About 1730, the London publisher John Walsh issued a set of 12 solos – sonatas, that is, for one melody instrument and continuo – as Handel’s Op. 1. It was an unauthorized edition and bore a false Amsterdam imprint, and included two works (Nos. 10 and 12, for violin) that are almost certainly not by Handel. Those two were replaced in a reprint by two others, also unauthentic. In his Handel-Gesellschaft Edition, Chrysander added to the confusion by issuing all 14 works, along with another and a variant of No. 1, as Op. 1. Here Op. 1 is used to mean ‘Handel’s authentic – or mainly authentic – solo sonatas’. The ten Handel works in the original collection are given, played on the instruments for which they were actually intended (not the same as the instruments specified by Walsh); also included are the two additional ones in Chrysander, two further variant versions, three other sonatas discovered relatively recently, and the three so-called ‘Halle’ Sonatas for flute – which have nothing whatsoever to do with Handel’s birthplace, and possibly nothing much to do with Handel (one is partly a variant of an oboe work and the other two are doubtful: the note here confuses them). The collection isn’t quite complete: Op. 1 No. 6 might have been given in the viola da gamba version that a manuscript in the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge seems to authorize.
Twenty sonatas, however, is probably enough. This set gives authoritative readings, impeccable in style, dependable in text, and ornamented with enterprise but also with taste and sensible judgement. Not all, however, are equally enjoyable to listen to. Above all, I relished the oboe sonatas here, played by Paul Goodwin: regrettably, there are only two of them (the beautiful G minor, Op. 1 No. 6, assigned to the oboe in the original edition, goes beyond the instrument’s compass and the powers of any player who actually needs to breathe, and is clearly violin music). You can hear Goodwin’s finely shaped lines in the brief, early B flat Sonata and in the C minor work: try the lively Allegro of the latter, or the gracefully embellished Adagio that follows.
Elizabeth Wallfisch, who has the violin sonatas, is another admirable stylist, and brings an unusual subtlety to music that is generally played more energetically. The superb D major work, the only late one here, opens the set; I admit that I should have preferred a rather sturdier, bolder style (doesn’t that opening phrase, with its unexpected leap at the end, ask for it?), but to hear the music played so thoughtfully is in its way revealing too. The A major Sonata (Op. 1 No. 3), another I specially enjoyed, responds well to Wallfisch’s tender manner, while in the D minor she plays the opening movement in a pleasing and natural way and dispatches the passagework in the Allegro that follows very neatly, judging, too, the articulation to good effect. But the spaciousness and nobility of line that the opening of the G minor Sonata, for example, can yield is not something that Wallfisch seems to seek.
There are five violin sonatas, seven for flute and six for recorder. Lisa Beznosiuk has a soft and limpid tone, often almost sensuously full in the bottom register, and brings nicely crisp rhythms to the quick movements. A couple of them, the second movements of Op. 1 No. 5 and No. 1b, are virtuoso music – the former is brilliantly done, the latter rather a knife-edge performance, as too is the near-scrambled finale of the ‘Halle’ A minor work. The dance rhythms are pleasantly vivacious. However, I have to say too that there is some rather bland and careful playing at times and the impression is apt to be pallid. Still more so, perhaps, in the recorder music: Rachel Beckett plays fluently, ornaments the music skilfully, and copes well with the rapid passages (listen to the Furioso of Op. 1 No. 9a), but there are times when it sounds diligent and a little dull. The recorder’s powers of expression and capacity for variety are not great and Beckett does not quite have the strength of musical personality to override the instrument’s limitations. Richard Tunnicliffe is a clear and alert cello continuo player throughout and Paul Nicholson’s contributions at the harpsichord could hardly be bettered. So this set offers Handel’s solos in very sound, intelligent and carefully executed and soberly enjoyable readings.'