Here’s a covey of works for flute and piano written in France between the Franco-Prussian War and World War II. Much welcome sunshine between the bookends of brutal carnage.
Mighty organist Charles-Marie Widor’s Suite, op. 34 begins the proceedings with energy and verve.
At once, it is clear that flautist Robert Langevin and pianist Margaret Kampmeier are almost always on the same page, sharing enthusiasm and insight into the seldom-heard music.
“Moderato” lifts off with a delicate, thoughtful tone. Only a couple of times did the recording balance seem slightly uneven. The ease of Langevin’s change of registers was a constant delight and the overall feeling of entre amis a vrai partnership.
Opening with a unison, the “Scherzo” was engaging from the git-go. The only quibble being equal eighths in the piano rather than a slight favouring of the first repeated chords over the second (more lift would ensue). The exchange of roles in the trio added much to the sense of equals.
The ensuing “Romance” was lovingly presented with just the right amount of wait/weight when the hues turned “blue”.
The “Finale” was tossed off with both technical aplomb along with much appreciated calmo in the second section.
There is much obvious (the “storylines”) and not so blatant (the harmonic progressions) Greek influence in Jules Mouquet’s La flûte de Pan. A fine, ethereal texture is immediately present in “Pan et les bergers”, notable for easy-going triplets, with decidedly “sweet” interventions from the performers, conversational tone and a brief precursor of “Golliwog’s Cakewalk”. Anchored by bare fifths, “Pan et les oiseaux” features wondering/wandering grace notes in the flute and a most melancholic, emotional middle section that is, finally calmed by heartfelt sixths. “Pan et les nymphs” is infused with a pair of technical flyers—one can readily feel the wind—tempered with a few dollops of “dark” leading gently towards a coda bursting with exuberance and joy. Merci mille fois!
A pair of works from Gabriel Fauré allow Langevin to aptly demonstrate his velvety legato and dulcet tone.
Fantasie’s opening is filled with marvellously elusive phrasing and harmonies. The middle section is largely coquettish, offering a delicious sorbet to the moodiness that precedes it. The coda is a vrai triumph filled with palatable relief.
Morceau de concours is quietly rhapsodic with Kampmeier’s Satie-like accompaniment just as present as need be. The music gradually, carefully intensifies before softly relaxing into the night.
From Philippe Gaubert, three movements as varied as their titles:
“Nocturne et allegro scherzando”: dense, moody opening morphing into a dreamy texture, notable for fine interplay—delicatissimo—between the protagonists.
“Fantasie”: more than lives up to its promise: at times impish, exploring registers, textures, tones and articulations, also including few cadential declamatory statements.
The closing “Madrigal” is indeed a pensive song without words. Do make up your own!
The always inventive mind of Georges Enesco is readily apparent in Cantabile et presto, offering a brief insight into his creative gifts. The opening is “cantabile” indeed, trance-like, convincingly phrased at every turn: clearly the work of deux amis!
Once the Presto takes flight, there’s a synthetic shared energy that drives hard, fast and with compelling vigour to the climactic double bar.
The survey of this epoch concludes with two compositions from Claude Debussy.
Prélude a l’après midi d’un faune was arranged for flute and piano by Gustave Samazeuilh in 1925. While certainly a curiosity, and well-performed here, it is easily the album’s weakest offering, leaving those accustomed to the landmark original frustrated that the incredible array of colours, harmonic “stretching” and, yes, antique cymbals are MIA.
All is forgiven by the deeply emotional rendering of Syrinx. In some ways the last hurrah from this incredible period of creativity before the onslaught of World War I, Langevin deftly captures the composer’s intentions in a brief work that would ignite many other composers to follow to simply let the flute speak for itself—no accompaniment required. JWR