This two disc set forms
the most recent addition to the Hänssler
Koechlin Edition. The series has been
produced in collaboration with SWR,
Heinz Holliger and the Radio-Sinfonieorchester
Stuttgart des SWR. Holliger has proved
himself a staunch Koechlin paladin since
the first disc in the series: review
The Quatre Poèmes
d’Edmond Haraucourt are very much
of their time ... or even earlier in
fact. These are fragrant and voluptuous
settings, artefacts of the Belle époque.
Think in terms of Berlioz’s Nuits
d’Été and Cleopatra.
None of this is to tell against them
and in the hands of Juliane Banse they
receive the full-on stage-flammable
treatment - listen to Clair de lune
for example. With a title like that
you expect something more understated
and impressionistic. In fact it is gorgeously
perfervid - Bernard Herrmann could have
taken much of it as the model for his
fake-operatic aria in Citizen Kane.
The other songs have a more gently ingratiating
tone. Listen to Pleine Eau, the
liquid passage of Dame du ciel
with its Mahlerian woodwind pointing
and the Canteloube-tinkling of Aux
temps des Fées.
The Deux Poèmes
d’automne are also from the 1890s
with Déclin d’amour very
much in the same pattern as the last
three of the Haraucourt songs.
Unsurprisingly Les Rêves morts
has a darker character caught in umber
and ermine by Koechlin’s enchanting
orchestration. The harp makes a telling
contribution and is subtly caught by
the engineers.
The two Chénier
poems are from the turn of the century
but were orchestrated in fine restrained
colours in 1930 and 1944. We are given
only the luminous wonderfully La
Jeune Tarentine - the strongest
of the set. The hesitant trembling soloistic
strings at 2:10 are remarkable and lean
towards Ravel, a voice absent from the
more ‘old-fashioned’ opp. 7 and 13 sets.
The Chanson de Mélisande
is by Fauré. Koechlin served
as the elder composer’s assistant and
did the orchestration of the music for
an English language production in London
in 1898. This passionately sombre and
pulse-stilling setting reminded me at
once of Elgar’s Where Corals Lie
and of Delius’s Seven Danish
Songs. There is even a cor anglais
at 2:10 that had me thinking momentarily
of Delius’s cuckoo. How Bernard Herrmann
would have loved these songs. Did he
know them, I wonder?
The last two songs
from op. 17 are here at the start of
CD2. La prière du mort is
extremely atmospheric with a mesmeric
darkened orchestral skein. The breathing
quasi-ostinato and the general milieu
of the piece will remind you of the
opening Rachmaninov’s Isle of the
Dead. Epiphanie is just as
sloe-eyed and dreamy but not as lichen-hung.
Koechlin’s predilection for quiet ostinati
continues and reminded me of the whispered
strings in Sibelius’s Luonnotar.
The gorgeous vocal line is keened out
by Banse and retains that voluptuous
Pre-Raphaelite dreaminess also found
in the orchestral songs of Duparc and
Chausson. I am dumb-founded that these
two songs have until now sunk without
trace.
The longest of the
songs is a setting of Samain. Le
Sommeil de Canope stays in the zone
established by the op. 17 set. Banse
catches and sustains the drugged contemplative
mood perfectly across almost a quarter
of an hour. The music now becomes yet
warmer and more sumptuous. Although
not quite as dense it takes us close
to the world of Havergal Brian’s Wine
of Summer symphony and Goossens’
By the Tarn.
The Nocturne Vers
la plage lointaine is the first
of the Deux Poèmes Symphoniques.
This is one of two purely orchestral
works on these discs. It was orchestrated
during the Great War and ploughs a dreamy
pilgrim’s path. At a number of junctures
it had me thinking of a British composer
who had died the previous year - possibly
Britain’s most grievous musical loss,
George Butterworth. There is also something
elegiac about this writing which also
links with that of Frank Bridge. This
is a most understated but effective
score with a dank auburn shimmer from
the strings and quiet fanfares from
the woodwind and horns.
On CD2 we get the last
three of the set of four Etudes Antiques
for orchestra alone. Once again the
shining lapping motif returns as an
ostinato in Soir au bord du lac.
The music would have pleased Bernard
Herrmann. A nice touch from the German
orchestra is the subtle vibrato the
first horn adds to his part to give
a distinctive French flavour to the
experience of this minimalistic sketch.
Le Cortège d’Amphitrite is
a tinkling miniature which was surely
influenced by the experience of gamelan
at the various Parisian international
expositions. Towards the close of the
piece we may perhaps be reminded of
Holst’s Neptune. This is music
sometimes very close to that of Ravel
- both the earlier Pavane and
the contemporaneous Ma Mère
l’Oie. Admirers of Ravel’s works
from that era must hear this music which
is more airily impressionistic and spare
than those pieces dating from the 1890s.
The Chant funèbre
à la mémoire des jeunes
femmes défuntes is for mixed
double choir, organ and orchestra. It’s
the longest continuous piece here and
takes as its inspiration Haraucourt’s
poem Vierges Mortes. After a
sustained whispered cortège bells
ring out through the mist. This is spell-binding
and subtle music which again reminded
me of Holst - this time his Ode to
Death (Whitman setting). Fauré
is another model - his Requiem -
but here the mood is darker. For all
the work’s feminine qualities the crashingly
awesome climax at 15:00 forces us to
look into the grave and dissolution.
That same climax carries the shadow
of the Dies Irae. Koechlin calls
for a cruelly demanding stratospheric
pianissimo from the women singers and
gets it at 17:56. This is magical writing,
once again redolent of The Isle of
the Dead.
The disc is extremely
well documented with all texts and translations
in legible font size. There is an uncharacteristic
typo on p. 38 where 1821 should read
1921. Otherwise the attention to detail
is outstanding. Hänssler even took
the trouble to commission translations
of Koechlin’s texts from Bertram Kottmann
and Faith J Cormier and then go the
extra mile by telling us that the commissioned
work was intended to be literal rather
than free. Against this background I
am only sorry that a number of the song
sets are presented only partially. It
would have been good to hear complete
sequences as originally intended.
All but the Fauré
piece are world premiere recordings.
If your tastes lie
in the direction of the Ravel, Goossens,
Holst and Rachmaninov works I have mentioned
or the realms of French song with orchestra
then you must get this set. The performances
are exemplary and the elusive mood -
so often bound up with death - is convincingly
sustained by all concerned. I think
you will be dumb-founded at the quality
of this music and its power to move.
Rob Barnett
Juliane Banse (sop) 
