There were ‘Sold Out’ signs for Craig Ogden’s guitar recital in Sheffield for weeks. It could have been due to the popularity of the pieces he chose to play, or maybe the enthusiasm of a vast swathe of fans cultivated by Ogden’s ubiquity on the radio, or perhaps simply because his reputation precedes him as a performer, both dazzlingly skilful and approachably genial. Whatever the reason, this was a delightful way to spend a freezing Saturday afternoon, as Ogden demonstrated the range of sounds and textures that a guitar can generate. In fact, there were two guitars: one for the delicate sound world of Baroque and Classical pieces, the other a more big-boned instrument capable of carrying the more extrovert 20th-century compositions.
From the earlier periods, Ogden gave us Bach’s Prelude, Fugue and Allegro, BWV998, a work which, as he said in his introduction, was very definitely not written for the guitar, and probably not even the lute, but in his hands the different lines of the Fugue rang clear and the final Allegro danced vivaciously. Even more attractive were the two Scarlatti sonatas that opened the second half of his recital. As he pointed out, not all Scarlatti sonatas ‘work’ on the guitar, especially those where the density of the original keyboard texture would simply overwhelm his instrument, but the Sonata in E major, Kk380, with its stately processional tread, was a joy from the outset, its trills providing delicate ornamentation throughout.
The music of the Iberian Peninsula and Latin America provided almost everything else in Ogden’s recital. This is no surprise, given the popularity of the guitar in these regions, but only three of the compositions played were originally for guitar, one of which, Joaquín Rodrigo’s Tres Piezas Españolas, was the most substantial work of the afternoon. Here again, though, as Ogden observed, the fact that Rodrigo was no guitarist himself, but instead composed at the piano, meant that these three movements are particularly challenging because of their essentially pianistic figurations. One needn’t have worried: the outer Fandango and Zapateado movements were rhythmically alive and vividly coloured, while the complex ornamentation of the variations in the central Passacaglia was made to look easy, although it surely wasn’t.
South American composers provided the opening two works in the programme, which started with the always popular Chôros no.1 by Heitor Villa-Lobos. Initially this felt a little mannered, the opening flourish, which recurs at least a dozen times, being varied in pace, volume and texture at each appearance. Justifying this, Ogden claimed that this kept boredom at bay, for him as much as for the audience. Whatever the case, the work made a nice contrast with the more recent Cielo Abierto by the Argentine composer Quique Sinesi, with its funky bass-line reminiscent of the music of Weather Report and colourful rhythmic passages, which allowed Ogden to show off his skills as a percussionist. If that was jazz-tinged, his performance of Django Reinhardt’s Nuages took us firmly into Hot Club de France territory, with dreamily foot-tapping results.
The final music in the published programme provided a local connection – two colourful pieces by Albéniz arranged by Sheffield-based guitar teacher Gordon Crosskey. And there was still time for an encore. It was, as Craig Ogden confessed, not very seasonal (unless he was thinking of December in his native Perth, Australia) but George Harrison’s Here Comes the Sun sent the audience out into the cold with a warm glow inside and smiles on their faces.
