Naxos were, I suggest, ill-advised to open with
the two Purcell songs. The irresistible impression is that of
being transported back to our grandparents’ drawing-rooms, to
a world of scones and muffins and water-cress sandwiches and silver
teapots and genteel ladies with wavery voices singing "Neemphs
and sheepards come a-wee!" In an age which has, I hope, rediscovered
something of Purcell’s own vocal world, I fear this has nothing
to say.
Equally questionable is the decision to call
the album "A Vocal Portrait" and then represent a recording
career which spans over four decades, from 1907 to 1948 (plus
broadcast material which extends to 1958), by nothing earlier
than 1932 and with a considerable concentration on her wartime
recordings, by which time she was getting on for sixty. It is
true that she retained her voice remarkably well, her high notes
sweet and easy, but there is a waver – I won’t go so far as to
call it a wobble – in the 1940s that wasn’t there in the 1930s,
and it doesn’t exactly help the present-day listener to relate
to her.
Before dealing with the French songs, which account
for the larger part of this tribute and on which her fame was
chiefly based, let us examine an English song which belongs to
Teyte’s own days, "Now sleeps the crimson petal" by
Roger Quilter. First of all, as regards English pronunciation
we have to admit that times have changed. Who, today, would make
the "on" of "crimson" rhyme with "con"
rather than with the "en" of "open"? Who now,
except as a parody, precedes the "w" of "white"
with a strong aspirate? How can we not smile at "The firefly
weakens, weaken thou with me" (instead of "wakens"),
at "lily" with a double "l" (at least) in
the middle and at "r"s which are not exaggeratedly trilled
but which seem to come from the back of her throat as in French?
Not many years separate this from Kathleen Ferrier’s 1951 recording,
but Ferrier was a generation younger and, while we may find her
academic, even schoolmarmy, in her frigidly perfect elocution
(in this song, I don’t say ‘everywhere’), the actual language
is as we know it today. However, if we turn to Benjamin Luxon’s
1975 version, can we not deny that the art of singing English
has evolved – for the better – over the years? Luxon gives the
words their natural speech rhythms, and he also drops them effortlessly
into a long legato line.
Here we have another important point; Teyte seems
to spell out the syllables one by one. Good as her singing is,
this word-by-word concept of phrasing prevents it from becoming
truly melodious; we get a heightened recitative. Ferrier was moving
away from this type of delivery but her tragically shortened life
did not give her time to complete the work. I have little doubt
that this change has come about because today every conservatoire
student is expected to sing in a wide range of languages, and
probably learns to sing in Italian (the ideal language for legato
singing) before he learns to sing in English. The past generation
of singers could get away with singing everything in their own
language. French was a second mother-tongue for Teyte – imagine
if an English singer today recorded Pergolesi, Liszt and Tchaikovsky
in French! English singers today are less provincial.
However, there are interpretative points to be
noted in Teyte’s performance. Firstly, her actual tempo is more
convincing than Luxon’s lugubriously sluggish one. Ferrier is
in the middle. We may note, if not emulate, the way in which she
dwells on the "Now"s and "Nor"s which start
each line and also the downward portamentos at "the lake"
and "into my bosom" but also the avoidance of one at
"the firefly wakens". We may also note that Ferrier
uses a firmly projected tone and Luxon seems to be crooning to
himself. Would he have sung in this way in a concert-hall? Teyte,
on the other hand, uses no more voice than Luxon, but with such
forward production that I am sure she could be heard in the furthest
reaches of the largest hall.
I should like to make a more general query before
leaving this song. How many editions of it are there? The copy
I have says nothing about it being a revised edition, yet Teyte
and Ferrier and their pianists depart from it at a few points,
and in the same way, suggesting they are both following a different
copy. The triplet arpeggio in the piano is missing after "now
the white" and "sweetness up", the piano has an
extra passing note after "bosom of the lake" and, fundamentally,
the word "slip", before "into my bosom" is
sung twice, with a change to the vocal line. Quilter was still
alive when these recordings were made. Do they enshrine suggestions
from him, changes made after publication? Luxon follows the published
copy, except that at "Nor waves the cypress in the palace
walk" he sings "the" to a G instead of the printed
C. A mistake, or did he have inside information too?
Has the French language changed in the same way
as English? With the famous Académie to keep it in line,
probably not. However, I have to admit that, if Teyte’s French
were as old-fashioned-sounding and twee as her English, I should
probably remain blissfully unaware of the fact. Perhaps a French
reader would care to comment. Concentrating on purely musical
matters, a comparison of her "Colibri" with two modern
versions produces results that are rather different than was the
case with Quilter. Jessye Norman brings her refulgent tone to
bear, building the song up urgently (02:27 compared with Teyte’s
02:46) and passionately. It is glorious to hear but I wonder if
Chausson would have recognised himself in it. Anne Murray and
Graham Johnson in Hyperion’s complete Chausson edition dawdle
somewhat (02:59); Murray adopts a basically lyrical approach in
itself not unlike Norman’s except that the voice is not always
so perfectly under control. Teyte and Moore are gentler, more
conversational; they do not attempt to make great climaxes and
Teyte’s singing is again slightly more "spoken", avoiding
long bel canto lines. They evoke the claustrophobic, hot-house
world of Chausson in a way that escapes the others. Norman at
least offers a reinterpretation for our own times, and some may
prefer this; Murray falls between the two stools.
It is now clear that the hallmarks of Teyte’s
singing are an easy vocal emission with a very forwardly placed
production that allows her to sing extremely softly and yet project
her voice towards the public, and a conversational – as opposed
to bel canto – concept of the relationship between words and line.
This may be questionable in Quilter, and it is not the only way
to sing Chausson, but in Debussy we find a perfect marriage of
style and music. Occasionally the modern listener may wish to
hear Debussy’s few flights of actual melody expand with a more
lyrical tone, but Debussy himself might not have been of this
idea. After all, Teyte spent much time with Debussy studying Mélisande
and many of his songs so we must accept that these performances
are about as authentic as we can get. Add to this the presence
of one of the 20th Century’s most supremely imaginative
pianists, Alfred Cortot, appears in fourteen of the songs. Though
he could be a wayward soloist, here he collaborates wonderfully,
the two apparently as one in the most subtle rubatos. Incidentally,
what a fascinating effect he gets in "Le faune". I can
only guess that, to obtain this dry, percussive effect in the
bass ostinato while the rest of the piano is warmly sustained,
he must have placed some object (maybe a pencil?) on the low G
and D. A "prepared piano" which predates John Cage’s
by a good few years!
In the wartime recordings Teyte’s partner is
Gerald Moore. His post-war recording career was mainly dedicated
to the German lied so it is good to note his subtle range of colouring
and complete sympathy with the French repertoire. Good, too, to
hear the young Hugo Rignold as a passionate partner in Shéhérazade;
this performance happily effaced my memories of the dead-alive
Von Stade/Ozawa version that last came my way. Teyte also had
a charming touch in the lighter repertoire, as the final Russell
and Romberg items show; no apologies need be made for evoking
period flavour here. And I have to say that, as my listening proceeded,
I found this a voice which carved a niche in my memory, following
me in my daily work even while the disc was not playing. There’s
certainly a well-defined personality that comes across.
In short, as long as you are prepared to approach
this album with an open mind, Maggie Teyte still has a lot to
teach us, and the Debussy deserves all of its legendary status.
Christopher Howell
Dame Maggie Teyte
(soprano), Gerald Moore (piano) (1), Orchestra/Jean Paul Morel (2), London
Symphony Orchestra/Leslie Heward (3), anonymous orchestra (4), George Reeves
(piano) (5), Alfred Cortot (piano) (6), Royal Opera House Orchestra, Covent
Garden/Hugo Rignold (7), John McCormack (tenor) (8)