(++++) RIPE FOR A BREAKTHROUGH?

Charles Koechlin: Symphony No. 1; Au loin; 3 Mélodies. Patricia Petibon, soprano; Württembergische Philharmonie Reutlingen conducted by Ariane Matiakh. Capriccio. $21.99.

Charles Koechlin: The Seven Stars Symphony; Vers la voûte étoilee. Sinfonieorchester Basel conducted by Ariane Matiakh. Capriccio. $21.99.

     Sometimes, what a composer needs to become part of the standard repertoire, or at least to be featured with some frequency in concerts and on recordings, is the strong and persistent advocacy of a skilled conductor with a firm understanding of the composer’s work and a commitment to programming it even if others rarely do so. That was, for example, famously the case with Mahler, for whom Bruno Walter was a tireless advocate for many years – after which Walter passed the torch to Leonard Bernstein, who proved an even more effective Mahler conductor and was largely responsible for the surge in Mahler’s popularity that persists to this day and shows no signs of abating. If there is ever to be a similar upswell of interest in the music of Charles Koechlin (1867-1950), it may well be because of the tireless advocacy of French conductor Ariane Matiakh, who clearly finds her countryman’s music highly appealing and worthy of being far better known and far more frequently performed.

     Koechlin and his music are strange in many ways. Koechlin is devilishly difficult to pigeonhole, having an accretive and eclectic style that partakes of many elements of late Romanticism and 20^th-century approaches and techniques, all overlaid with his own sensibilities and his propensity for mixing elements of popular culture with those more usually found in the concert hall. The confusions and contradictions inherent in Koechlin are quite evident in his symphonic production: he created four symphonies after abandoning one very early attempt, but the works’ origins and sequencing are decidedly odd. No. 1 (1926) is actually a lightly modified and orchestrated version of his 1916 String Quartet No. 2. Next in compositional order – but bearing no number – is The Seven Stars Symphony (1933), which is in no way celestial but is a contemplation of seven film stars of the silent era and early “talkies.” The third symphonic work, also bearing no number, is Symphonie d’Hymnes (1936), which is a collection and connection of previously composed independent movements. And then finally, in 1943-1944, there is a work actually designated Symphony No. 2.

     Matiakh has recorded the first two of these symphonic works for Capriccio in what is hopefully the first half of a complete Koechlin cycle – which has never been produced to date. Perhaps unsurprisingly in light of the sequencing peculiarities of the symphonies, The Seven Stars Symphony was released prior to its predecessor, which has never before been recorded at all. Symphony No. 1 is largely in a late Romantic vein, with hints of dissonance rather than full incorporation of it. But it is quite a personal use of the idiom. The first movement’s sound is a bit reminiscent of early Charles Ives in his “hymnal” mode, albeit without quotes from actual hymns: the movement is peaceful and gentle throughout and sets a tone for the entire work. The second movement, although labeled Scherzo, is most memorable for a middle section that returns to the first movement’s mood, as if the gentle sway of that movement cannot help but inexorably pervade the entire symphony. The third movement is a brief Andante that is, once again, calm and reserved, but now with a sense of yearning until it eventually subsides into quiescence. The finale is the longest movement and the only comparatively upbeat one, starting with delicate woodwind touches that seem to set a positive mood until, after about four minutes, this movement too devolves into slow quietude. The music does not so much struggle for speed as demonstrate that there is no rush to express what it has to say, until it more or less evaporates at the end, leaving behind a difficult-to-quantify-or-qualify feeling – which Koechlin’s music produces again and again.

     The CD also includes two works that predate the symphony. Au loin, described as a poème symphonique, dates to 1900 and is more in the nature of a nocturne than a symphonic poem. Atmospheric and somewhat Impressionistic, it features gently swaying lyricism and is rather minimalist in sound, as if its sensibilities lie somewhere between those of Debussy and Philip Glass. Also here is a vocal work called 3 Mélodies (1895-1900), offering evocative orchestration of three songs featuring rather dour fin de siècle poetry by Leconte de Lisle and José-Maria de Heredia. The scenes evoked are essentially mythic, with the Heredia work, placed second, being the prayer of the corpse of a murder victim – a very dark subject indeed, despite the nice instrumental touches that slightly elevate the mood. Patricia Petibon sings 3 Mélodies with the sort of passionate engagement that Koechlin’s music needs in order to come across effectively – and that Matiakh brings to all the pieces heard here.

     The Seven Stars Symphony might be expected to be altogether lighter fare than the prior symphonic work, but not so. The movements portray Douglas Fairbanks, Lilian Harvey, Greta Garbo, Clara Bow, Marlene (here spelled Merlène) Dietrich, Emil Jannings, and Charles Chaplin, and Koechlin uses many traditional forms of concert-hall music to provide impressions of each star. The Dietrich and Chaplin movements, for example, are themes-and-variations, while the Harvey movement is designated menuet fugue. Modern listeners unfamiliar with these early movie stars will nevertheless be able to pick up some of their characteristics (or at least the characteristics of their screen personas) through Koechlin’s music – the aloof quality of Garbo and the sweetness of Bow, for example. But Koechlin, here as elsewhere, is far from straightforward: instead of the swashbuckling character of Fairbanks, he presents a gentle and rather sweet portrayal drawn, in this case, directly from a Fairbanks film, The Thief of Baghdad, in which a princess’ exotic garden is seen. The Chaplin movement is the last of the symphony and more than twice as long as any of the others, and its variegated and ebullient, multifaceted style fits particularly well with Koechlin’s own ever-shifting musical approach.

     Filling out this CD is a work that does focus on stars in the heavenly rather than Hollywood sense. Vers la voûte étoilee, created during a lengthy time period (1923-1933) and revised in 1939 into the form heard here, features some especially lovely, lyrical horn elements. It is very much a nocturne despite some acerbity in the harmony. Its gradual swell to grand expressiveness is reminiscent of another celestial-body-focused work, Nielsen’s Helios Overture (1903). The sensibilities are similar although Koechlin’s tonal language differs considerably from Nielsen’s. Indeed, Koechlin’s sound differs from that of just about all other composers of his time: he picks and chooses elements of compositional structure and aural approach, feeling no compunction about changing the form or sonic realm of a piece as it progresses, sometimes doing so multiple times. Consistency is not Koechlin’s hallmark, and his unwillingness to adhere to any particular “school” makes his music difficult to grasp on first hearing and sometimes confusing to try to absorb. But of course the same could be said, in a different way and on a different level, about Mahler. It will be fascinating to see whether Matiakh’s strong conducting and commitment to extracting meaning and engagement from Koechlin’s music will be enough to captivate a wider audience than has to date been aware of this still-obscure composer’s unusual communicative approach.