Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986)
Requiem, Op 9 (1947)
Francis Poulenc (1899-1963)
Quatre motets pour un temps de penitence (1939)
Harrison Cole (organ)
The Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge/Stephen Layton
rec. 2021, Trinity College Chapel, Cambridge (Poulenc); 2022, Church of Saint-Eustache, Paris (Duruflé)
Latin texts & English translations included
Hyperion CDA68436 [56]
Recently, I reviewed a very fine disc of choral and organ music by David Briggs which Stephen Layton and the Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge had recorded in the Church of Saint-Eustache, Paris in July 2022. It turns out that their visit to Paris was even busier and more productive than I knew. In the days following the Briggs recordings, they set down the Duruflé Requiem. (Their recording of the Poulenc motets was made twelve months earlier, in July 2021; this time the venue was their home chapel.)
Duruflé composed his Requiem in 1947. The work exists in three versions: for choir and orchestra; for choir and organ; and for choir with organ and small orchestra. Given the composer’s background as a highly distinguished organist, one might have thought the work would have originated in the version for organ followed by subsequent orchestration, but such was not the case. The orchestral version came first and was followed by the organ version (1948) and the smaller orchestration (1951). Personally, I’ve always preferred the later two versions which have a greater intimacy, though the composer himself used the original 1947 score when he recorded the work in 1959 (Erato 4509-96952-2).
Following the performance in my vocal score, it was evident that the Trinity singers pay scrupulous attention to detail, especially in terms of dynamics. The entire score is suffused with plainchant melodies and this means that the music has exceptional fluidity: bar lines are there, it seems, just for convenience. Stephen Layton conducts with great flexibility, achieving an excellent flow. Just once – in the Sanctus – I wondered if his basic tempo was a bit on the swift side but, with that sole exception, he has, I think, an unerring sense of pace and of the direction of each movement.
The choir sings marvellously. As a student choir, their voices are on the light side – though by no means lacking in substance – and their tone and timbre seem to me to be consistently well-suited to the music. All sections of the choir make a fine contribution, but it would be wrong not to single out the sopranos. At several key points, Duruflé gives his sopranos exposed lines which require the most beautiful, controlled and assured singing. One such place is ‘Sed signifier sanctus Michael’ in the ‘Domine Jesu Christe’ movement; the Trinity sopranos float this luminous line wonderfully, the sound of their voices enhanced by the resonance of the acoustic. Even more memorable, though, is their contribution to ‘In Paradisum’. There’s absolutely no hiding place for the sopranos in the first seventeen bars, but these young voices deliver the line with ethereal beauty, making the music properly consoling and radiant. That whole movement is simply magical in this performance. At the very end, Duruflé marks the last chord ‘très long’; here it’s sustained for some 24 seconds.
The choir distinguish themselves throughout the work. The climaxes, such as the one towards the end of the ‘Kyrie’ and the moment of blazing celebration in the Sanctus, come off splendidly – and they make even more of a mark because all the quiet singing elsewhere is so attentively done. In the ‘Lux æterna’, the sopranos sing the melody while the other three parts have wordless vocalisation in support. Those vocalisations come off really well here; a combination of the singers’ skill and the acoustic means that the sound of the voices is like a misty halo.
The Requiem calls for two soloists, a baritone and a mezzo. The baritone has two fairly brief passages to sing; on this occasion the soloist is a choir member, Florian Störtz. I’ve heard him sing solos – to excellent effect – on a couple of recent Trinity discs and he doesn’t disappoint here. In both his solos the voice is firm and clear. Actually, in the score the composer adds a note in which he says that it is “préférable” for these two passages to be sung by all the baritones and second tenors in the choir (though he used a solo voice in his own recording). I’ve heard it presented in both ways and the alternatives are equally satisfactory. However, the degree of expressiveness that Störtz brings to his second solo, which occurs in the ‘Libera me’, would simply not be achievable with a group of singers; thus, Stephen Layton’s decision to allocate the part to a soloist is amply vindicated.
The other soloist is a mezzo, who sings the ‘Pie Jesu’ movement. The soloist on this occasion is Katherine Gregory who, like Florian Störtz, is a member of the choir. Actually, in the choir list she’s named among the sopranos, but make no mistake, she’s a true mezzo. The part ranges from a low C to a top F#; at both ends of that compass, Ms Gregory sounds completely comfortable. Her voice is warm and rich, though those tonal qualities are never achieved though excessive vibrato. Her performance is sincere and committed; I enjoyed it very much. I also enjoyed the way that Myrtille Hetzel plays the important cello part in this movement.
Having focused on the singers, I must say something about the organist because Harrison Cole is a crucial protagonist here. The Church of Saint-Eustache has an organ which, on the evidence of this recording and the aforementioned disc of music by David Briggs, is a marvellous instrument on which a wide variety of resources is available to the player. The celebrated organist Jean Guillou (1930-2019) was Organiste titulaire of Saint-Eustache between 1963 and 2015 and it was under his supervision that the organ was rebuilt in 1989. As I listened to this performance, it seemed to me that time after time Harrison Cole gets just the right colourings out of the organ. I love, for example, the registration he uses for the slightly spooky little theme played on the manual (with the right hand) to introduce the first baritone solo (‘Hostias et preces, Domine’). Cole plays the rippling manual figurations in the Sanctus with great agility, again getting the colouring just right, while in the ‘Libera me’ movement, during the ‘Dies irae’ (excitingly performed by all), he underpins the fff entry of the full choir with a thrilling deep pedal D. Finally, in the ‘In Paradisum’, the sounds he conjures from the organ contribute significantly to the radiant atmosphere. When the organ takes over the plainchant melody from the sopranos, Cole judges things ideally, ensuring that the melody is present but not thrust into the spotlight. You’d think Cole had been playing this organ for years, so well does he harness its resources.
This is a very fine account of the Duruflé Requiem in every respect. The chosen venue is ideal, I believe. The Church of Saint-Eustache, located in the Les Halles district of Paris, was constructed between 1532 and 1632. From photographs I’ve seen online it looks to be a very substantial building and that impression is conformed by a photo in the booklet which shows the choir dwarfed by the massive internal pillars on either side of them. The choir numbers 41 (12/9/9/11) and it would have been easy for them to be swamped in what I’m sure is a huge, reverberant acoustic. However, engineer David Hinitt and producer Adrian Peacock have ensured that this doesn’t happen; the acoustic is skilfully used to impart an aura to the sound, but the singers can still be heard with clarity. A very good balance between choir and organ has also been achieved.
The Poulenc motets were recorded in the smaller acoustic of Trinity College Chapel; that was the right thing to do because this music is on a smaller scale and ideally needs a more immediate yet resonant acoustic. The choir was slightly smaller than the group used for the Duruflé; there are 31 singers (9/6/7/9). These Lenten motets are masterly pieces; Poulenc responds to the texts with great acuity and the music often switches from biting drama to bittersweet lyrical harmonies within the space of a few bars. One such instance is ‘Vinea mea electa’, the second motet. The opening line – and its reprise – is a choice example of Poulenc’s trademark achingly sweet, expressive harmony, but elsewhere in the same piece there are some arresting dissonances. The third motet, ‘Tenebræ factæ sunt’ is the darkest of the lot and the strong emotions in the music are really well conveyed here. Throughout these four short pieces, the expertly-prepared singers are alive to every change of emphasis and to all the nuances in the music. These motets are a fine complement to the Duruflé Requiem. My only regret is that Duruflé’s Four Motets could not have been included as well; they would have been the icing on the cake.
The documentation includes a very useful essay by Roger Nichols.
There is wonderful French choral music here and it’s expertly performed.
John Quinn
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