I think it would be 
                rather spoiling the biographical fun 
                to be gained by reading the liner lines 
                to repeat too many of the facts here. 
                But it remains true that Madeleine de 
                Valmalète had a remarkable career 
                and indeed a remarkable life, as befits 
                a woman who was born in 1899 and died 
                on the threshold of the twenty first 
                century. As with so many distinguished 
                French pianists she was a pupil of Isidor 
                Philipp at the Paris Conservatoire. 
                Saint-Saëns admired her playing 
                and she was soon giving local premieres 
                – MacDowell’s First Concerto for instance. 
                She was a member of the Trio de Paris 
                with violinist Yvonne Astruc (splendid 
                player, more re-issues to be hoped for) 
                and cellist Marguerite Caponsacchi. 
                And in 1928 she went into the recording 
                studios for the first time – in Berlin. 
                Her repertoire was wide – from Bach 
                to Milhaud and Prokofiev – though in 
                later years she was immersed more in 
                teaching at the École Normale 
                de Musique, an invitation extended by 
                Cortot. Despite her teaching commitments 
                she did continue concert engagements, 
                though increasingly confining herself 
                to her native country. In her mid seventies 
                she recorded the Chopin Ballades – though 
                these were unissued – and in her early 
                eighties she ventured the Liszt B minor 
                in concert. Nothing daunted when she 
                was ninety-three she was taped in the 
                Mozart performances included here and 
                her death occurred as recently as 1999. 
                Truly a remarkable life. 
              
 
              
The performances thankfully 
                are no less compelling. The 1928 Polydor 
                discs are all here. So are private recordings 
                from 1961 and from 1992. The most significant 
                of all the discs is the first ever recording 
                of Le Tombeau de Couperin. On 
                this evidence I think of her Ravel rather 
                as I think of George Copeland’s recordings 
                of Debussy – crisp, rhythmically 
                incisive and mercurial. They stand at 
                a profound tangent from the foggy School 
                of Gieseking (beautiful though that 
                School is), as indeed does Copeland’s 
                Debussy. There’s clarity, evenness of 
                articulation and incision in the Prelude, 
                and a refusal to be seduced by the pedal 
                as well as a playful darting, alert 
                and whimsical but very articulate Fugue 
                – contrast with Gieseking’s 1954 limpid 
                and patrician moderato. Her Forlane 
                is elfin and treble orientated; Gieseking’s 
                is pawkier and more earnest. And the 
                Rigaudon finds her turning corners with 
                great alacrity; contrast and characterisation 
                are paramount. In all this is a fascinating 
                document showing, once again, how urgent 
                and dynamic performances of Debussy 
                and Ravel were in the first third of 
                the twentieth century. 
              
 
              
The remainder of the 
                1928 sessions see some ingenious textual 
                emendations in her performances, though 
                she always keeps within strict stylistic 
                bounds in such as the de Falla, which 
                is despatched with élan and ebullience. 
                Other standouts are the brilliantly 
                exciting Prokofiev and the fierce virtuosity 
                of her Debussy. 
              
 
              
The 1961 Fauré 
                performances make their first appearances 
                here. The Nocturne is attractive though 
                less compelling than a 1956 performance 
                by French contemporary Germaine Thyssens-Valentin. 
                Occasionally de Valmalète’s rhythm 
                is not quite steady enough and though 
                the finger slips are trivial there’s 
                a want of real intimacy. Over thirty 
                years later she was taped in Mozart, 
                where she proves indomitable and nimble-fingered. 
                Slips are neither here nor there and 
                the playing retains a clarity and surety 
                that is astounding in a ninety-three 
                year old. There’s no trace of another 
                contemporary Marcelle Meyer’s almost 
                hectoring drama in Mozart – not that 
                Meyer’s is necessarily a bad interpretative 
                viewpoint – but there is a lot of freshness 
                and command in de Valmalète’s 
                playing. 
              
 
              
So, splendid notes, 
                an unjustly overlooked musician and 
                rare recordings. The transfers of the 
                Polydors have retained a relatively 
                high level of surface noise. Ears will 
                filter it out and hear the treble colours, 
                as well as studio "presence." 
                There’s a brief moment of tape instability 
                in the Fauré Nocturne. The Mozarts 
                are privately recorded but in fine sound. 
                Altogether a distinguished release. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf 
                
              
              
BUY 
                NOW  
                AmazonUK 
                  AmazonUS