L’extase
Claude Debussy (1862–1918)
Trois chansons de Bilitis (1897-1898)
Cinq poèmes de Baudelaire (1887-1889)
Ariettes oubliées (1903)
Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992)
Poèmes pour Mi, Deuxième Livre (1936)
Magdalena Kožená (mezzo-soprano), Mitsuko Uchida (piano)
rec. 2024, Snape Maltings Concert Hall, Snape, UK
Booklet with texts and English translations
Pentatone PTC5187129 [71]
Mezzo-soprano Magdalena Kožená and pianist Mitsuko Uchida have collaborated in recitals for a while. They gave a joint interview in the June 2025 edition of Gramophone magazine; the occasion was this disc, their first joint recording.
Kožená’s discography has little French repertoire, although she sings Gluck’s French operas and is a noted Mélisande in Debussy’s opera (that includes the recording on LSO Live conducted by her husband, Sir Simon Rattle). So, her singing in French, and in the slightly prosaic vocalism of Debussy’s mélodie manner, is persuasive here. If it is not perfect, that is only in the sense that a native French speaker might colour the words and relish the tang of the language rather more perhaps. A Debussy song virtually foregrounds the text ahead of the notes, as if he wants the poem to come across almost as it would were it spoken. Thus they are musically far from the folksong-related basis of many strophic lieder. Magdalena Kožená understands it all well, and inhabits the elusive but sensual world of this repertoire with conviction.
The poems of the Trois chansons de Bilitis were the work of Debussy’s friend Pierre Louÿs. Louÿs made the bogus claim on their first publication in 1894 that they were his translations of ancient Greek poems by Bilitis, a student of Sappho. La flûte de Pan (the flute of Pan) is typical of many Debussy songs in its narrow range, low volume and confiding intimacy. Pianist and singer contribute just the qualities needed to make such a composition work, and work with great charm. La Chevelure (the hair) inevitably recalls the scene in Pelléas et Mélisande, where Mélisande lets down her long hair from a castle tower, although the song is not operatic in style. It does have the only fortissimo in the cycle, sung here with power but control, rising naturally to the climax. Le Tombeau des Naïades (the tomb of the Naiads) presents a scene of icy desolation, evoked in Uchida’s playing of the eloquent piano part, much more than an accompaniment.
The Cinq poèmes de Baudelaire open with the longest song Debussy ever wrote, Le balcon (the balcony). Kožená and Uchida sustain its nine-and-a-half minutes pretty well, but do not quite prevent it rather outstaying its welcome. All the five songs are well sung, so it is a surprise to see from the aforementioned Gramophone interview that Uchida initially found the work elusive, and even “unplayable”. “And unsingable!” added Kožená. Well, you would never guess that from the performances here. Best of all is the playing and singing of Recueillement (meditation), its slow tread superbly maintained.
The six Ariettes oubliées on poems by Verlaine also fare very well in these interpretations, evocative and intense.
The recital ends with the second book of Olivier Messiaen’s Poèmes pour Mi. (There was space on the disc for both books, of which the first is only about fifteen minutes or so.) Yes, it has a reputation as being difficult for both pianist and vocalist, but book two has similar challenges. The five songs of the Deuxième livre make a satisfying conclusion to the programme. Messiaen revered Debussy’s music. At times, he emulates it, although the piano harmonies firmly announce the later composer. These Poems for Mi, with texts written by the composer himself, celebrate his marriage with his first wife Claire Delbos. Mi was his pet name for her. The first song L’epouse (the bride) likens the bride as an “extension of the bridegroom” to the “Church as an extension of Christ”, and the link between love and faith informs the whole cycle. Although the “speaker” in the poems is the groom, the work is for a soprano.
Magdalena Kožená and Mitsuko Uchida capture the radiance of much of this music, and meet well its technical demands. There is a fervour in Messiaen’s inspiration that requires a fervent reaction, a singer who combines absolute security in pitch and a pianist with absolute accuracy in phrasing and articulation. Each song’s mood is caught well, not least the closing Prière exaucée (a prayer granted), where Kožená is sparkling in its ecstatic melisma, and Uchida sonorously evokes the bells at Carillonne mon Coeur (ring out, my heart).
The sound, especially the balance between voice and piano, is a tribute to the qualities of the recording venue at Snape Maltings, a space ideal for song recitals as Britten and Pears intended when they specified its dimensions and materials. In summary, this is a valuable addition to any collection of French song.
Roy Westbrook
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