Schmitt: Mirages, Ombres

Florent Schmitt's music is witnessing a modest revival. This Naxos disc is one amongst a spate of recent releases. I have known and liked Schmitt's Mirages op. 70 (1920) for a long while through a now discontinued recording by John Ogdon. So I started my survey of this recital with these two pieces. I was disappointed. Vincent Larderet's reading sounded so disjointed to me that I hardly recognised the music. In fact, with his rudderless plink-plonk in the tragique chevauchée this pianist really got on my nerves. A comparison with the Ogdon recording confirmed that these are two vastly different worlds. Ogdon's 'chase' really sounds diabolical, in the larger-than-life Lisztian tradition (Mazeppa). He pounds the keyboard with tremendous force, but also the quieter interlude and coda are wonderfully evocative. The first piece, Et Pan, au fond des blés lunaires, s'accouda, is cut from similar cloth. It mixes impressionist languor with Lisztian bravura flowering into a hauntingly beautiful, nocturnal postlude. In Ogdon's hands this is great music. In comparison, Larderet sounds too tentative, puny almost and without a sense of structure. Also there is an enormous difference in recording quality which is all the more remarkable as the Naxos recording was taped at Potton Hall, which is an excellent venue. The sound lacks body and, worse, sounds rather unclean. It is as if the mikes have been put too close to the piano strings and are picking up unwanted reverberation. Ogdon's 1972 recording, on the other hand, is fleshy, dynamic and very lively.

The Ombres, op. 64, is a more substantial piece in three movements, lasting almost half an hour. Here I have no reference point so I had to make do with Larderet only. At least there is a sense of shape, of coherence here so this pleased me a good deal more than his reading of the Mirages. And it doesn't seem as if the challenges are any less compared to the latter. Despite at first hearing sounding more reflective than the Mirages, the Ombres are formally complex, texturally opaque (written almost throughout on three staves) and harmonically adventurous. But given Larderet's debacle in the Mirages, I remain suspicious and wonder what this music might become in more capable hands?

Boulanger: Psaume 130 - Ropartz: Psaume 136 - Schmitt: Psaume XLVII

This trio of psalm settings from three fringe composers confirms the remarkable variety and quality of the musical scene in turn-of-the-century France. Truly, it's amazing that these works are hardly ever performed.

I've been listening a couple of times to Ropartz' setting of Psalm 136 (in the Greek numbering) and the work continues to grow in stature. It's the earliest of the three pieces, composed in 1897. Ropartz makes skillful use of the chromatic, Franckian idiom. The 15 minute piece is clearly structured in three parts: a slow introduction built around a beautiful, doleful theme that is evocative of the yearning of the Jewish people in exile. Follows an animated and fugato middle section that introduces a suitable element of monumentality. A short, quiet coda brings the work to an end. It's a thoroughly worthwhile listening experience and certainly the best work on this CD. It encourages me to seek out Franck's magnum opus Les Béatitudes which was finished in 1879 but publicly performed only in 1891. This was also the work that Ropartz conducted when he took his leave from his public duties as administrator and teacher at the Strasbourg conservatory in 1929.

Florent Schmitt is a composer that is as good as unknown to me. Years ago I listened a few times to his Mirages for piano which I quite liked. But I never ventured any further in exploring this body of work. In my mind the name is associated with exoticism and excess. Quite a surprise to learn then that his setting of Psalm 47 (or 46, depending on the numbering) is such an approachable work. In fact, in a way it exhibits the most conservative idiom of the three works assembled here. It was written in 1904. On the surface it sounds like a barbaric paean with blistering fanfares and heaven-storming tutti. But the harmony is reassuringly diatonic, reminding me of Berlioz, Bizet and, most of all, Rimsky's Sheherazade (1888). In its compact, exultant writing for the full orchestra and chorus it points to the Veni Creator Spiritus in Mahler's Eighth, to be composed two years later (1906). Anyway the modernism seems to be more pose than substance here. It's hard to believe the story that Stravinsky was so enthused about Schmitt's work (not only the Psalm, also his Tragédie de Salomé) that he leaned on it whilst writing the Sacre. Schmitt's Psaume XLVII certainly makes for an enjoyable audition, but to my mind it's not particularly great or subtle music.

The genuine masterpiece amongst these three works is Lili Boulanger's Psaume 130 Du fond de l'abîme. Truly an amazing work that took me by complete surprise. The CD was part of an eclectic, boxed collection that the Chandos label put on the market a few years ago to celebrate their 30th anniversary. I had listened to this particular recording before and knew it contained some very good music. But now that I've been focusing on this particular work I understand what a treasure it really is. The story behind the music is very moving too. Lili Boulanger has been labelled the first female composer to be reckoned with by her gifted sister Nadia Boulanger. And rightly so as Clara Schumann and Alma Mahler were never able to let their gift really flower. Lili's very short life was marked by tragedy. When she was six her father, Ernest Boulanger, collapsed and died whilst he was having a conversation with her. She was diagnosed with Crohn's disease which made her life miserable but was unable to extinguish her creative impulse. Quite to the contrary, it seemed to have spurred her on to put the last ounce of energy in her work. In 1913 she won the Prix de Rome with her cantata Faust et Hélène (also on this CD) which made her the first woman to do so. Du fond de l'abîme dates from 1917, a year before her untimely death at 24. It's a wonderful composition, deeply tragic, very free in form but truly symphonic and in a genuinely modern idiom. I'm thinking of some of her pioneering contemporaries here, such as Scriabin (who died in 1915), Sibelius (particularly his brooding Symphony nr. 4, written in 1910-11) or Rued Langgaard (who wrote his astonishing Music of the Spheres in 1918). One can also readily appreciate why Arthur Honneger was so taken by Boulanger's music. The Psalm sounds like the work of a very mature composer. In its mere 24 minutes it really creates a very distinctive world and sometimes it is indeed as Mahler said of his own Symphony nr. 8 that you can see the 'planets and suns coursing about'. One can only wonder what this brave woman would have been able to produce might she have lived on another decade or so.