Rita Strohl (1865-1941)
Volume 1 – Musique vocale
Bilitis (1900)
Quand la flûte de Pan (1901?)
Six Poésies de Baudelaire mises en musique (1894)
Dix Poésies mises en musique (1901)
Carmen (1899)
Elsa Dreisig (soprano); Adèle Charvet (mezzo-soprano); Stéphane Degout (baritone), Olivia Dalric (récitante)
Célia Oneto Bensaid, Florian Caroubi, Romain Louveau (pianos)
rec. 2022/23, la Maison de l’Orchestre national d’Île-de-France, Paris
French texts & English translations included
La Boîte à Pépites BAP04/05 [2 CDs: 103]

I first encountered the music of Rita Strohl as recently as 2023 when I read a review by Jonathan Woolf of the boxed set entitled Compositrices: New Light on French Romantic Women Composers issued by the Bru Zane label. Jonathan’s comments convinced me that I needed to invest in the set and I have found it both fascinating and rewarding. I was delighted to discover not only that the La Boîte à Pépites label has issued this survey of some of Rita Strohl’s vocal music but, moreover, that this is the first of a three-volume set. Just recently, my colleague David McDade has written most enthusiastically about Volume 3, devoted to some of the orchestral music (review). I’m keen to get my hands on that disc and also on Volume 2, which is devoted to chamber music.   

It’s probably worth giving a little bit of background about Rita Strohl and here I draw on the comprehensive documentation accompanying this pair of discs. She was born in Lorient in Brittany to musical parents. Rita enrolled in the Paris Conservatoire at the age of 13. She began composing at an early stage. In 1884, the last year of her studies at the Conservatoire, she composed her First Piano Trio. A String Quartet followed in 1885 and her Fantaisie-Quintet was composed in 1886. All three of these works, I believe are included in Vol 2 of this series of recordings.  In 1888, she married Émile Strohl with whom she had three children between 1889 and 1892. She continued to compose, producing a number of chamber music pieces and her music attracted increasing attention. In her late twenties she turned more towards the composition of songs and we have some of the fruits of her song-writing on these discs. In 1900 she suffered a tremendous blow when her husband died suddenly; she made a second marriage in 1908 to René Billa, though they later divorced. In the early 1900s she discovered the six-note scale and the effect of this can be heard in several pre-War orchestral works, including her Forest Symphony (1903) and her Ocean Symphony (1905). Though the following years lie outside the scope of this review, it’s worth quoting from the booklet: “With those two symphonies, Rita Strohl sought a form of communion with nature, a first step towards a more symbolist musical style and an increased spirituality. The press, which was enthusiastic about the Bilitis songs, seemed not to understand or appreciate her new language: Although fully aware of what her isolation would mean for her musical life, Rita Strohl chose to retire from the world and follow the thought process, which led her to a profound mysticism”. It appears that she composed no music between 1914 and 1924. Thereafter, there were some new compositions and her music was performed, but gradually she faded from public view and died in the south of France in 1941. After her death it seems that her music largely fell into neglect.

At this early stage in my exploration of Rita Strohl’s music, I cannot speak of her general abilities as a composer but on the evidence of the songs included here, I would say she was a composer of some significance. I’ve found a great deal to admire and enjoy on this pair of CDs.

Only one set of songs features a male voice and, by sheer coincidence, the singer involved, Stéphane Degout is the only one of the artists whose work I’ve previously encountered. In partnership with pianist Romain Louveau, he performs five of the Six Poésies de Baudelaire mises en musique. The fourth of the set, ‘Le Jet d’eau’ is omitted: in the track list it’s described as ‘manquant’ but I don’t know if that means Degout chose not to sing it or whether the song is lost. These Beaudelaire songs are extremely impressive, as are the performances they receive. The songs are dark-hued and intense, as befits the poems that Strohl selected to set to music. The first song, ‘Un fantôme’ is dark and imposing at first – Degout’s singing has genuine presence – though in the last two stanzas poet and composer move into a more rapturous vein. The second song ‘Spleen’ is slow and serious; from the second stanza onwards Strohl’s writing grows in intensity to match the sentiments of the poem. Degout’s singing is powerful and impressive. The last of the set is ‘Madrigal triste’. The madrigal in question is very sad. The tempo of all the preceding songs has been very measured; in this song the pace is just a bit swifter but the music is no less introspective and intense. I was seriously impressed with these songs. Degout does them very well indeed and in Romain Louveau he has an ideal partner.

Quand la flûte de Pan is an interesting work. The date of composition is not given in the booklet but the first performance took place in July 1901. The words are by Sophie de Courpon and I believe the text is a single poem divided by Strohl into six short movements (the piece plays here for 9:11). The structure is unusual in that the words are spoken and in each section the piano introduces the recitation though, with one exception, the speaker is unaccompanied; the exception occurs in the last of the six movements. The piano introductions seem to be illustrative of the poetry that follows; binding it all together is a little motif-like filigree piano passage which, I’m sure, represents Pan’s pipes. Olivia Dalric delivers the poetry in a very persuasive, fluent fashion and Célia Oneto Bensaid is the excellent pianist.

Bilitis is a substantial collection of twelve songs in which Rita Strohl sets extracts from Pierre Louÿs’ collection, Chansons de Bilitis. Given that Louÿs’ poems were published in 1894, Strohl was commendably quick off the mark in setting some of them to music, though Debussy was even quicker with his setting of three of the poems in 1897. Interestingly, Strohl set two of the same texts as Debussy, ‘La flûte de Pan’ (No 4 in Strohl’s set) and ‘La chevelure’ (her number 5). Strohl here again demonstrates her ability to respond effectively to texts. Where in the Baudelaire settings she had clothed the poems in suitably dark and serious hues, here she offers music that is wholly in tune with the eager, almost erotic nature of Louÿs’ writings.    

The cycle is sung by soprano Elsa Dreisig, accompanied by Romain Louveau. Dreisig’s voice isn’t the biggest I’ve heard but I think it’s very well suited to these songs. She offers consistently pleasing tone and she maintains an excellent line. The songs are melodically attractive and the music follows the natural speech rhythms of the text very well. At all times Louveau is a sympathetic partner, who is ‘with’ his singer; his lightness of touch is ideal. Given the nature of the poetry, a sensuous harmonic language is very appropriate and I feel that Rita Strohl’s music fits the sentiments of Louÿs’ poems very successfully. All but one of the songs have quite eventful piano parts; these don’t distract from the vocal line but add considerable interest. The exception is the ninth song, ‘Bilitis’. Here, after a short piano introduction Elsa Dreisig sings the song entirely without accompaniment; through very intense singing she easily holds the listener’s attention. There’s then a very short piano postlude. Elsewhere, I like the playful nature of most of the music in the second song, ‘La Partie d’osselets’ (The game of dice). A little later, in the fifth song ‘La Chevelure’  (The Tresses) Bilitis muses gently on her memories of time spent with her beloved. Strohl’s music is tender and beautiful. In the penultimate song, ‘La Nuit’ the music is increasingly ecstatic, as befits the text. The final ‘Berceuse’, one of the longest songs, is a beguiling, sensuous lullaby; it brings the cycle to a lovely conclusion.

At the risk of making an obvious point, Bilitisis very French. I enjoyed both the songs and the highly persuasive performance they receive from Elsa Dreisig and Romain Louveau. The songs are excellent and deserves to be much better known; this recording should help their cause. At 41:44 it’s quite a lengthy cycle but I found that my attention was held; that’s a tribute to the performers and, of course, to Rita Strohl.

Dix Poésies mises en musique is a collection of ten songs setting lines by a variety of French poets, including Achille Segard, Charles Baudelaire and Paul Verlaine. Here, they are entrusted to the mezzo Adèle Charvet with Florian Caroubi at the piano. As a generalisation, these songs are quite dark-hued and often melancholy in nature. As such, they’re a welcome foil to Bilitis, allowing us to appreciate a different side of Rita Strohl’s song-writing at this point in her career (the two collections both date from 1900-01). The piano writing tends not to be as elaborate as in Bilitis, except in the last song, ‘L’Épinette’ (The Spinet). However, that doesn’t mean that the piano doesn’t make an important illustrative contribution to the songs; au contraire. Florian Caroubi’s playing is excellent and perceptive throughout. I think that the songs are very well suited to Adèle Charvet’s voice and she sings them expressively. She consistently offers lovely, warm tone and the sound of her voice gives great pleasure. Both her tone and her diction are admirably clear.

I thought all the songs were very good indeed. I liked the long, languorous melodic lines of ‘Barcarolle’. In a different vein, Strohl’s turbulent music for ‘Le Moulin à vent’ is very illustrative of gusts of wind around the mill. ‘Le Revenant’ (The Ghost) is set to music that is mysterious, as befits the subject of Baudelaire’s poem; Adèle Charvet sings this most expressively. In ‘La Tristesse de la lune’, another Baudelaire setting, the music imaginatively evokes the pallid beauty of the moon; it’s a most expressive song which Charvet sings very well indeed. That is followed by ‘La Mort des pauvres’ (Baudelaire). This is a very intense setting, which the performers communicate most effectively. This is a very fine collection of songs and these artists put them across most convincingly. As a welcome bonus they offer a standalone composition, Carmen. I think I’m right in saying that this was composed for solo voice with orchestra; presumably, what we hear on this disc is a piano reduction. For this song, Strohl turned to the poetry of Théophile Gautier. Both the poem and the music portray Carmen as a sultry temptress; Adèle Charvet’s rich tone and supple voice is ideally suited.   

As I hope I’ve made clear, this pair of discs contains many fine songs, all presented in first-rate performances. I’ve found the opportunity to acquaint myself more deeply with the music of Rita Strohl very rewarding and I’m now keen to investigate the other two volumes in this series. The recorded sound presents all the performances in a very good light indeed.

I must conclude with a special word of praise for the documentation, which is in French and English.La Boîte à Pépites have presented these recordings in an exemplary fashion. Everything is contained in a sturdy book-like casing and the booklet – though, in truth that term isn’t quite adequate – runs to 80 pages, including all the sung tests and English translations. The essay, which I think is authored jointly by Héloise Luzzati (biographical background) and Constance Luzzati (the music), offers a comprehensive discussion of Rita Strohl’s life and work. The documentation is a very fine example of how the music of an unfamiliar composer should be presented.

I urge anyone who is interested in French music of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century but who has not yet had the chance to explore the music of Rita Strohl to investigate this set.

John Quinn

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