Whether or not Bach intended these works to be played on the lute is a question that need not detain us here; the fact is, that they have been both performed and recorded far more often by guitarists (two complete sets of the four Suites have been issued recently) than by lutenists. The problem has not been that of the doubts surrounding their ascription but, rather, that of the difficulty of playing them acceptably or, in the case of BWV1006a, even (as has often been claimed) possible—by transposing it from E to F major; had Bach played the lute he would never have considered the former as a reasonable key for such a hard piece, unless he visualized a quite different tuning—another area for debate. Imamura's disc is announced as ''Vol.1'', so he clearly intends to offer the entire oeuvre, as Kirchhof does in his two-disc set.
My enthusiasm for Imamura's part in a Dowland programme with Andrew Dalton ((CD) KTC1030, 7/89) is amply reinforced by these most impressive Bach performances, some of the most fluent baroque lute playing on record, exceptionally clean in both tone and articulation. It is, however, a measure of the difficulty of some movements that even one as well equipped as Imamura cannot make them flow without some evidence of strain, e.g. the Fugue and Gigue of BWV997. He sets out his stall without delay in BWV1006a: a pacy and forward-thrusting Prelude, a lilting Loure with much tasteful embellishment, and an unhurried Gavotte en rondeau in which the rondo material is imaginatively varied in its repetitions give early notice that these are no 'routine' performances. Throughout, Imamura shows his willingness to decorate the repeats of dance movements, often floridly, a thing that lutenists talk about more often than they do it. When one 'lives with' these works over many years one is liable to 'crystallize' particular embellishments in one's mind; Imamura's are often different from those in my own mind, not least in the Sarabande of BWV997, but the effect is stimulating rather than irksome. His tempos are admirably chosen, and one rarely has the feeling that his phrasing is noticeably controlled by technical difficulty; in the latter connection, he is unusally adept in preventing the lower (open) courses from outstaying their welcome.
The Frankfurt lutenist Lutz Kirchhof is an extraordinary player, with the manual and mental dexterity of a jazz musician in encompassing embellishments that sound spontaneous, even if they are not. He applies every known form of decoration to Bach's framework, often without waiting for repeats, and rarely refuses any invitation to insert an appoggiatura. There just is not the space to enumerate the extent of Kirchhof's adventures, so suffice it to mention that the Sarabande of BWV995 and the Bourree of BWV996 are treated to inegales, and the latter also receives a final petite reprise. It may all be a bit too much for conservative ears (not least those of many lutenists) and indeed there are moments when I find Kirchhof and myself at odds, but it is impossible not to admire and be stimulated by his freshness of spirit and enterprise, or impressed by his sure rhythmic sense and intelligent use of rubato. He explains his approach at length in the inlay booklet, including his reason for facing (and handling) the challenge of playing BWV1006a in E major, a feat previously unaccomplished by any other lutenist I know of, and doing so without sounding hard-pressed. It might however have saved a few raised eyebrows if he had identified his sources: for the Sarabande of BWV997 he uses the tablature version of J. C. Weyrauch, not the staff-notated one written down by C. P. E. Bach, used by most others. One way or another, this is required and thought-provoking listening—and not just for lutenists.
North (on Amon Ra), technically the equal of Imamura, is a little less inclined to depart from the written gospel, but by his use of tasteful vibrato injects a measure of warmth that enhances the humanity of the music. Regrettably there are, I understand, no plans for North to record the remainder of this repertory. To those who are not closely familiar with these works it will be useful to have a more 'literal' recording, one which makes clear just what is being decorated—a statement of 'what the composer wrote'. Without such points of reference there is always the danger that embellishment, though a perfectly proper feature of baroque performance, may become identified with text.'