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Interview with Jan De Winne, founder and director of the prestigious ensemble “Il Gardellino”
This Sunday, November 9th 2025, marks the opening of the 20th edition of the Bucharest Early Music Festival. The opening concert will be performed by one of the most renowned ensembles specializing in early music: Il Gardellino. The group is internationally acclaimed for the authenticity of its performances on period instruments. The opening event, held at the Radio Hall, is dedicated to Bach's monumental work "The Musical Offering".
Il Gardellino will also hold a second concert during the festival, "Double", on November 11th 2025, at the Romanian Athenaeum.
Ahead of these two performances in Bucharest, flautist Jan De Winne, director and one of the founders of Il Gardellino, shared some insights with us during an interview:
You are opening the 20th anniversary edition of the Bucharest Early Music Festival with Il Gardellino. The concert at the Radio Hall offers Romanian audiences a rare opportunity to hear Johann Sebastian Bach's Musical Offering. What, in your view, makes this work one of the most fascinating in the history of music?
Bach composed this piece near the end of his life, and in a way, it is… how should I put it… a synthesis of his entire art, especially of his unique mastery of counterpoint. I wouldn't say it is the central work of his output, but the ten canons that form a significant part of The Musical Offering are absolutely essential. Many books have been written about this composition. Some musicologists have even compared the ten canons to the Ten Commandments, the ultimate law. Why? Because in musical rhetoric, a fugue already symbolizes law, and the canons of the Musical Offering are written with such rigorous precision that if you remove even a single note, the whole structure collapses. This kind of absolute rigidity evokes the idea of immutable law in a way. Of course, one might ask: why did Bach do this? The whole concept of The Musical Offering begins with the notion of a gift to King Frederick the Great. It all starts with the Ricercar a 3, which is thought to be the written version of an improvisation Bach performed at the royal palace during his visit to his son, Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. The story is quite well known, but let me briefly recall it. Bach went to visit his son, who was in the service of Frederick the Great. When Bach arrived, the king cancelled the evening's concert, saying, "Bach is here!" Frederick was very proud of his new pianofortes, some of the earliest by Silbermann, and wanted Bach to try them. He gave him a theme to improvise upon, since Bach was famous for his improvisations. The king asked him to improvise a three-voice fugue on that theme, which Bach did on the spot. Then, to make things more challenging, he asked whether Bach could improvise a six-voice fugue on the same theme. Bach, realizing that the theme was complex and ingenious but also very beautiful, chose instead to improvise a six-voice fugue on a theme of his own, and later decided to compose a Ricercar at six voices on the king's theme, to send as a gift. Upon returning home, Bach completed The Musical Offering within a few months. He wrote the Ricercar a 6, which we will also perform, and added a trio sonata for flute, violin, cello, and harpsichord or pianoforte. Naturally, since the king was a flautist, his instrument had to be present. He also included the ten canons, each with a mysterious title and a different structure. For instance, one is a canon "in augmentation", where the rhythmic values increase, and Bach writes a symbolic dedication above it: "As the notes grow in value, so may the king's fame increase."
So, in short, that's the concept. But to return to your question: why is it such an important work? It is one of the few compositions by Bach for which we have detailed documentation about its context and purpose. Moreover, at that time, Bach was a candidate for the Society of Musical Sciences, listed as "Candidate No. 14", a number corresponding to the numerological value of the name "Bach".The Art of Fugue was part of his application portfolio, but there are theories that The Musical Offering, which he also sent to the society, was a demonstration of his compositional mastery, a testimony to his profound and masterful technique. Voilà.
I know you previously recorded The Musical Offering with Il Gardellino, but in a different line-up, using a baroque flute replica you built yourself after Johann Joachim Quantz's instruments. You also ensured that the pianoforte used resembled the one Frederick the Great might have owned and might've been used by Bach at the aforementioned meeting. Is such a level of detail typical of Il Gardellino's projects?
Usually, yes. Our philosophy, shared by many colleagues but especially central to Il Gardellino, is rooted in what we call a historically informed performance. It's an approach that's been around for over fifty years. Simply put, we aim to recreate the music as closely as possible to how it might have sounded in the composer's own time and place.
Since The Musical Offering was conceived for the court of Frederick the Great, we know the king played a flute built by Quantz. Several original Quantz flutes survive in excellent condition, so it's possible to make highly accurate copies. At least for the flute, I can come very close to the sound Bach and his contemporaries would have known.
For that recording, we also used a copy of a Silbermann pianoforte, the type of instrument Frederick would have had. Of course, bringing such an instrument to Bucharest today would be complicated, so for this concert, the harpsichord is the ideal choice.
What can you tell us about your second concert, "Double", built around the tradition and structure of the double concerto?
First of all, within Il Gardellino we perform in many configurations: sometimes as a large orchestra, sometimes as a chamber orchestra, and sometimes in smaller ensembles. This time we'll be nine musicians, so it's very much a chamber setup.
The beauty of double concertos lies in their dialogic nature: first between the two soloists, and then between the soloists and the ensemble. It's highly interactive music. We thought this kind of program would also be an enjoyable challenge for the audience. Of course, a program of solo concertos can be wonderful too, but when you have a succession of different soloists, it can feel a bit like a series of "exams." With double concertos, it becomes more of a collective conversation, a group activity.
Perhaps that's not the clearest way to put it, but the idea was to play with this dual form. In the middle of the program, we'll also perform Vivaldi's La Follia for two violins and continuo, not technically a concerto, but again, there are two voices in vivid dialogue with each other and with the continuo. Therefore, it fits beautifully within the duality that runs throughout the program.
You studied musicology and art history before specializing in the baroque flute. How did your passion for early music begin?
I think it began for two reasons. First, I had a much older brother who loved early music, so I grew up listening to those recordings with him. Second, I grew up in Bruges, where a famous early music festival takes place. We lived right in the city centre, near one of the churches that hosted the concerts. Every summer, I went to those performances and was captivated by them.
That's how I fell in love with the harpsichord and, as a flautist, gradually became drawn to the recorder and especially the baroque flute. It all happened quite naturally and very early on. Of course, I also completed my studies in modern flute, which I don't regret at all.
I suppose I was lucky to grow up in the right place at the right time. Back then, when I was young, there were many radio programs dedicated to early music, there was even one evening each week devoted entirely to recordings and new finds in that field. There was a sense of discovery and excitement, similar to what's been happening recently in Romania, or what began here about a decade ago, a genuine curiosity about how the music once sounded, about gut strings, baroque violins, harpsichords, and all those timbres so different from the modern classical soundscape.
You mentioned the Bruges Early Music Festival and its influence. You're also familiar with the Bucharest Early Music Festival, now celebrating its 20th edition. How do you see its role in the early music scene of Eastern Europe?
I think its role is quite similar to what I described earlier about the Bruges festival: it has the potential to inspire young musicians to specialize in this field.
If I remember correctly, it's been at least twelve or thirteen years since Laurențiu Constantin first invited us to perform there. At that time, we also gave a few masterclasses: a small workshop in early music. That's where I met some young Romanian musicians, and a few of them later came to study in Belgium, with me or with Marcel Ponseele. So that's how this passion gets passed on.
And now, looking at the festival's line-up, I see top-tier names: Xavier Díaz-Latorre, Jordi Savall… These are, as they say, la crème de la crème. I think it's extremely valuable for Romanian audiences and musicians to encounter such a wide range of possibilities within early music. Let's not forget that the European Union Baroque Orchestra has also performed here, and the festival is a member of REMA,- European Network of Early Music. So yes, I'm a great admirer of this festival. I believe it plays a vital role in developing the early music scene in this region.
Tell us a bit about the beginnings of Il Gardellino, which you co-founded with oboist Marcel Ponseele.
It started as a chamber project among musicians who were already playing in baroque orchestras. We wanted to perform together without a conductor and explore the chamber repertoire. After a few years, we began tackling some Bach cantatas and other vocal works... We gradually formed a stable core of string players, growing to seven or eight members. Depending on the repertoire, we've expanded over time, and about ten years ago, we started producing larger-scale projects, such as oratorios. Right now, for example, we're recording all of Mozart's piano concertos with Olga Pashchenko, in an orchestral setting.
Still, we continue to play in smaller formations, because chamber music, performed with fewer musicians, greatly enhances communication and mutual understanding within the ensemble. We end up reading each other's mind because we spend so much time making music together. That connection remains even when we perform in larger orchestral setups, keeping the ensemble dynamic.
You and Il Gardellino have also explored crossover projects and new artistic directions. What does innovation mean to you in the context of early music?
Yes, we've done some crossover projects, and I enjoy them when they genuinely work. For example, we've collaborated with wonderful jazz musicians, and those projects were successful because they weren't two worlds simply placed side by side, but rather blended into a truly special musical evening.
However, I'm not a fan of mixing styles just for the sake of doing "something new." Sometimes, as an audience member, I've seen projects that felt somewhat artificial. When I was young, early music itself felt like an incredible discovery: "Wow, I'm hearing a Mozart symphony on period instruments for the first time, what a difference!" Now, nearly everything has been done. So, I think the new generations feel the need to use their creativity, to see what lies beyond early music: what its limits are and how to tell a stronger story around this beautiful music.
I believe exploration is important because, in a sense, while we must study history, we also have to translate it for a 21st century audience. It's an artistic exercise.
On the other hand, I once performed The Musical Offering in France, in an opera house before 700 people. Before the concert, I wondered, "This music is so complex… will they enjoy it?" But the audience was deeply attentive, moved, and enthusiastic. At the end, I thought: "Look, a purely classical concert, no crossover, no video projections, and it still works perfectly". So I'm glad that experience remains possible too.
I see the practice of musical performance as a triangular structure: at the top, the composer; on the left corner, the performer; and on the right, the audience. As a performer, you must find your place among these three poles. You can devote yourself entirely to the composer, striving to understand their intentions and becoming almost invisible. Or you can say: "I'm performing this Handel concerto, and my interpretation is what matters here: thank you, Handel, but I'm in the spotlight now". And, of course, there's the audience, to whom you must offer an engaging, maybe more accessible, expressive and beautiful experience. Sometimes a concert is not only about music. Sometimes it becomes a complete experience, almost like a film.
And I think all these approaches are valid: there's no hierarchy among them.
For you personally, what is the most important thing when presenting early music to today's audiences?
I still believe that if we look back at the earliest music, say, from the 11th century, and read the texts or writings from that time, we find that human emotions haven't changed at all over the centuries. What we feel as humans remains the same. So what I try to do in a concert is to convey those emotions that I discover in the music itself. That, for me, is the most important thing.
I would say the message, the "text" of the music, matters more than the sound of the instrument or the choice of instrument itself. My personal inspiration comes from feeling more connected to myself when I play Bach's Musical Offering on a Quantz-type flute. But what I want to bring to the audience is not the sound of the flute, it's the essence of the work, what lies within The Musical Offering.
And if you ask what emotions this piece conveys… I'd say it expresses a profound spirituality, emerging from the polyphony itself. If I've had a successful concert, then the audience will have been moved, reminded that beyond all the world's troubles, there still exists another dimension of beauty.
Translated by Oana-Elena Dragnea,
University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II
Corrected by Silvia Petrescu













