Maurice Ravel

It is no wonder that Lorin Maazel's recording of L'Enfant et les Sortileges won the Grand Prix International du Disque prize in 1961. It well deserves it. Every detail is taken into perfection. This is art for art. The same goes with the other works presented in this two disc set. This set is vital for the fans of Ravel's opera music, and a great way for beginners in classical music to get to know these works by the great French composer.

Maurice Ravel’s music reflects the cultural and creative ferment of his times, as the heady sensuality of the Belle Époque made way for neo-classicism, the Jazz Age and modernism. Strikingly diverse in mood and scale, his works assert his distinctive identity, expressed through craftsmanship of the utmost finesse and beauty: deeply sensitive and balancing sincerity, irony and a touch of provocation. This collection, through superb performances, provides a glimpse into the genius of Maurice Ravel.

Unusually the liner note deserves a mention ahead of the music: the fine pianist Jeremy Denk, half of this regular duo, manages to encapsulate the elusiveness of French romantic music with such insight in a few sharp sentences, his words almost shape the way we listen to this superbly played disc. Saint-Saëns' wistful and emotional Sonata No 1 and Ravel's bluesy, ironic sonata have a whipped, airy quality. Joshua Bell plays with fire and finesse, with Denk a powerful ally. Franck's dark-light violin sonata, mysterious, ardent and far more than the sum of its parts when played as majestically as here, forms the centrepiece of this seriously beguiling disc.

A complete survey of Ravel’s piano music is an especially challenging prospect for any pianist. It is not merely that this sublime music frequently demands exceptional, post-Lisztian virtuosity. Beyond such dexterity is the fact that, as Steven Osborne observes in this recording’s booklet, the composer’s fear of repeating himself ensure that the lessons from one work can rarely be transferred to the next. This is not merely the aesthetic change from the nightmarish imagery of Gaspard de la nuit to the elegant neo-classicism of Le tombeau de Couperin. Ravel essentially re-imagined how to write for the piano with each significant work. Osborne is more than up to the task. The contrasting fireworks of the ‘Toccata’ from Le tombeau and ‘Alborada del gracioso’ (Miroirs) are despatched with relish, the piano exploding with power in the latter after a disarmingly impish opening. The Sonatine has a refined insouciance, while the love bestowed upon each note is clear. Then there are the numerous moments of sustained control, such as the shimmering opening pages of Gaspard. Sometimes changes of spirit occur effortlessly within a piece. Having been a model of clarity in the ‘Prelude’ from Le tombeau, Osborne treats the codetta not as a brisk flourish, but as if this particular vision of the 18th century is dissolving beneath his fingers.