Musique d’un Passé Proche: 20th Century French Music for Flute, Cello and Harp

Description

Innovation and Tradition
in Twentieth-Century Music:
The Role of the Flute, Cello, and Harp Trio

The ensemble comprising a flute, a cello, and a harp is certainly not among the most usual trios in Western chamber music, but it offers a remarkably well-balanced and stimulating musical combination. In terms of range, it is not vastly different from the most commonly employed trio of violin, cello, and piano. The flute and the violin are quite similar in their musical range, as are the piano and the harp. Furthermore, both the piano and the harp are polyphonic instruments whose similar playing techniques—with two independent hands capable of producing both chords and melodies—lend the ensemble a potential for textural richness that is particularly valuable. Compared to the traditional piano trio, however, this trio offers greater timbral variety, thanks to the presence of a wind instrument like the flute, along with the harp’s plucked strings and the cello’s bowed strings.
This originality undoubtedly appealed to the composers featured here. They all belong to the French compositional tradition, one distinguished by particular attention to the timbral aspect of music. In the nineteenth century, Hector Berlioz was one of the great masters of instrumentation and orchestration, followed in the twentieth century by Maurice Ravel; both are among the most revered and imitated experts in the art of instrumental sound.
The composers presented here contributed with great originality to the limited but fascinating repertoire for this particular instrumental ensemble. Another common trait shared by these musicians is their stance regarding the musical language they adopted for their compositions. They are quintessentially modern composers whose activity took place in the twentieth century, and they undoubtedly stand as representatives of twentieth-century music. By no means is their music outdated or reactionary. On the contrary, it is a kind of music that sets itself in continuity with the past rather than in opposition to it—a past that is not just the recent Romanticism but one that looks at tradition as a unified whole. They see tradition as a source of inspiration, where suggestions from bygone eras can be woven together, reinterpreted, “mixed,” as it were, and presented in a completely novel fashion. Yet, by not denying continuity with tradition, these composers managed to achieve a style that is immediately understandable and enjoyable by all kinds of listeners, not just a small elite fascinated by avant-garde experiments. Naturally, their music is multilayered and lends itself to various degrees of understanding and appreciation. At the deepest level, its refinement in terms of timbre, compositional strategies, and polyphony is fully appreciable only by professionals. The irony that is so frequently found in their works is also something that only those proficient in the language of music can fully savor. However, even at the most superficial level, this music is accessible to listeners with minimal musical knowledge.
It is no coincidence that many of these composers were also very active in forms of musical composition that are slightly frowned upon by the avant-garde élite, such as film music, ballet, or incidental music for plays. When a composer writes a film score, they must carefully consider not only what is happening in the movie, but also how their music helps the viewer grasp the emotional significance of a particular scene. Thus, it would be rather problematic to write film music without any reference to the tonal language which, in our Western tradition, is what enables the listener to make sense of music’s syntax. It is not necessary to follow the handbook rules of harmony without fantasy and innovation; rather, it is a matter of not purposefully disconcerting the listener, as many contemporary composers were keen to do.

One composer whose film scores achieved great popularity and can be counted among the most interesting examples of this genre in the first half of the twentieth century is Jacques Ibert. Born in Paris to a bourgeois family, Ibert’s mother was a gifted amateur musician. During his time as a student at the Conservatory of Paris, Ibert earned his living by playing live music during silent film screenings. In 1919, he was awarded the Grand Prix de Rome, a much-coveted prize received by many of the greatest French musicians, which allowed them to spend a considerable period in the Italian capital, focusing on composition and enjoying Rome’s cultural life and artistic beauty. He would return to Rome from 1937 to 1960 as the Director of the French Academy, and in the 1950s he also held managerial positions at the great operatic theaters in Paris.
His musical style, like that of several other musicians represented here, is marked by a typically French irony, lightheartedness, and melodic taste, as well as by artistic features that make it difficult to classify him within any given musical trend of the era. Among the film scores he wrote are those for films by René Clair, Julien Duvivier, and Orson Welles. His Deux Interludes, recorded here—which also exist in other instrumental settings—originated from the world of stage music. They were initially conceived as part of the incidental music for a play by Suzanne Lilar called Le Burlador (referring to El Burlador de Sevilla, one of the titles under which early theatrical plays on the myth of Don Juan were known). Le Burlador was a feminist reinterpretation of that immortal myth. The first interlude is appropriately in the form of a refined minuet, evoking the ancien régime but with a quintessentially modern irony. The second interlude suggests rather than “time”, the “space,” bringing the listener to the Iberian echoes of Andalusia with a gypsy-like dance. Here, the harp is called upon to represent the flamenco guitar, while the other two instruments intertwine with melodies full of fascination.

André Jolivet explored several twentieth-century musical languages, including atonality and serialism, before rediscovering tonality with modal flavors. His aesthetic and philosophical standpoint is that of reappropriating the transcendent and enchanting meaning of music. It is from this set of values that he found common inspiration with Olivier Messiaen, with whom (and others) he founded the group La Jeune France, aiming at the promotion of contemporary French music. His oeuvre includes successful incidental music for plays by authors such as Molière and the Catholic poet Paul Claudel.
It is precisely to this Catholic milieu that his Pastorales de Noël refer—suggestively, their titles mirror several of those in his friend Messiaen’s Vingt Regards sur l’Enfant-Jésus. Written in 1943, they represent an oasis of peace and holiness in the midst of the terrible war years. Jolivet makes ample use of modality to evoke both exoticism (as in the case of the musical rendition of the Magi) and antiquity. L’Étoile [The Star] is seen as a beacon of light in the depths of darkness—just as the Christmas mystery was for those living through World War II. Les Mages [The Magi] are enchantingly portrayed through a fascinating bassoon solo (interpreted here by the cello), similar to that in Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du printemps, while the tenderness of Mary lulling her child is delicately depicted by the rocking rhythm of La Vierge et l’Enfant. A lighter mood is found in the shepherds’ dance, where the rusticity of the first adorers of the Christ Child is depicted with affectionate irony.

Jean Françaix was also deeply attracted to the Christian faith; in fact, his masterpiece is the magnificent oratorio based on the Revelation of St. John. Born into a family of musicians, Françaix was a precocious pupil of Nadia Boulanger, who observed with astonishment his inexplicable mastery of harmony when nobody could have taught him its secrets. Françaix was also an accomplished pianist who performed almost throughout his lifetime. His Trio is a magnificent example of his mastery of form, instrumentation, and creative ingenuity, with his usual blend of brilliant musical ideas and skilled handling of musical material.

Contrary to what is normally reported, Henri Martelli was not born in Bastia, Corsica, but rather in Argentina. However, his ties to the South American country were very loose, while his attachment to his family’s homeland, Corsica, was much stronger. He studied in Bastia and later in Marseille and Paris, where he also graduated in law. Among his teachers was the legendary composer Charles-Marie Widor. Despite this and Martelli’s undeniable talent, his music gained widespread recognition only in the 1930s, when Serge Koussevitzky lent his support to promoting Martelli’s works. From then on, his compositions were performed worldwide, even though full appreciation of his output is still awaiting fulfillment. His Trio belongs to the late stage of his career, composed just four years before his passing at the age of 85; it is therefore a perfect example of his artistry and his capability to view the heritage of the twentieth century from a distance.

The last piece is by Jean-Michel Damase, whose predilection for the harp derives from his mother’s career as a famous professional harpist. He was another child prodigy whose talent was acknowledged by the great poetess Colette who, after hearing the nine-year-old Damase’s setting of some of her poems, wrote other works especially for him. Another laureate of the Grand Prix de Rome, Damase was also a celebrated concert pianist who earned a Grand Prix du Disque for his recording of Gabriel Fauré’s complete nocturnes and barcarolles. Written in 1946, his Trio makes explicit references to the creative world of contemporary France, although the most notable influence is Ravel’s.
Together, these works display the full timbral and aesthetic potential of this unusual ensemble and offer the listener an experience of pure musical delight.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2024