The centenary of Milhaud’s birth was marked by a three-disc 
          set produced by the Phonotèque Nationale that covered historical 
          recordings from 1928-48. Pearl’s more modest and selective disc concentrates 
          on more canonical Milhaud works recorded from 1931-46 – though the sole 
          post war recording is the Suite Française – and the bulk date 
          from the four years after 1931. The compositions range widely – Concertos, 
          quartet, ballet, songs and an orchestral suite and Milhaud’s collaboration 
          is as a pianist or conductor (the only exception is in the case of the 
          Seventh Quartet, noted on the original record labels as being recorded 
          "under the direction of the composer" as had been the case 
          in the Galimir Quartet discs of the Ravel – a good sales gimmick by 
          adding the composers’ imprimatur). Most of the reissues here are classics 
          of the twentieth century discography, many in still unsurpassed performances. 
        
 
        
Marguerite Long gave the first performance of the Piano 
          Concerto with Albert Wolff conducting in November 1934 and recorded 
          it with Milhaud shortly afterwards. It’s a delicious twelve-minute confection, 
          scintillatingly played by the dedicatee. The Orchestre Nationale had 
          some highly distinctive woodwind players, amply audible in the barcarolle 
          second movement and some springy and lissom strings. There’s a compact 
          effervescence to this movement with its piquancies and an abundance 
          of orchestral incident. The finale begins as a resolute and resonant 
          fugato but is soon gallically subverted by the witty and insouciant 
          piano. The end is splendidly virile and conclusive. The soloist in the 
          Violin Concerto is Yvonne Astruc, another who gave the first performance, 
          and a sweet toned and vibrant violinist. The typically woody French 
          flute behind her lends this delicious work an Arcadian lyricism, each 
          instrumental strand bursting with verdant life, frisky portamentos and 
          gorgeous melody coursing through its eight minutes of pulsing life. 
          The all sibling Galimir Quartet (of Vienna, as the 78 labels invariably 
          noted, with just a hint of superiority) consisted of Felix, who was 
          later to become an eminence grise in America and who died in 1999, and 
          his sisters Adrielle, Renée and Marguérite. Specialising 
          in contemporary music and no strangers to the recording studios despite 
          their youth and the relative youth of their quartet (which had only 
          been founded in 1929) they tackle the languid, jovial and predominantly 
          undemanding Quartet with their usual tonal integration and imagination. 
          The four short movements are of broadly equal length and scale; the 
          Andante is freely swinging with a resolute cello line beneath the effortlessly 
          avuncular violin writing. There are some clicks in Pearl’s copy during 
          the Lento. 
        
 
        
The six Chants Populaires Hébraïques were 
          composed in 1925 – the same year as the Seventh Quartet was written. 
          Milhaud was not an outstanding pianist but he was efficient and accompanies 
          the excellent young baritone Martial Singher. The songs range from the 
          lightness of Le Chant du veilleur to the more stentorian Chant 
          de la Délivérance and Singher’s deepening and 
          darkening baritone, flexible, mobile and equalized is alive to line 
          and mood. La Création du Monde is the most famous of the pieces 
          here and Milhaud was to re-record it in 1958 with the Champs Elysées 
          Orchestra. This probably offered as near a definitive statement of Milhaud’s 
          intent with the ballet as we are likely to get and was a staple of the 
          LP catalogues for many years. In 1931, with an early take on his 1923 
          ballet, there is, perhaps unsurprisingly, none of the confident familiarity 
          and the idiomatic touch of later performances. In a rather boxy Parisian 
          acoustic the playing is dutiful but tentative and cautious; the sectionality 
          of the work is reinforced by playing that is somewhat caught between 
          enthusiasm and slight bewilderment. 
        
 
        
The selections conclude with the only post-war performance 
          – the 1946 New York traversal of the Suite Française. An exile 
          in Mills College, California, the work was commissioned by a publisher 
          and composed in 1944. In five delightful and very short movements it 
          encompasses, geographically speaking, Normandie (full of joie de vivre), 
          Bretagne (craggy and imperturbable), Isle-de-France (frantic, elegantly 
          propulsive), Alsace-Lorraine (serious tread leading to noble peroration) 
          and Provence (vigorous, jubilant, sun-kissed and confidently punchy). 
          A homeland still enmeshed in War recollected with admiration, affection 
          and love. Robert Layton’s notes are a fine balance of biography and 
          comment, personal recollection and reflection. The transfers are generally 
          good. A distinguished and delightful release. 
        
 
        
        
Jonathan Woolf