I had mixed feelings about Olivier Baumont's recording of Rameau's complete solo harpsichord works (Adda, 5/90). Technically he is an accomplished player but I sensed a self-consciousness in his playing and a somewhat rarefied approach to the music. Now he has turned his attention to Couperin whose four books of harpsichord pieces were published between 1713 and 1730. Whether or not Baumont intends to record the entire oeuvre is unclear but here, meanwhile, is the Fourth and last Book (1730) complete. Couperin apparently had composed the pieces three years earlier, presenting them for publication in eight ordres, a term implying something between a suite and an anthology.
Baumont enters the lists with formidable com-petition awaiting him. Kenneth Gilbert's complete survey (Harmonia Mundi) remains a yardstick in many respects. Only Ruggero Gerlin on L'Oiseau-Lyre had previously recorded all 27 of the ordres on a 16-foot Pleyel during the early 1950s. Since Gilbert there have been fine complete recordings by Laurence Boulay (Erato), the late Scott Ross (Editions Stil) and Blandine Verlet (Astree Auvidis). Baumont's interpretations stand up well alongside these. There is plenty of detail in his playing and he has a strong rhythmic sense. What is lacking, however, is a feeling for any grandeur of design, for nobility of sentiment and for that elusive esprit d'elegie which haunts so many of Couperin's pieces. As Baumont sensibly observes in his introductory note, the performer of this music seeks perfection in vain, for to realize Couperin's acutely sensitive powers of observation one must penetrate a world beyond the notes themselves.
Baumont introduces a rococo gracefulness to the pieces and is both restrained and judicious in his application of inegalites as you can hear in pieces like ''Les Gandoles de Delos'' (Ordre No. 23). But he seems to me to underplay the depictive aspect present in a great many of these vignettes. I miss, for instance, the angular grotesqueries called for in ''L'Arlequine'' (Ordre No. 23), and the heavy, pointed dance of ''Les Satires, Chevre-pieds'' (Ordre No. 23) which only really comes to life in the ''Second Partie''. The Passacaglia, ''L'Amphibie'' (Ordre No. 24) is played with precision yet that noblement which Couperin calls for seems to elude Baumont in his slightly jerky approach. More reflective pieces such as ''Les Ombres Errantes'' (Ordre No. 25) on the other hand are deliciously languid, and Baumont achieves a touching pathos in the poetic F sharp minor ''La Convalescente'' (Ordre No. 26). ''L'Epineuse'' (Ordre No. 26), one of the most fragrant, autumnal pieces that Couperin wrote, is, on the other hand, treated perfunctorily with no apparent awareness for its poetry. (Scott Ross, by sensitive application of rubato revealed the beauty of this piece more than any other player I have heard.) ''La Pantomime'' (Ordre No. 26) springs to life effectively though it is perhaps a little hard-driven lessening the impact of its Commedia dell'arte gestures.
As I say, this is accomplished playing but the approach seems to me to serve only intermittently the best interests of the music. The recorded sound and the timbre of the instrument, a copy of a Ruckers/Hemsch, are preferable to those of the now elderly Gilbert recordings; and some readers may well enjoy this seemingly objective view of Couperin's music more than I do. Certainly the set is well worth exploring, so a cautious recommendation is in order.'