Poulenc Albad

The pairing of Francis Poulenc and Reynaldo Hahn on this album may seem contrived merely because of biographical parallels between the two men, for their musical approaches and styles are quite different, if not at odds. Poulenc's neo-Classical, self-conscious parodies in the Sinfonietta and the dry, sarcastic wit of the Aubade are a world away from Hahn's pretty, even precious, Romanticism, which is unabashedly on display in La bal de Béatrice d'Este. However, the discerning listener may find in Poulenc streaks of Hahn's pensiveness and languor, which his comic antics never completely conceal; there is in Hahn a buoyant, diatonic tunefulness that is readily found in Poulenc. (Interestingly, some of Poulenc's adaptations of Renaissance music bear a remarkable similarity to Hahn's antique pastiches in this ballet.) Furthermore, their fondness for unusual chamber combinations is striking, and the transition from the Aubade to La bal de Béatrice d'Este is not at all jarring because they both share the charm and ambience of the salon orchestra.

This 2004 survey of modern settings of the medieval sequence Stabat Mater Dolorosa is part of conductor Marcello Viotti's project to record the little-known but worthy sacred works of the twentieth century, in conjunction with the Munich Radio Orchestra and the Bavarian Radio Chorus for their concert series Paradisi gloria. The four works by Francis Poulenc, Karol Szymanowski, Krzysztof Penderecki, and Wolfgang Rihm are dramatically different in conception and musical content, and may be regarded more as reflections of personal faith than as practical works for ecclesiastical purposes.

Francis Poulenc was the best-known composer of the iconoclastic group Les Six, and his reputation for blending sophistication and flippant humor in his songs and concert music made him something of an enfant terrible. Yet the deaths of several close friends and a visit to the Black Madonna of Rocamadour in 1936 brought about soul-searching and a fresh commitment to the Catholicism of his youth.

The Sixteen, bright stars of the Baroque, have plenty to say on 20th-century repertoire (witness their excellent Britten series on Collins). Underpin them with the BBC Philharmonic and it might seem a magic formula. Ives’s unearthly The Unanswered Question holds few problems for instrumental players weaned on Maxwell Davies – no more than do the brilliant wind roulades of Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms. Deft BBC teamwork and a chamber articulation to woodwind and brass helps this Koussevitzky-commissioned masterpiece to shed its often hammy ‘big band’ sound, creeping closer to the subtle, leaner sonorities of his later choral works. It gains. The singing varies. Too many dynamic shifts sound prosaic or under-prepared; fortes are forced, with muddy results. The vocal blend (happier in lower voices) can seem haphazard and colours the Tippett, where the men’s roars – contrast the lovely, sensual soprano solo – seem crude. Get this disc, instead, for the rare, late Poulenc – his New York-commissioned Sept répons. It is a curiously under-recorded devotional work, bleeding with pathos yet pumping energy, its exoticism enhanced by slightly breathy, tender solos, and scintillatingly sung with just those crucial missing qualities of awe and freshness. A million times more refined than what goes before.

It may not contain everything written by French modernist composer Francis Poulenc – the solo works, the chamber works, the stage works, and the songs with piano accompaniment are naturally not included – but Charles Dutoit's five-disc set of the orchestral works, the concerted works, the sacred choral works, and the vocal works with orchestral accompaniment by Poulenc has everything else that matters and lots, lots more. It has the charming Piano Concerto and the delightful Two Piano Concerto, the impressive Organ Concerto and the beguiling harpsichord concerto called Concert champêtre, the four-movement Sinfonietta and the seven-movement Suite française, the ballet Les biches and the Concerto chorégraphique called Aubade, plus 11 other shorter orchestral works.

A few of these small choral gems are well known to amateur choirs, and Poulenc's secular choral pieces are more often presented one at a time on choral albums than in the groupings in which they were originally included. Francis Poulenc: Secular Choral Music offers the composer's very first choral piece, the Chanson à boire for men's voices (1922), but most of the music here dates from either the late '30s (the Petites voix, for female or children's voices, and Sept chansons) or the World War II era (Un soir de neige), the folk-song settings entitled Chansons françaises, and the ambitious Figure humaine, whose final number, "Liberté," was dropped in sheet music form over French cities by Britain's Royal Air Force. Someone once described Poulenc as "part monk, part hooligan," and these a cappella choral works give evidence of both tendencies. The Chansons françaises are cheerful pieces with just a shade of extended harmony, almost French counterparts to Bartók's folk song settings, while the more serious pieces, such as "Un chien perdu" (A Lost Dog), from the Petites voix, have a mystical tinge that links them strongly with Poulenc's better-known sacred choral music.

In full neoclassic mode as in the opening bars of 'Les Biches,' Francis Poulenc sounds quite a bit like Igor Stravinsky. (It's the predominance of wind instruments and the careful attention to instrumental voicing.) He shifts modes easily, and the shadow of Stravinsky disappears as smoothly as it came. Poulenc has often been taken to be a composer of trifles, of light music. His elegance and wit came at a time when music had to be profound and atonal to be taken seriously. Yet in Paris between the wars, Poulenc's music fared well. Each of his works is an evocative, tuneful jewel, unabashedly tonal yet filled with inventive chromatic turns.