A TALE OF REEDS
“We must definitely remind ourselves of the quite exceptional talents of Miss de Reiset”, Hector Berlioz wrote in the Revue et Gazette Musicale de Paris on July 7, 1850. It was no use. Both the name and the work of this adulated young lady got lost in the labyrinthian recesses of the history of music, where there’s almost no sound but the soft rustle of silence. Other composers, whose work is featured on this CD—Absil, Brod, Dubois, Poot, Van Hoof—likewise have remained below the radar of the classical music industry. That their “quite exceptional talents” were once truly appreciated is enough reason to bring them back into the limelight.
Berlioz, no doubt one of Paris’ keenest music critics, was exceedingly enthusiastic about Miss de Reiset, after he had assisted at a concert at her parents’ place, during which two septets of the young lady were played. The composer, who was a singer as well, played the piano. Clémence de Reiset (1828–1907), a.k.a. Vicomtesse de Grandval since she had married Capitaine d’état-major Vicomte de Grandval in 1851, had studied with von Flotow, Chopin, Saint-Saëns and others. The list of her works, compositions in all genres fashionable at the time, is most impressive, even though there is not a single source that is complete. Even the most extensive one, at
mugi.hfmt-hamburg.de, is only a “provisional list of works”. It lacks, e.g., the Trio de Salon (ca. 1850). A charming, elegant, peaceful cantilena (Andantino) and a dance-like, capricious Allegro moderato was all it took to conquer the worthy ladies and gentlemen of the Paris beau monde that flocked to the music salons of the Grandvals.
In his Souvenirs de ma vie (Souvenirs of my life) Théodore Dubois (1837–1924) assigns his Deux pièces en forme canonique (Two pieces in canon-like form), somewhat vaguely but accurately, to the years 1899–1905. Both pieces were published in two versions, one for oboe (or violin, flute, clarinet), cello (or alto, clarinet, bassoon) and piano in 1900, and another for the same instruments accompanied by strings in 1901. The addition “en forme canonique” and their characterizations, “Molto espressivo” and “Grazioso”, are self-explanatory. These are unpretentious, exquisite belle-époque miniatures, characteristic of Dubois’ romantic sensitivity and his compositional conformism, combined with a solid métier, which as a teacher (since 1871) and as the director of the Paris conservatory he was entitled to take pride in.
Unlike Dubois, who retired quietly after weathering a storm for refusing to award the “Prix de Rome” to Ravel, Jean Absil (1893–1974) was a universally esteemed music teacher, both at the Brussels conservatory and at the Queen Elisabeth Music Chapel, and the director of the academy of music of Etterbeek (Brussels), now named after him. As a multi-faceted composer with many awards to his name, he was an authority in the musical life of Brussels and Wallonia.
His Berceuse (1932) and his Sicilienne (1950), both simple ABA forms, are melodically just as gracious and charming as De Grandval’s Trio de Salon. Of course melody, rhythm and harmony evolved markedly in the century after de Grandval and clearly Absil assimilated the innovations of the early decades of the twentieth century, in these little gems that were probably meant as teaching tools as well as elsewhere. But nowhere is he extreme and radical. When push comes to shove, he always grants the ear the security of tonality, albeit a tonality enlarged with dissonant colors.
In his time Jef Van Hoof (1886–1959) was one of Flanders’ most important musicians, but in his lifetime the Belgian elite did not think highly of him. “Yes, a great musician, but a Fleming.” (Mark Liebrecht, Met Jef van Hoof onder één hoed, p. 15.) Although barely seven years older than Absil, he belongs to another generation of musicians, that of the Flemish post-Romantics, composers who, on the one hand, followed Benoit’s lead and unequivocally committed themselves socially and ideologically to the Flemish movement, and, on the other hand, let the evolution of the European music scene bypass them. At the time van Hoof was hugely popular as a composer of militant Flemish songs, but that success obscures an important part of his oeuvre that has nothing to do with Flamingantism, like his six symphonies and a number of short concertante works.
His Concertino voor baspijp (Concertino for bassoon, 1938) is unusual in that a lighthearted and sparkling Con spirito is framed by two simple lyrical Moderato movements, the second of which ends in a brief cadenza followed by a few chords, which creates a hushed, intimate and somewhat mysterious atmosphere.
Dubois, Absil and van Hoof were organists. Logically their oeuvre contains a number of works for the organ, but not to the extent that the works of Henry Brod (1799–1839) abounds in compositions for his instrument, the oboe. From the age of twenty until his early death Brod was an oboist at the Paris Opera and he was also an instrument maker, who contributed significantly to the development of the oboe and the English horn. In his oeuvre, probably some seventy works (some of which are lost), the oboe indisputably plays the leading part. A glorious supporting part is allotted to the popular 19thcentury practice of paraphrasing well-known opera arias.
His 1er Trio pour piano, hautbois et basson (1st Trio for Piano, Oboe and Bassoon)—the first of a series of sixteen; data of composition unknown—follows another 19th-century fashion: flirting with local color, with “exotic” themes, which provides an excuse for showing off one’s technical prowess on an instrument. A solemn lavish first movement is followed without interruption by three variations on a Thème espagnol (Spanish Theme) and a Bolero.
Francis Poulenc (1899–1963) does not go about it quite as explicitly, but his Trio pour piano, hautbois et basson (Trio for Piano, Oboe and Bassoon) too has a Spanish link: he dedicated it to Manuel de Falla “pour lui prouver tant bien que mal ma tendre admiration”(to prove to him as best as I could my warm admiration; Moi et mes amis, 1963, p. 122). Poulenc, whose chamber music shows a marked preference for woodwind, took a long time writing this trio. Its first draft is dated 1921; two years later he wrote to the Belgian chemist, musicologist, pianist and concert organizer Paul Collaer: “Mon trio s’esquisse. J’irai le jouer si vous voulez l’hiver prochain à Bruxelles” (The outline of my trio is taking shape. I’ll come and play it, if you wish, next winter in Brussels), but that did not work out. Yet another two years the trio was “quasi achevé” (as good as finished; in a letter to composer Henri Sauguet, October 1924). But it was “février-avril, Cannes, 1926” when he finally finished it.
Poulenc knows his classics: Mozart is never far away and he himself mentioned being influenced by Haydn, Weber and Saint-Saëns. In addition there are traces of the baroque French overture, and of Stravinsky, whom he thanked for “tous ces bons conseils” (all those good bits of advice) after meeting him in Cannes in early 1926. But first and foremost this is Poulenc all over, a character described by the French musicologist Claude Rostand “Chez Poulenc il y a du moine et du voyou” (In Poulenc there is something of monk and something of a rogue), highly diverting music alternating with dream-like, meditative lyricism.
There is something of a rogue in Marcel Poot (1901–1988) was well. Owing to his Flemish origins many comments prefer to characterize him as “a Brueghell”, “a Teniers” or, even more often, “an Uilenspiegel”. A composition like Capriccio voor hobo en piano (Capriccio for oboe and piano) fits these characterizations to a T. But just as Poulenc is not only a rogue, Poot is not only an Uilenspiegel. Seven symphonies, numerous concertos, works for the stage, two oratorios and other works as well are indicative of deep and serious inspiration. Even so, dynamic optimism is always the core of his musical message. He cloaks it in a neo-classicist, tonal style, to which he remains faithful throughout his life. The way he goes about it in the spirited Capriccio—whose nature is made even more manifest by the words Allegro giocoso above the score—is all his own: without ever neglecting melodic grace, a rhythmic pulse that is always there, even in dolce e cantabile and espressivo passages, gives the music vital, driving force.
Keeping all 20th-century experiments at bay, Jean Françaix (1912–1997) swore by traditional forms and tonality, which he held to be the indispensable foundation. Poulenc completed his Trio when he was twentyseven; Françaix, who had the same preference for woodwind as Pouenc, was more than three times as old when he composed his “Trio pour hautbois, basson et piano” (Trio for oboe, bassoon and piano). Yet the work sounds as if it were that of a bouncy twenty year old. Françaix discovered his own style when he was quite young and—mindful of Erasmus’ saying: “For one who does not caper, youth will be brief”—he remained his own musical self, even while aging, forever young, frolicsome and mischievous, rogue and Uilenspiegel till the end. Rhythmic motives flash past, tirelessly play at leapfrog and alternate with long drawn-out phrases that barely have time to unfold among all that ever surprising rhythmic hustle and bustle. Only the rather elegiac Andante suggests that the composer may nevertheless be conscious of his age.
Eighteenth-century Paris witnessed the (in)famous Guerre des Bouffons, a quarrel between French and Italian opera, a pamphlet war involving not only musicians but also their enlightened contemporaries. Some 150 years after the Guerre des Bouffons, there slowly began a guerre des bassons, a long-lasting
competition between the French and the German bassoon, two instruments with common roots, but whose built, valves and timbre evolved in very different directions, a competition which involved not only bassoonists but conductors as well.
All bassoon compositions in the present anthology of French and Belgian music were meant for the French bassoon, and this CD is explicitly intended as an homage to the instrument for which Luc Loubry is one of the last advocates in Belgium. As a matter of fact, the French bassoon has come off worst all over the world, which has entailed an impoverishment, no more, no less, of the world’s soundscape. Yet, like the Viennese oboe, the French bassoon is likely to survive, at least in its original biotope. And new vistas are opening up, now that a French maker is marketing instruments that share the characteristics of the French bassoon in terms of built and timbre, but use the German system of valves. Globalization, which threatens to suffocate diversity, can also lead to creative solutions to preserve it. And thanks also to historically informed performances, the hope that the French bassoon will survive is legitimate. However that may be, let us paraphrase Berlioz and say: “il faut bien nous rappeler ses qualités tout exceptionelles” (We must definitely remind ourselves of its quite exceptional qualities).
Jacques van Holen
Translation: Guy A.J.Tops
released November 11, 2019
