Hard on the heels of Président Macron’s visit to London comes the Orchestre National de France, evidently part of a charm offensive to remind these islands that some of the cognates of “French” include mysterious, seductive, sumptuous, elegance and passion. That at least is my conjecture drawn from the five pieces programmed by the orchestra’s Music Director, Cristian Măcelaru, whose presence on the podium wasn’t just ambassadorial, it was strikingly evangelical. The centrepiece was a rarity bracketed by two startlingly contrasting concertante pieces, which in turn were mounted on a golden pedestal formed by two repertoire favourites. Here was a deal, not for “one-in-one-out”, but a five-card trick onto which one could hang a tag marked sophistication.
Charlotte Sohy, who died in 1955, is a composer whose star is in the ascendant. Most of her output of 35 works have been recorded in the past few years and her Danse mystique was here receiving its UK premiere. It is one of her strongest pieces, extremely well-crafted and suffused with the dark passion one would expect from its title. Măcelaru kept the texture fluid, illuminating the narrative with warm highlights from the woodwinds. Two of the words used by Sohy in her own programme note were “pathetic” and “sorrowful”; the conductor took these to mean touching and tender, steering well clear of morbidness. It is such a pity she gave up writing for orchestra.
Another star in the ascendant is that of violinist Randall Goosby, like Sohy making his Proms debut. He showed his versatility in well-rounded performances of two works by composers separated by at least three revolutions: the Chevalier de Saint-George, also known as Joseph Bologne, and Ernest Chausson. The former has been gifted a reputation not supported by his surviving works. Nevertheless, his Violin Concerto in G major clearly shows that there is a good deal to admire in his works. Goosby very effectively captured the elegance of the form with his stylish playing and the warmth of his sound.
Chausson’s Poème must be one of the few works of high romanticism that doesn’t wear its heart on its sleeve. It has little in the way of overtly virtuosic gestures yet its decorations, including the string of trills which brings the impassioned narrative to a close, require the highest degree of musicality from the soloist. Goosby’s exposition of its florid gestures was a little on the cool side but he was excellent in conjuring up the mysteriousness of the Turgenev tale that fired Chausson’s imagination.
And so to the pedestal. Two of Ravel’s studies in magical orchestration: Rapsodie espagnole and La Valse. This is where all those cognates for French really strutted their stuff. In the Rapsodie muted passion spoke for the Prélude à la nuit, sumptuous colours lit up the Malagueña, beguiling seduction was stamped all over the Habanera, and exuberance gave its name to Feria. With La Valse, Măcelaru seemed to take Ravel at his own word in describing the piece as “an ascending progression of sonority”. To say it was a muscular performance would only describe the tautness of the climaxes. Meaningful descriptors for the progression of sonority would have to reach for words and phrases such as manic, adrenal, sugar-rush and a rush of blood to the head. To illustrate the vehemence of last few bars the commission would go to Francis Bacon, were he still with us.
