Pascal Gallet

It is easy to understand why Chausson’s Concert is not as regular a feature of concert programmes as, say, Franck’s Violin Sonata. After all, a work for piano, violin and string quartet must surely have an instrumental imbalance. How can Chausson occupy all three violin parts for nearly forty minutes? In short, he does not. Nor does he try. Much of the Concert is essentially a sonata for violin and piano with an accompanying, though essential, string quartet. Chausson’s refusal to involve the quartet at every juncture merely to justify the players’ fees results in a signally well-balanced late Romantic work. When the quartet does feature on an equal footing, the effect is all the more telling. The fingerprints of Franck can be detected readily throughout the Concert, but in this and the Piano Quartet, Chausson’s individuality overcomes his teacher’s influence. Indeed, there are premonitions of Debussy, Ravel and even Shostakovich. Tangibly the product of live performances, these accounts traverse the gamut of emotions, bristling with energy, lyricism and conviction, and ensuring that this disc will never gather much dust.

This is far and away the best playing of Satie's most popular works. Roge's other Satie disk is worth owning as well. Tempos are carefully chosen, with special attention to the subtleties each work presents. I also own Ciccolini and Thibaudet's complete Satie recordings and Roge outshines them at nearly every turn. A must own disc for all true Satie lovers.

Between 1803 and 1968, the Grand Prix de Rome marked the zenith of composition studies at the Paris Conservatoire. In Maurice Ravel’s time the competition included an elimination round (a fugue and a choral piece) followed by a cantata in the form of an operatic scena. The entries were judged by a jury which generally favoured expertise and conformity more than originality and Ravel’s growing reputation as a member of the avant-garde was therefore hardly to his advantage, and may explain why he never won the coveted Premier Grand Prix, and the three-year stay at Rome’s Villa Medici that went with it.

That Baïlèro, a shepherd’s song from the highlands of Auvergne sung in the Occitan dialect of the area, should become a favourite with singers ranging from Victoria de los Angeles to Sarah Brightman by way of Renée Fleming and Karita Mattila, is all because of Marie-Joseph Canteloube de Malaret. As a budding composer in Paris in the 1900s, Canteloube was unable to interest himself in the various musical cliques and currents. Instead he looked for inspiration in Auvergne in central France where he was born, starting to collect the songs of the farmers and shepherds that lived in the mountainous region. But he did so as a composer rather than a musicologist, and between 1923 and 1954 he published a total of thirty Chants d’Auvergne, arranged, harmonized and sumptuously orchestrated.

As with many episodes in Franz Schubert’s life, uncertainty surrounds the origins of his two trios for piano, violin and cello. We know that they were played to a Viennese audience, one on 26 December 1827 and the other on 26 March 1828, but not in which order. Although it is more likely that the Trio no. 1 in B flat major op. 99 was performed before the Trio no. 2 in E flat major op. 100, musicologists remain divided on the subject. Documentary sources provide a certain amount of information about the Trio op. 100: the manuscript tells us it was composed in November 1827, while Schubert’s correspondence shows a composer desperate to have his work published, even to the extent of removing a number of development sections and a repeat from the final movement because some publishers found the work too long. The manuscript of the first trio has been lost. By comparing indirect evidence, however, including the different types of manuscript paper Schubert used, we may conjecture that the Trio op. 99 was also composed in the autumn of 1827.