With this recital, Cyrille Dubois and Tristan Raës embarked on a long journey of exploration. It will take the French duo several years of Wigmore Hall appearances to complete their survey of Gabriel Fauré’s songs, even though it’s an Everest they’ve already scaled on record – their 3-disc set of the complete mélodies was released by Aparte two years ago. The difference is that each of the pair’s live events will place the composer’s work in a context of music by other hands. This first one was labelled, a little shakily, “Young Fauré and his masters”.
Why that reservation? It’s because one of the chosen contemporaries stuck out like a sore thumb. Théodore Dubois (no relation) may have been Fauré’s contemporary but on this evidence he was no master. Not only were relations between them frosty (according to a programme note by Emily Kilpatrick) but the settings by Dubois in this recital had nothing to teach his younger colleague. The six songs were characterised by pianistic sentimentality and a textual long-windedness that overwhelmed any musical invention. They were not even close to Fauré in quality but at least they gave the tenor’s eloquence a workout.
For the rest, it was joy unbridled. The recital ended with a rare chance to hear the ravishing Mélodies persanes that Saint-Saëns composed in 1870 to cod-Persian verses by Armand Renaud. The six settings are an aromatic delight, from the Rimsky-Korsakov-infused La Brise (Breeze) through the fantastic piano colours of La Splendeur vide (Empty splendour) to the crazed accompaniment that underpins the final song, Delirium. Tristan Raës was the master of all he purveyed; more than that, he played with brio, precision and unbridled joy. As for Dubois, he leapt from the heroic style of Sabre en main (Sword in hand) with its near-Marseillaise peroration to the slow, white-toned ghostliness of Au cimetière (At the cemetery). These were mélodies in widescreen: spectacular and awash with colour. It would be hard to imagine them better sung or played.
Dubois and Raës had opened their account with three songs by Massenet that gripped the ear through their distinction and distinctiveness from each other. Between the opening Élégie and the closing Sonnet (as operatic as one of his arias) came a song that could well be a calling card for both composer and singer. Nuit d’Espagne is a setting of the poet Louis Gallet in 3/4 time where words bounce on the rhythm and syllables clash deliciously against each other. Massenet’s dazzling technique gave the super-articulate Dubois a field day.
Three enchanting songs by Benjamin Godard had big emotions and a plethora of notes and the last of them, Je respire où tu palpites (I breathe where your heart beats) was a rapt poem of devotion set to music that was gentle and sincere. In the duo’s committed performance it was a highlight.