French pianist Pierre-Laurent Aimard never resorts to mere ritual. He prepares for his concerts by avoiding routine and embracing as much freedom as the moment allows. Yet there is little spontaneity or ostentation in his renderings of Bach. His recordings of The Art of Fugue and Book 1 of The Well-Tempered Clavier reveal playing that neither soars nor lilts. Aimard plays with such measured assurance that it is difficult to tell where Bach ends and the pianist’s personal touches begin.

But Book 2 of The Well-Tempered Clavier, which Aimard played in his debut recital with Vivo Performing Arts Friday night at Jordan Hall, engaged the mind as well as the ear. Through it all, Aimard struck a fine balance between reverie and restraint. This was a thinker’s Bach: cool, concentrated, and fixated in the moment.

Aimard’s playing unfolded more like readings than in-depth performances. The approach transformed the pianist into an almost priestly presence who approached the music with worshipful distance. Listeners were left to ponder on their own the beauties of Bach’s architecture, the intricate weaving of the melodic lines, and subtle impact of the closing phrases. 

The second book of The Well-Tempered Clavier may not be intended for a single marathon listening. But this set of 24 Preludes and Fugues, composed between 1738 and 1740, contains plenty of variety to draw listeners in. The Preludes explore the dainty strains of stile galant as much as full Baroque fire. The Fugues likewise sparkle with fine detail as the lines run forward, backward, and upside down in dense webs of sound. 

Aimard eschewed lyricism in favor of rhythmic precision and colorful effects. His crisp tone shed light onto the melodic curves without allowing the lines to sing. Generous use of the sustain pedal enabled the harmonies of the F major Prelude to blur together. Aimard, though, stuck to these gestures with little variation. He also played the A minor Prelude with a heavy pedal that generated a hazy sonority. By contrast, the G minor Fugue felt punched out. The rhythms flickered but didn’t dance. 

But elsewhere Aimard explored just enough depth and mystery. Subtle rubatos enhanced the sweeping melancholy of the C-sharp minor Prelude, the graceful elegance of the E-flat major Prelude, and whimsy of the Fugue in B-flat major. His heavier tone in the Prelude in F minor engendered almost Schumannesque weight. The fiery panache he brought to the G major Prelude looked ahead to Beethoven without resorting to excess. 

Several of the fugues simply mesmerized for their technical challenges. Aimard reveled in the dark suspense of the G-sharp minor Fugue, tore through the angular leaps of the Fugue in A minor, and laid bare the stark tensions of the B minor Fugue to bring the audience to its feet. 

Aimard may not lean into self-indulgence. But his playing, even in its limited emotional scope, can still speak for itself. And in the case of Bach, that remains a refreshing approach in its own right.

Aaron Keebaugh’s work has been featured in The Musical Times, Corymbus, The Classical Review, Early Music America, BBC Radio 3, and the Arts Fuse, for which he writes regularly about classical music. A musicologist, Aaron teaches at North Shore Community College in Danvers and Lynn.