Once
upon a time, when I too was a child, I used to enjoy fiddling
around under the bedclothes with a small FM radio which had
become redundant after the purchase of some sturdy brown 1970s
Hi-Fi. I shall never forget the moment when, quite by accident,
I stumbled across that moment at the start of Part II of L'enfant
et les sortilèges, where the tremolo strings cast their
nocturnal spell in the moonlit garden, the slide whistle conjures
an owl, and the piccolo a nightingale. That moment haunted me
for ages, living like an invisible musical imp on one shoulder,
telling me to be a composer in a language I didn’t yet understand.
Not knowing what it was I had been hearing however, it became
something of a holy grail, eternally to be sought and cherished
once rediscovered. The magic of that passage and the strange
operatic events which surround it came alive once again rather
later than I care to admit, when I was introduced, or rather
re-introduced, to the truly potent recording of L'enfant
et les sortilèges with Lorin Maazel on the Deutsche Grammophon
label. Here indeed was my musical Holy Grail. Made in 1961,
this recording still sounds fresh as a daisy, and is filled
with all of that richly anarchic playing which was once a significant
feature of French orchestral character. Filled with apparent
risk-taking, the performance is of course a magical circus act,
superbly well prepared, but carrying a timelessness and potency
born of a palpable sense of fun and creative spontaneity.
Knowing in advance that these two new recordings
of L'enfant et les sortilèges were on their way,
I have had a few very pleasant sessions re-acquainting myself
with the Maazel R.T.F. recording and wondering how on earth
anyone could do better. It seems to resist all comers, and to
my mind has certainly yet to be topped until now. In fact, there
are surprisingly few recordings of this marvellously entertaining
and delightfully inventive and compact opera in the catalogue
at the moment. Now we have two all at once; and hurrah for that.
L’Enfant et les Sortilèges is a one-act
opera, the music written on a libretto by the French novelist
Colette. Classic elements of other famous fairytales can be
found in the story, in which a little boy, made to stay his
room by his mother, takes out a petty revenge on his furniture
and fittings only to see them spring indignantly to life. After
some exhausting confrontations, encounters with the animals
in the garden and struggles with mental arithmetic, the child
is eventually redeemed by his own suffering, his change of heart
and the bond of love between him and his mother.
I’m going to start with Alastair Willis conducting
his American forces on Naxos. This release has of course the
benefit of economy on its side, and an admirable secret weapon
which I shall come to later. The opening is not entirely promising
however, with the character of the child taken in rich, fruity
and full-frontal operatic style by Julie Boulianne. Yes, this
is grown-up opera, but compared with the realistic and believably
testy expression of Francoise Ogéas on Maazel’s DG disc it’s
hard to imagine this portrayal as having anything much child-like
to offer. There are very many good things about this recording,
and I don’t want to harp on about the negatives when, taken
in isolation, this disc would probably be welcomed with fewer
complaints. My problem is that, whenever I thought, ‘this is
good’, it was Ravel who was providing the interest –
musically or in terms of orchestration, while the cast are fairly
consistently operatic. By this, I mean that all of the stereotypical
operatic vocal styles are expertly present, without very much
deviation from standard technique in order to bring the characters
truly to life. Kevin Short, for instance, has that fine, wide
vibrato which makes you wonder which notes he is really singing,
but it is the orchestration which has to make up for a lack
of woodiness in his Armchair – or is that over-woodiness.
Kirsten Gunlogson goes a little further, but while her Chatte
is very cat-like, you realise that her earlier Tasse
chinoise was also quite cat-like – her rather thin mezzo
sound suiting both very well, but not showing a great deal of
breadth when it comes to character range. Ian Greenlaw’s Chat
has a disturbing little chuckle in the voice, but again
seems more concerned with maintaining nice tone than convincing
us of real cat-ness.
There are a few stars in this firmament, and
I very much like Cassandre Prévost’s lighter sound but clear
message as the fire which warns the child to ‘Get back! I warm
the Good!’ Julie Cox is another fine singer, but her Shepherdess
is too sophisticated and refined to my ears, unless it is the
fantasy Fragonard version one has in mind. I can’t really tell
her apart from the Princess, also very ably sung by Agathe Martel.
No, what this recording lacks in genuine character it would
probably make up for in visual clues during a staged version.
The orchestra is very fine, but doesn’t quite have that sense
of acidic penetration and anarchic abandon that I admire in
the Maazel. The choirs are good enough, though a little recessed
in the recorded mix. The frogs are a bit dull, and you can hear
the Chattanooga Boys Choir hanging on by the skins of their
teeth in the technically demanding Deux robinets… moment.
I am reluctant to be too down on this Naxos L'enfant
et les sortilèges. There is nothing really weak about it,
and both performances and recording are technically of a very
high order. There is no libretto in the booklet, but the notes
are extensive and include a detailed track by track description
of the action which more than adequately makes up for the absence
of the actual sung words. Where this to be the only recording
available then it would be an instant operatic hit, but this
is also its Achilles heel – as opera it ticks all the
boxes, but as food for the imagination: humorous, chilling and
even frightening, or filled with the kind of wonder and delight
which has the tears welling up, it steadfastly refuses to stand
up and elbow aside our comfortable preconceptions about what
‘good opera’ should be. For this reason, the final choral apotheosis
transports us effectively up the ‘stairway to heaven’, but,
I’m sorry to say, doesn’t have me reaching for the Kleenex.
What this disc does have however, is a very fine recording
of Ravel’s Shéhérazade. In the last couple of seasons
I’ve been playing this piece in an arrangement for the Netherlands
Flute Orchestra with Roberta Alexander as soloist, so I know
every note like the pores in my pinky. There are numerous distinguished
recordings which will always retain classic status in this work,
but Julie Boulianne’s singing is gorgeously expressive, filled
with the tensions and moments of resignation and contrasts of
joy and tragedy in each of the three songs. This, coupled with
a suitably opulent orchestral sound from the Nashville Symphony
Orchestra, makes for a version of this piece to which I would
happily listen; long and often.
Moving on to the EMI disc, the programme on Sir
Simon Rattle’s recordings is that of the same cast and forces
as with the production as seen and very positively reviewed
by Mark Berry. As a recording, the Berlin Philharmonie offers
a grander stage for both singers and musicians, and the musical
canvas seems to give the impression of wider swings between
chamber-music effects and the grander gestures: there is certainly
a deeper sonic perspective than with the Naxos disc. Detail
is excellent in the recording without sounding unnatural, but
being actually able to hear clearly the melodic line in the
double-bass harmonics in the opening for instance is a very
nice way to start. Singers aside, the Berlin musicians seem
to be enjoying themselves much more than the Nashville players.
They find more schwung in the burlesque moments of the
first half, almost running the delightful risk of turning Ravel
into Weill on occasion.
This is not the first time Simon Rattle has conducted
this opera, with one of his early career successes being a production
in Liverpool in 1974 when he was only nineteen. Ravel’s sense
of Gallic fantasy might not be the kind of genre which you would
initially expect to be meat and drink to a heavyweight orchestra
such as the Berlin Philharmonic, but the sparkle and swagger
everyone brings to this performance is if anything the entire
opposite of Teutonic stodge. Having criticised Julie Boulianne
of un-childlike and over-operatic tendencies in this opera,
Magdalena Kožená can’t really be said to be much less so. She
can however bring a level of tenderness to the role which helps
suspend our disbelief, and such arias as Toi, le coeur de
la rose are restrained and deeply touching. The surrounding
characterisations are in a different league to those on the
Naxos recording, risks sound as if they are being taken, extremes
are run for and hit hard, the singers play for the audience
rather than for the microphones. The cat duet is breathtakingly
menacing, the tree and supporting other trees are superbly lugubrious,
birds chatter and sing with eccentric vocal gestures, and frogs
and ducks are fantastic anthropomorphic creations which set
the imagination popping. Nathalie Stutzmann, Sophie Koch, François
le Roux and José van Dam form a very strong cast indeed, but
you rarely have the feeling of anything other than a powerful
sense of teamwork and ensemble, and never the sense of a bunch
of solo stars jostling for pre-eminence.
Ma Mere L’Oye is an equal success, and,
as a piece which inhabits a similarly child-based world to the
opera, is a not entirely unexpected coupling – indeed, André
Previn and the London Symphony Orchestra on Deutsche Grammophon
did the same not so very long ago. Sir Simon Rattle’s conducting
draws an almost analytical sense of dynamic detail from the
orchestra; which shimmers, sparkles and oozes romantically with
inch perfect discipline. The Berlin Philharmonic’s superb qualities
are given free reign, and the instrumental solos are taken with
great sensitivity and a thankful restraint and sympathy in terms
of vibrato and timbre. Casually playful virtuosity contrasts
marvellously with the velvety richness the entire orchestra
can create in such languorous movements as the final Le jardin
féerique, and this is a stunning recording which can stand
among the best on record.
To conclude: is that glorious old 1961 classic
on DG with Lorin Maazel now finally deposed? The answer has
to be a resounding non, but only in the sense that it
can and should always happily co-exist with any recording we
can come up with now and in the future. Playing it once again
I still find it is the version which would have me rolling on
the floor with laughter and tears were I inclined, or had the
space so to do. The furniture smashing scene early on has a
Tom & Jerry madness which has yet to be beaten, and as I
go on I find it still wipes the floor with all comers at just
about every point of comparison – How’s your mug? for
instance – ah, they knew how to act then, something I
do miss with most performances or recordings these days. If
you can find a copy don’t be put off by the short playing time
– it’s a straight transfer from the original LP release and
has no further coupling, but every second is sheer musical gold.
The Berlin Philharmonic EMI recording comes a close second,
with plenty of wow factor in both the sound quality and the
performance. While losing out to the sheer élan of the
elderly DG recording the singers and players do come up with
a valid new alternative which is both immediately enjoyable
and durable, and if you didn’t know the Maazel, you certainly
wouldn’t feel sold short with this recording. Returning to the
U.S. based recording on Naxos with Alastair Willis I stand by
my position, placing it in a firm third, but certainly not discounting
it as a contender at budget price. Certainly the presentation
beats EMI which, while having the complete libretto, has fairly
brief booklet notes. You will also note in the header to this
review that the voice types are not given for the EMI disc –
which is the case on the release, as are there no biographies
of the singers. The EMI disc also has rather fewer access points
– Naxos has 25 to EMI’s 8. These and the extended synopsis are
an excellent study tool and a definite plus point to Naxos.
My real reason for treasuring this disc is however the delicious
Shéhérazade, to which for me the opera is a rather extravagant
bonus.
Dominy Clements
Berlin Philharmonic
Orchestra/Sir Simon Rattle 
