Francois-Joseph GOSSEC (1734-1829)
Grands Messe des Morts
Symphonie a 17 parties
Barbara Invernizzi (sop)
Maite Arrauabarrena (mezzo)
Howard Crook (ten)
Claude Darbella (bass)
Gruppo Vocale Cantemus Coros del Radio Svizzera
Orchestra della Svizzera Italiana/Wolf-Dieter Hanschild/Diego Fasolis
rec. 10. 4. 98 Cathedral si San Lorenzo, Lugano; 16. 2. 98 RSI Auditorium,
Lugano symphony)
NAXOS 8.554750-51 2CDs
[111.33]
Crotchet
AmazonUK
AmazonUS
Imagine Rameau's nephew talking to Beethoven and surviving Schubert.
Francois-Joseph Gossec (1734-1829) was a pupil of Rameau, born the year of
Beck, two after Haydn, four before Hofmann and five before Vanhal and
Dittersdorf. Living to 95, the pupil of Rameau saw the rise of Berlioz. But
he was more interesting than a mere bridge: he profoundly influenced Berlioz
and Cherubini - and through him, Beethoven. He also helped shape the course
of the French symphony, amongst other things. An example of his work in the
symphonic field is included here; there are others on Naxos 8.553790 (with
Beck), and Chandos CHAN 9661. He subsequently wrote music for the revolutionary
régimes.
Born at Verginies, Hainaut, in 1734 he was a chorister at Walcourt, Maubeuge
and finally at the Court of Notre-Dame in Antwerp. Moving to Paris in 1751,
armed with an introduction to Rameau he obtained employment with the latter's
patron, the fermier-géneral, Le Riche de La Pouplinaire, playing
violin and bass. This brought him into contact with Johan Stamitz, the Mannheim
composer conducting the court band. Gossec wrote symphonies for this orchestra
until his patron died in 1762. Employment with the Prince de Condé
and Prince de Conti brought stage works, and his own establishment in 1769
of the Concert des Amateurs - which led to Haydn's Paris
symphonies. Involved now with the Concert Spirituel till 1777 and
the opéra, second to Gluck and Grétry, Gossec continued with
this until the Revolution intervened.
Involved with an organisation that was absorbed into the new Conservatoire,
the Ecole Royale de Chant, Gossec became one of the new organisation's
five inspectors. Gossec was quite happy to provide various popular and public
works to the new spirit: to Liberty, Voltaire, Rousseau, the Supreme Being;
to humanity. With Napoleon's accession as Emperor in 1804 Gossec devoted
himself primarily to teaching and administration, composing comparatively
little Still, he completed the symphony on this disc, sketched 1792, completed
1809. With a reverse of fortunes, 1816 brought the Bourbons, the closure
of the Conservatoire until 1831, and Gossec's enforced retirement at 82.
When the Conservatoire re-opened Gossec had been dead two years, spending
his last years at Passy, where Le Riche de La Pouplinaire had housed his
musicians.
This Grands Messe des Morts dates from 1760, clearly before most of
this happened. It was in fact published in 1780, and used to commemorate
the dead citizens in the storming of the Bastille. By this time Cherubini
had arrived to take it in perhaps. It would certainly have been studied by
him, especially as the two composers became colleagues. It's a work in the
early classical tradition, and is quite fascinating. For instance, the close
of the introitus, classical to a tee, emits a closing cadence straight out
of Rameau. It's a flicker, and the full fermata is classical enough. But
it's there. By contrast, and fittingly near the close of this long journey,
like Gossec's life, the Offertorium offers some startling pre-echoes of Berlioz,
the very sound of his own Op 5 Grands Messe des Morts. The whole scale
of the work is suggested by a five minute Introduction, that leads to the
Introitus mentioned, where soprano Roberta Invernizzi is allowed to shine;
a Graduale of half that 11 minute length, and particularly, a Sequenzia.
This contains the baroque g minor opening: Dies Irae and Lacrymosa amongst
other things. It holds the most varied writing, as its title suggests, a
cornucopia of early classic outings, gestures and experiments. The Dies Irae,
after dramatic interjections and singing by the chorus, enters on a strange
shivering passage of quavering dread, briefly reminiscent of Purcell's King
Arthur. The bass Claude Darbellay is well-exposed here, showing some
of the French agility and range one expects in French basses. Mostly he declaims
in E flat, thrillingly against trumpets in the tuba mirum. In the Recordare,
a strange stalking figure creates a passacaglia with soloists intertwining
on top. It almost sounds like a fandango. Eventually trombones join in. It's
a stroke of genius, stasis and revolving time brought into hypnotic relief.
The fugal Confutatis of XIII is particularly thrilling. In XV, the Lacrymosa,
soprano Roberta Invernizzi and mezzo Maite Arrauabarrena intertwine like
the two Marys, or perhaps two Magdalenes. A formal but heartfelt weeping
with an undulating shudder that's onomatopoeic.
All the soloists are excellent, and Howard Crook puts in a particularly appealing
contribution to the Offertorium. This is another 12 minutes of revelation,
chordal and choral - so Berliozian its influence seems clear. The Sanctus
is less than a minute, the brief Pie Jesu, Agnus Dei and Post Communionem
all adding to a cumulative layering of choral writing, and bursting out at
the end in a very Gallic affirmation. Nothing of Lutheran modesty here. One
recalls the Bishop of Durham, after Ethel Smyth's superb Mass in d minor
of 1893: 'God is not so much implored as commanded to have mercy.' There
is a sense here (like the 1662 and 1928 Prayer Books, though Englished) of
the Gloria placed last. It isn't, but the effect is of the public being permitted
to hope. So are we. This is a real discovery, a masterwork by a gifted but
overshadowed composer, whose strands unite here and make one question that
plateau between his master, Rameau, and the man whom he influenced and who
revived French music, Berlioz. His younger contemporary, Cherubini, learnt
much in his own settings, and Cherubini, once wholly underrated, is prefigured
here too.
There's the very substantial symphony to close, and it really adds to one's
understanding of Gossec's earlier symphonies. For in this nearly 28 minute
work he's clearly expanded his scale. There's a late Haydnesque classical
language, proportion, and particularly French instrumentation (in wind solos)
to scale a new age. Phrases in the first movement's allegro molto
recall Mozart more than Haydn, and the brightness of Vanhal. Visiting composers
left their impression, even brattish wunderkind. But the tonal palate and
incident are Gossec's own. The slow movement, as one would expect, reveal
this more fully. Clarinets have arrived, and an underpinning of horns at
certain points again seem almost Beethovenian. This is as forward-looking
as anything of its time; though its time was split over 17 years, like its
17 orchestral parts. One generously applies the earlier date. But clearly
Gossec was still learning in 1809. A brooding minuet follows, quite unlike
anything else of its kind, with wind and brass interjections, rather like
the ticking in the Clock Symphony. Nearing ten minutes, it's the heart
of the work, a quirky meditation on time perhaps, unwinding with occasional
fugato gestures to a thoughtful conclusion. A grand but quite brief allegro
assai thrusts home the whole invention with a bustle of individual woodwinds
played with a trilling that scales up and down the string textures. This
is a powerful and powerfully-scored work; again opening the French sound
world to the delicacies and grandeur of French orchestration. It provides
the link between these two great orchestrators, Rameau and Berlioz yet again.
Though not a whit detracting from Berlioz, it shows the unbroken line of
French orchestral writing culminated in the work of the younger composer,
then radiated out again. One recalls, too, those very French civic bands,
full of trombones. It provides a substantial and fitting contrast,
chronologically and generically. Now it'd be good to explore all those
revolutionary works. The best of these must be more than worth reviving.
Simon Jenner
