Debussy: Pour le piano

The Debussy saga continues with a marvelous piano work largely new to me. Pour le piano (1894-1902) is usually considered to be heralding Debussy's mature compositions for the instrument. Although some commentators hold forth that his true piano style only emerged with the Estampes, written and published in 1903. I find Pour le piano interesting because it seems to connect so well with the works of his final years. Similarly to the Etudes and En blanc et noir, this is a suite that bears an abstract title and consists of movements with no references to exogenous visual or narrative elements (but rather to the baroque models that Debussy would continue to hold dear). The music has something of the vigour of those later works too. The opening Prelude, with its mixture of brash virtuosity and introspection, would not be out of place in the later set of Etudes. The Sarabande, already written in 1894, is a graceful and luminous aria and one of Debussy's most felicitous melodious inventions (it is perhaps better known in Ravel's orchestration). The closing Toccata gushes forth like a glittering waterfall. I wouldn't be surprised if it transpires that Debussy had been inspired here by Ravel's Jeux d'eau, composed and premiered in 1901.

The reading that captivated me most has been recorded by Jean-Bernard Pommier, included in a bargain-priced edition of orchestral, piano and chamber works originally recorded by Virgin. I don't know much about Pommier (I have just one other CD with Mozart sonatas of his in my collection) but he seems to stand out with an energetic but very classical, poised way of music making: textures are clean, lines clearly contoured, and articulation is unfussy. In Pommier's zesty and confident reading the three movements of Pour le piano really sparkle. Virgin's clear and well balanced technical recording reinforces these qualities.

Monique Haas' recording of this work could not convince me. As in the Etudes, she seems to  hammer the keyboard with clenched teeth. I find her reading to miss subtlety and buoyancy. And the 1970s Erato recording (now repackaged as Warner) is in its coarseness and hollowness really below par.