This was played for me in my local classical CD store and that was it: I was hooked. When I then saw it in my local high-street national chain on sale at a ridiculous price I walked off with it like a kid at Christmas. Everyone who has heard the opening strains has said "That's fast", to which I have singularly replied "Yep - great isn't it?". And they have all remembered I'm a period enlightenment nut, and gone "Of course".
It has everything to recommend it, this recording, from exquisite technique and musicianship, to ear-pricking boldness, gusto and courage, to a wonderful space around the recording that gives an atmosphere of elegance without being austere, reserved or removed. This could at once be in a great hall of kings, or in a little front room of a village cottage. Either which way, it really fills the room with a presence and spritely-ness that commands attention and bestows a great big smile.
Queyras' recording had the misfortune to emerge at the same time as, and therefore under the blanket approval of, the admittedly great Steven Isserlis recording (yes, I love that one too). For that Isserlis set there was much media interest in how Isserlis had held off the Bach, made/waited himself ready, studied the pieces carefully, and identified (amazingly sombrely, given his findings) the dance rhythms and elements as the core of the works. (Doubtless this was highlighted because the record company / artist probably pushed it that way as a way of establishing an originality to justify another Cello Suites, as if any talented professional cellist needs the "contributing something new" clause or excuse to attempt on disc what is the pinnacle of their instrument's existence!!!) Isserlis' / Hyperion's recording certainly illuminates those dance rhythms, performing them rhythmically and excitingly, musically more alive than the sombre verbal/written annunciations of their presence was. However, Queyras / Harmonia Mundi offer(ed) no such reasoning for the recording's existence, and yet the dance rhythms are definitely their, perhaps even more so than with Isserlis. This recording is very much alive with them, and to them, and it resonates with a realness as a result. It's a dancing with a certain gentility, nothing raucous or base about it, but with a likeable robustness and positive forwardness that inspires both confidence in the artist's ability and consideration, and a reflection on the life and purpose of the pieces, from their gestation to their present incarnations.
Just as I was beginning to despair for great readings of Bach's Cello Suites at present, and had recently delved back to discover the great readings of Pierre Fournier and Janos Starker (and finding I didn't like Rostropovich's rather clumpy and over-bearing fatherly heaviness as much as the reviews and reputations said I should like it), I am absolutely delighted to have two outstanding arrivals in the shape of Isserlis (which I knew would be great) and even more so Queyras (which I knew nothing about), which have reinvigorated my love of these works. I would also put in this echelon of new interpretations worthy of recommendation, those by Anne Gastinel, although I'm not sure how many will be so easily encouraged towards her's as towards Isserlis (easy to encourage towards) or Queyras (hopefully not too hard!). Isserlis uses gut strings and an instrument of appropriate age, and a great amount of "period" technique, attitude and approach, though is not definitively a "period" recording; Queyras is such; and Gastinel is "modern". All are very much worth investigation; all reaffirm the brilliance of Bach, of the pieces, and the existence of cellists capable of surmounting these heights; Queyras might just, for me, have climbed the hardest, fastest and best.
Pass this by at your peril!