Les Hurlements D’leo il en Faudra Des Soleils

Marius Constant, who had an intimate knowledge of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, published Impressions de Pelléas, published in 1992 an abridged version (95 minutes instead of 150) for six singers and two pianists. In an intense flow of music, he telescopes the five acts with great finesse, removing a few scenes and making a fair number of cuts and a few minimal adjustments to the musical material. For the scenography, he suggested, ‘We are in an early twentieth-century salon’ This reflects the fact that during the genesis of Pelléas, Debussy regularly played fragments of it for his circle of friends. In this version, both listeners and performers are involuntarily swept towards the origin and essence of Debussy’s masterpiece: a ‘music of the soul’ in which we can all recognise our own Mélisande, Pelléas, Arkel, Geneviève, Yniold and Golaud. This chamber version of the opera is completed by the Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune in Debussy’s own transcription for two pianos and the suite En blanc et noir. The two pianos used are the new straight-strung instruments built in Belgium by Chris Maene at the request of Daniel Barenboim.

The discovery of Rebel’s (1666-1747) Dance Symphonies, a genre mixing dance and pantomime in which the narration is delivered by the dancer alone, was a defining moment in the passion of harpsichordist duo Loris Barrucand and Clément Geoffroy. Rebel, the author of a single Lyric Tragedy, Ulysse (1703), and Elémens (1737) a suite of symphonies famed for its initial Chaos, was first and foremost a composer of symphonies that were made to be danced. Among them is Les Caractères de la Danse (1715), an uninterrupted succession of fourteen dances that enjoyed a dazzling success. Remaining faithful to his time, Rebel intended for them to be played “like a piece on the harpsichord”. So why not two? The mastery of four virtuoso hands brings the two historic harpsichords of the Château de Versailles alive, playing them as a duet for the first time.

Kiri Te Kanawa does well by these songs, avoiding the billowing excesses of sentiment that in other hands (or vocal chords) can make them sound much too soggy. Although Berlioz gathered them all together under the present title, all of the songs were composed at different times for different singers, so they aren't really a cycle at all. I seldom listen to all of them at once, and you should feel free to take them in any order that suits you. "The Death of Cleopatra" is an early cantata that perfectly suits Jessye Norman's stately delivery. She's always at her best playing royalty, and if they're dying in mortal agony, so much the better.