Paris in the springtime: this week, I’ve been greeted by cold winds, driving rain and even a flurry of snow. Tonight, courtesy of Debussy’s Printemps, something a little more seasonal raised the temperature. Chausson brought some party spirit, but for sheer Parisian style – and a touch of naughtiness – it was Francis Poulenc who dominated this stylish affair from the Orchestre National de France under Fabien Gabel, launching the Maison de la Radio’s four day festival ‘À la française’. The highlight was a knockout performance of Poulenc’s Organ Concerto, featuring the dapper Olivier Latry as soloist.
Latry has probably performed the Poulenc dozens of times, either from the organ loft of Notre Dame (where he has held one of the four titulaires des grands orgues posts since 1985) or from consoles at the back of various concert platforms. I wonder how often he’s performed it from the front of the stage! The Maison de la Radio – a Camembert shaped building itself refurbished only a couple of years ago – boasts a brand new Gerhard Grenzing organ, inaugurated last December. Latry performed on a portable console consisting of four keyboards of 61 notes (bone and ebony) and 32 oak pedal steps. I often feel a sense of disconnect from soloists in organ concertos, performing from afar – or even completely out of sight – but not so here. From my position, I had a clear view of Latry’s playing. Latry himself was in the perfect position to see the conductor (no rear view mirror required) and could make direct eye contact with the timpanist across the strings. These factors contributed to pinpoint ensemble in a terrific performance.
The critic Claude Rostand’s description of Poulenc as “half monk, half rascal” was never more appropriate than in the Organ Concerto, which veers wildly from pulpit to fairground. With coppery lighting on its 5320 pipes, the Maison’s organ is like an animal. Wooden panels open and close to control dynamics, as if drawing slow breaths. In the concerto's thunderous opening, the instrument roared, but the nasal, reedy tones for the pious ‘high church’ solo sections were as gentle as a mouse. Latry brought plenty of Gallic wit to the wicked finale.