Carlos Bonal Asensio's accompanying text situates the repertoire thoroughly and avoids the usual hagiography. Alpha Classics has made a quality production of it.
In short: an album that doesn't quickly become tired, but opens further with each listening. Rarely have I heard a gambist of this generation debut with such musical maturity. Miguel Bonal is a name to remember.