Poèmes
Francis Poulenc (1899-1963)
Sonata for violin and piano, FP119 (1942-43)
Karol Szymanovsky (1882-1937)
The Fountain of Arethusa, from Mythes, Op 30 (1915)
Ernest Chausson (1882-1937)
Poème, Op 25, transcription by Pierre-Yves Hodique (1892-96)
Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)
Sonata for Violin and Piano No 1 in A major, Op 13 (1875-76)
Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst (1812-1865)
Grand Caprice on Schubert’s Erlkönig, Op 26 (1854)
Irène Duval (violin)
Pierre-Yves Hodique (piano)
rec. 2015, Paris
MIRARE MIR312 [73]
Poulenc’s Violin Sonata is very different from its autumnal woodwind sisters. It was written in the time of German occupation of France during World War II and is dedicated to the memory of Federico García Lorca. All the bipolarity of Poulenc’s music is here, from the sharply angular and daring to the sublimely tender and lyrical, echoing the dark, blood magic of Lorca’s poetry. The first episode is a troubled, anxious run, with two lyrical episodes of bittersweet dreamy nostalgia. I like the performance of Midori with Robert McDonald on Sony. Compared to them, Duval and Hodique seem to me to lack expressivity; their dynamics are too even and there is a want of shading. The second movement is a tender, beautiful night song with subtle Spanish scents, but also with hints of Poulenc’s beloved gamelans. This night is calm, but dangers are lurking in its darkness. The performance is dry, and the players don’t sound too involved. In the last movement, Presto tragico, the frantic agitated run returns. It is a whirlwind of struggle, victories and defeats, at times with easy going and humor, until the last surprised question mark – What? Now? – and the shots that kill the poet. “The rest is silence” – or, in our case, a few slow-pacing measures loaded with grief. The tragedy is not in tragic gestures. This presto is tragico because of the feeling that the bonds and connections are broken; the lines of the violin and the piano diverge, as if all this joy is rolling downhill. In this movement, the violin is fittingly angry; I feel that the piano is a bit subdued. Everything seems to work, but I’m not left with the profound impact that Midori and McDonald have on me.
In old times, some girls could only escape stalking by asking the gods to turn them into something to avoid their pursuers. The naiad Arethusa was one of them, and she was turned into a stream. The shimmering score of Szymanowski is impressionistic and lush, its colors exotic. The violin sound is a bit thin and dry, and I wish the pianist could find more magic, such as Robert McDonald found for Midori on her “Encore!” disc on Sony.
No set of “poems” for violin is complete without Chausson’s dreamy creation, but since it originally called for a full orchestra, Pierre-Yves Hodique has transcribed it for violin and piano. The arrangement is skilful, and I was surprised how little is lost in the atmosphere and mood of various sections of the piece. This is the central work of the program, and also the most successful; Irène Duval is expressive and sensitive, and her violin sings full voice. The beginning is very slow, and it sounds less empty in the orchestral version, but after that the music takes flight, like a magical bird. Of course, these powerful orchestral waves, that always do something to you, cannot be fully imitated by the piano, and in some places the arrangement sounds a bit thin and schematic, like an accompaniment, not a partner – and the piano-only parts feel somewhat empty – but for the most part the orchestral palette is nicely replaced by that of the piano, different but natural.
Fauré’s First Violin Sonata, the composer’s first and magnificent foray into the realm of chamber music, starts with a passionate Allegro, which is tempestuous and Romantic from head to toes. There is some absolutely ecstatic yelling: joyful, explosive happiness. Some moments remind me of Fauré’s Piano Quartets. But the composer asked for Allegro molto and this is not; what Augustin Dumay and Jean-Philip Collard on EMI did in seven minutes, Duval and Hodique here do in 9’40”. Consequently, the sense of flight is lost; the music is wider, heavier. The slow movement is a heartfelt elegy that rises to hot Romantic ecstasy. The performance projects well this duality; the piano lulls and the violin croons. Fauré was the father of the “French scherzo”, and we hear its early sample – airy, mercurial and cheerful. Duval and Hodique play without rush, which works well for the lyrical Trio section, but some of the Mendelssohnian lightness and charm in the outer sections is lost. The powerful, vigorous Finale comes out as articulate and coherent. The firm sound of Duval’s violin goes well with this aquiline, soaring music.
The solo Erlkönig Caprice by Ernst is both awe-inspiring and irritating. Paganini was Ernst’s idol, and this can be heard. The Caprice must be devilishly difficult to play, as it combines what the pianist’s ten fingers are doing, plus the singer’s part, in a dense musical texture. The arrangement shows all four distinct voices of the song over the relentless waves of the dark triplets. Some places, where the voice goes to the very high register and the triplets are still down, can be very difficult to perform in a digestible way. Even violinists like Vadim Repin do not always manage it, but some do. Irène Duval doesn’t. Take, for example, the first strophe of the Erlkönig (Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?). I hear mechanical glass-scratching, so hard and thin, where Gideon Kremer and Hillary Hahn give me music – especially Hahn, whose tempo is more moderate and who manages to really tell the story, and not just fly through it like Kremer. I understand that this piece is considered one of the most difficult in the violin repertory. Irène Duval can play through it - but I did not enjoy it. It is dry and scratchy, and often the notes that have to be very short (because of the need to switch between the melodic lines and the accompaniment) do not really add up to a melody. The strings of the bow seem to be made of metal.
Throughout the album, the recording is stark clean, very immediate, close and direct. The acoustics are dry. All in all, it does not help the case. Sometimes, especially in Poulenc, I feel that the recording favors the violin, removing the piano from equal partnership. The booklet, in French, English and German, tells us about the performers, and also contains an excellent historical and musical analysis of the works by Gilles Cantagrel. The works on this album are exquisite, but the performance is too dry for such ambrosial material.
Oleg Ledeniov
