Warner’s continue their policy of splitting
previous Ultima double packs and re-releasing well reviewed discs
as super budget Apex singles. These particular performances are
1970s analogue, but sound tremendously idiomatic, with authentically
French singers and actors and Swiss-born Dutoit getting playing
of real bite, wit and character out of his band. Indeed, I notice
that this Soldier’s Tale recording got Nick Morgan’s
vote as the best full-score version in the catalogue on a recent
BBC Radio 3 ‘Building a Library’. It’s easy
to hear why, the claim for ‘authenticity’ extending
even further to the fact that the world premiere under Ernest
Ansermet took place in Lausanne, the venue for this performance.
The two works make an ideal pairing, both being conceived as
‘entertainments’ for vocal soloists and small chamber
ensembles. Soldier’s Tale is probably more popular in its
suite form, where eight of the purely instrumental items were
extrapolated from the complete score to form a 20-minute concert
piece. But, as Nick Morgan rightly pointed out, the listener gets
so much more out of the complete score, especially in the grippingly
dramatic rendition given here. I’ve always liked the Michael
Flanders English version, superbly recorded by Naxos (and also
recommended by Morgan), but there’s no doubt that to hear
experienced French actors is altogether more satisfying, as it
is in a later masterpiece, Oedipus Rex. The one-time Geneva theatre
director Gérard Carrat delivers a mesmerisingly brilliant
account of the Narrator, superbly partnered by his two colleagues,
though it’s a shame to be airing the familiar criticism
of lack of texts. Yes, one can let the sheer beauty of the French
delivery wash over one, but it would be so much nicer to understand
the subtleties of the text instead of just having a fairly broad
understanding of what’s going on. There’s not even
a cued synopsis to help, which is a real shame in a recording
of this quality.
The dynamic young Dutoit’s contribution is equally enthralling.
Here is playing of real precision and panache, easily the equal
of any version I know, including Stravinsky and Craft. His pacing
and control are exemplary, and he gets precisely what he wants.
Though it’s invidious to single players out here, the important
concertante violin playing of Nicholas Chumachenco is outstanding,
cheeky, grating and lyrical in equal measures whenever the score
demands it. Whether it’s in the stylistic ‘parody’
numbers (Ragtime, Waltz, Tango) or the bluff March, or the ‘Little
Concert’, Chumachenco and his admirable colleagues are superb.
A tiny amount of dialogue is missing, but I only know that because
I was lucky enough to be following John Carewe’s excellent
critical edition from Chester’s, which just proved how accurate
and at the same time purely theatrical, this production is.
The Russian fairy tale about the sly fox and his animal companions,
Renard, was described by the composer as a ‘burlesque to
be sung and acted, for four male voices and fifteen instruments’,
and makes virtually the ideal companion piece. Stylistically it
sits comfortably between The Rite and Les Noces, sharing with
them the same folkish melodic fragments, rhythmic complexities
and primitive vocal chanting. It’s a short but crucial work
in his output and is surprisingly under-recorded. Here the crucial
concertante part is for the cimbalom, an instrument that fascinated,
even obsessed, the composer during this period. Its unique sonority
fits the sound world of this work to perfection, with the jangling
yet resonant percussiveness underpinning the clever word play
of the vocalists. It emerges as a dry little one-act nonsense
opera, performed here with just the right balance of musicianship
and knockabout fun.
The analogue recordings are both good, with all traces of pre-echo
in the declamatory vocal passages just about eliminated. The acoustic
has just the right amount of resonance and instruments emerge
with excellent clarity. If you don’t have this in its Ultima
format, this new super budget release is well worth considering,
as long as you are aware of the familiar caveat about texts.
Tony Haywood
Gérard Carrat (Narrator),
François Berthet (Soldier), François Simon (Devil)
