Vivaldi's last great set of printed concertos was La cetra (''The lyre''), published by Le Cene in Amsterdam in 1727. All but one of the 12 concertos are for solo violin; the exception is the ninth in the set, in B flat (RV530), which is scored for two solo violins. Two others, in A major (RV348) and B minor (RV391), the last concertos respectively, in each of the two books of six which constituted the original publication, require scordatura or retuning of the solo violin. Less innovative than L'estro armonico, Vivaldi's first set of printed concertos, La cetra, nevertheless provides fine examples of the composer's mature style in works which contain rich diversity of character and whose musical charms grow rather than diminish upon acquaintance. Of all the sets of his concertos which as a teenager with an insatiable appetite for baroque music I borrowed from public libraries, it was and is still La cetra which remains dearest in my affections. How fortunate I am, therefore, to be the recipient of two outstandingly fine performances within the space of as many years. Each set has its own strong and less strong features, its own markedly differentiated character and very much its own sound, thereby providing a rewardingly complementary view of the music.
As I have remarked in previous issues of Vivaldi concertos performed by the Academy of Ancient Music, Christopher Hogwood has an infectiously robust approach emphasized not only by lively tempos, crisp articulation and a distinctively bright sound but also by his imaginatively realized continuo lines. Here we have not only harpsichord or organ and cello but also archlute, theorbo and, in two concertos, a baroque guitar. The rival EMI set with the Raglan Baroque Players directed by Nicholas Kraemer is comparable in this respect though it does not employ a baroque guitar. Both directors field an ensemble of similar though not identical size with small discrepancies in certain preferred types of instrument. Hogwood uses a single cellist and a double-bass while Kraemer has two cellists for the tuttis and a violone. Hogwood's fundament, if I may put it that way, is thus marginally more resonant and pronounced than Kraemer's and his continuo group generally are more closely balanced than that in the other set. Throughout, Hogwood prefers slightly brisker tempos to those of Kraemer.
These are some of the more striking differences between the two sets, but of course it is in the playing of the two soloists, Simon Standage in the new version and Monica Huggett in the earlier one, that the greater contrasts lie and, in which, doubtless, factions will arise and differing schools of thought be born. Standage's sound is the brighter of the two and his approach is often more overtly demonstrative, even more passionate than that of Huggett. Standage has no fear of the extravagant gesture where he feels it is required and there is something of the demonic virtuoso about his playing which engenders considerable excitement in the mind and ears of a listener. In short, there is an infectious vitality which embraces Standage's playing and in which he is fervently and sometimes loudly backed up by the ensemble. Huggett's playing, at least on this occasion, has a greater warmth and sweetness of sound and she seems to me to offer more in the way of studied interpretations. I feel, too, that she conveys more of the music's poetry in the slow movements than Standage. Her intonation is more secure, though with artists of this calibre the matter is a marginal one, and her readings by and large have greater refinement and more delicately contrived poise. In short, Huggett's performances are, in the end, more beautiful in sound and more subtly crafted in phrase though, perhaps, at the expense of spontaneity and excitement, two qualities in which Standage excels. Take for instance, the infectious 12/8 allegro finale of the Sixth Concerto in A major (RV348) where the irrepressible high spirits of Standage and the band, together with a more convincing tempo, comfortably win the day.
In summary, here are two wonderfully imaginative accounts of La cetra with a combined wealth of ideas which make each one indispensable to me. The reflective and introspective NA inclines strongly towards Monica Huggett's playing whilst the passionate, excitable part of him responds to Simon Standage. There is hardly a moment of routine playing from soloist or orchestra in either of them.'