A new 48 is always an exciting event for me, though with a reviewer's hat on, a daunting one. Davitt Moroney enters the lists with several other competitors already in the field. Oldest by far, is the version by Wanda Landowska on RCA; then there is Gustav Leonhardt's EMI recording made during the late 1960s and early 1970s and, more recently a satisfying performance by Kenneth Gilbert on Archiv Produktion. I am, of course, omitting mention of interpretations on the piano since comparisons between these and the harpsichordist's performances are unhelpful in the present context. Once upon a time a harpsichord was a harpsichord and it was either in tune or not as the case may be. Nothing could be further from the truth nowadays, with the wealth of restored instruments from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, or copies of them, the various tuning systems once more available, and the wide choice of pitches—an area as crucial as it is controversial. Leonhardt settles for A=415, whereas Gilbert prefers A=392; Moroney has chosen something in between. The accompanying booklet is coy about some of these matters and all I can find about the harpsichord is that it was built in 1980 by Peter Phillips. Moroney, himself, discusses 'temperamental' issues in a lucid and characteristically down-to-earth essay explaining why he has chosen a system much closer to equal temperament than that favoured by Kenneth Gilbert, for example.
The performances, as we are coming to expect of this gifted and serious-minded artist, are technically accomplished, stylistically informed and meticulously thought out. His complete renunciation of empty rhetoric, uncalled-for flamboyance, or superfluous gesture point to a maturity in his approach which belies his youth. Perhaps, occasionally, I felt that I wanted something more in the way of exuberance, a wish that, if only for a moment, he would take a risk or two and let spontaneity assume the upper hand. This, of course, is a personal reaction relating more to Book 1 than to Book 2 and has little bearing on the intrinsic merit of Moroney's playing. Apart from that I have little but admiration for his 48.
A feature of his approach that I particularly like is his rhythmic suppleness. Uneven rhythms or rubato are present only when there is a point to be made, a shape to be emphasized or an idea to be underlined. Moroney excels at the grand gesture, the sense of occasion or of profound deliberation as we can see in the C minor Fugue, BWV871, for instance; this aspect of his playing is strengthened, furthermore, by the character of the instrument which has a full-bodied, resonant middle and lower register. Sometimes, in fact, I felt the combination of the harpsichord sound with the close balance a little too much for the music, especially in the lighter textured preludes. So in bringing out the delicate tracery of the Prelude in C sharp minor, BWV872, I found Gilbert's lighter registration more affecting than the more authoritative sound of Moroney's. On the other hand, I marginally prefer Moroney's crisply articulated, sprightly Fugue. In the case of the Prelude in E flat, BWV876, however, it is Leonhardt who wins the day with playing of extraordinary sensibility.
Differences of this kind between the various performances are virtually endless, so let me sum up by saying that no one need hesitate to consider this new recording amongst their first choices. Whether in the end you place Leonhardt, Gilbert or Moroney highest in your affection or esteem will be largely a matter of personal taste. All three are splendid achievements and, if I say that I cannot reach any order of preference myself you will have some idea of the difficulty that lies ahead in making a choice. The new issue is strongly recommended.'