This all-Debussy disc has been forged from Ducretet-Thomson, 
                  Pacific and Bam LPs of the 1953-57 period. They have been well 
                  chosen, too, given that the string sonatas are in less well-known 
                  performances. Elsewhere there is the young Jean-Pierre Rampal 
                  and his clarinettist colleague Jacques Lancelot, and two outstanding 
                  pianists in Marie-Thérèse Fourneau and Robert 
                  Veyron-Lacroix. 
                    
                  This all adds up to something of a feast for lovers of the more 
                  obscure gems from the French chamber music LP catalogue. If 
                  you are not put off, and you shouldn’t be, by recordings 
                  that are now sixty years old, then investigation will be a worthwhile 
                  experience. 
                    
                  You’ll encounter André Lévy and Geneviève 
                  Joy in the Cello Sonata. I’ve written about both musicians 
                  before, and Lévy in particular is the quintessential 
                  chamber player. He had played in Lucien Capet’s trio in 
                  the 1920s, a distinguished position indeed, and had enjoyed 
                  an important place in French musical life ever since. By the 
                  time of this recording he had joined the Trio de France, with 
                  violinist Jeanne Gautier and Geneviève Joy numbering 
                  the other two members. 
                    
                  Lévy was nearly sixty when he recorded the Sonata in 
                  1953. His tone had always been on the small side, which is not 
                  problematic, but it had taken on a slight nasality over the 
                  years, and this is audible in the recording. He wasn’t 
                  at all a flashy player: on the contrary he was inclined to be 
                  reserved, ruminative and somewhat patrician in his playing. 
                  There is breadth of phrasing, but not necessarily overt excitement 
                  in this performance. In that respect he is no match for the 
                  incisive Maurice Maréchal, whose classic 1930 recording 
                  set a tough benchmark to follow. Nevertheless Lévy makes 
                  the pizzicati in the second movement sound like a banjo rather 
                  than the proto-Charles Mingus malarkey that some contemporary 
                  cellists inflict on this episode, but Lévy, in truth, 
                  doesn’t seem at his best in this movement, and sounds 
                  happier in the finale. 
                    
                  Geneviève Joy accompanies adeptly, and she often accompanied 
                  the next soloist, Marie-Claude Theuveny, though not here, where 
                  the violinist is accompanied by her own brother, the musical 
                  orthodontist Franck Theuveny. This is another 1953 recording. 
                  The violinist has a facile technique but is a touch prone to 
                  slithery phrasing and to slightly over-elastic rubati. The tone 
                  itself is quite thin. The duo makes a good impression nonetheless. 
                  
                    
                  Rampal unveils Syrinx, presumably his first recording 
                  of it, and Lancelot, joined by Veyron-Lacroix play the Rhapsodie 
                  for Clarinet No.1 with considerable distinction - the clarinettist’s 
                  lower register is cornet-like in richness. Finally there is 
                  the delightful Suite bergamasque played by the sensitive 
                  Marie-Thérèse Fourneau at modest tempi. 
                    
                  This is an interesting collection, then. Much of it has been 
                  forgotten in the intervening years, which makes its reinstatement 
                  here so valuable. 
                    
                  Jonathan Woolf