CD Review: Enescu / Lipatti / Dinescu songs (Markus Schäfer, tenor; Mihai Ungureanu, piano) Dreyer Gaido CD21132

This release, titled Hommage à Dinu Lipatti, aims to present a new viewpoint on the great Romanian pianist. Lipatti was also a prolific composer and his output has been slowly achieving more attention. This is thanks to a few historical recordings of his piano compositions by Lipatti himself, or more recent accounts by Mario Vincenzi (Dynamic), Matei Varga (Sono Luminus). My recommendation, however, is to head straight for Luiza Borac’s 2CD set (Avie). The present release is the first time on disc for one of Lipatti’s two song cycles, presented in the context of two compatriots, George Enescu and Violeta Dinescu.

                                           

Enescu’s Sept Chansons de Clément Marot is the only work on this release to have been recorded before that is commonly available.
 
In writing notes on these songs for the Enescu Society in London, I observed that, “In 1898 Enescu’s style was still developing, but when he wrote Sept Chansons de Clément Marot a decade later it had fully matured. Having heard “a little improvised mélodie by Enescu dashed off in Fauré's class” at the Paris Conservatoire, classmate composer Charles Koechlin stated “George Enescu has an affinity with the French language that we natives might dream of.” Clément Marot (1496-1544) was a rhétoriqueur whose style combines stilted language with allegories. Enescu's genius was to take Marot’s texts and evoke a sixteenth-century French spirit without recourse to laboured pastiche, even if the piano emulates a lute occasionally. Each song possesses an individual character.” This led Enescu to claim that he thought of them as a collected set, rather than a cycle in the strict sense, as Jörg Jewanski refers to them in his notes accompanying this release.
 
There are recordings of worthy of attention going back to Enescu himself, who accompanied the Swiss-born soprano Sophie Wyss (Symposium Records 1409). Though Wyss’ occasionally unsecure pitch slightly takes away from the whole, this is balanced by the range of character and temperament that she brings to the individual songs. Enescu’s playing has a luminescent lightness of touch and varied about it that proves most involving. Canadian contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux gives a rather more pared back reading with Daniel Blumenthal (Naïve), but her subtle vibrato is used to knowing effect. Ileana Cotrubas and Geoffrey Parsons (Chandos), Sarah Walker with Roger Vignoles (Unicorn-Kanchana) and Elena Mosuc accompanied by Sabine Vatin (Arte Nova, recorded using the composer’s own baby grand piano in Bucharest’s Enescu Museum) provide interpretations that at times seem intent in taking these songs beyond the confines of the duo form, with nods to the operatic experience of the singers concerned. The same can also be said of the recording by the Romanian baritone Dan Iordăchescu, who is partnered by Valentin Gheorghiu on Electrecord in an idiomatic reading that is dramatic yet full of vocal sensitivity. If each of these recordings miss one aspect of the set, it is that the text of each song infers suitability to either a male or female voice, as the soprano Nelly Miricioiu has observed. Perhaps a record label could seek to realise this approach one day.
 
The view taken by Markus Schäfer and Mihai Ungureanu on this latest release is markedly different from its rivals – though perhaps Marie-Nicole Lemieux is the closest to sharing their vision. Schäfer and Ungureanu remove almost every vestige of emotion from their performance, minded perhaps of the courtly propriety that shaped expressions of love in Clément Marot’s world. Rather that extrovert emotions, the focus is very much on the nuances evident within Schäfer’s voice, which is not to say that textual inferences are exploited. What is immediately evident is the evenness of tempi taken across the first four songs, which is at odds with the score and the other available versions. At times, in Estreines à Anne for example, the tempo is perhaps a touch too deliberate – Enescu livens things up considerably, as do other accompanists. The humour inflected by Dan Iordăchescu in Aux damoyselles and Changeons propos is absent. Although Schäfer and Ungureanu are convincing in other songs, their performance of Du conflict en douleur fails to fully hit the mark (well, for me at least that’s the case). Other people’s opinions may vary, and should that be the case, then that’s all to the good.
 
Regarding Lipatti’s composition style, Camelia Pavlenco has written, “His particular style brings together a mix of Romanian folklore elements, post-impressionist, neoclassical and neo-baroque echoes in a modern fusion, synchronized with the paths of his contemporaries. His music is sensitive, serene and unmistakable. Five songs on poems by Paul Verlaine, op. 9, are part of a rich thesaurus of Romanian songs written on French verses.” Maybe my lack of awareness of this repertoire inclines me to more receptive to the approach that Markus Schäfer and Mihai Ungureanu take, though the humour of Green is largely absent. The texts are projected clearly and the piano part appears one that would have suited Lipatti’s own playing style. Ungueranu’s innate understanding of Romanian musical forms such as the sorrowful doină and folk-imbued dance joc bring out much needed character in bitter-sweet longing of dor, all of which are likely to be a revelation to listeners unfamiliar with the core characteristics of Romanian repertoire.
 
The Four Melodies, previously recorded by tenor Valentin Theodorian with pianist Lisette Georgescu (Electrecord – but never available on CD), were premiered by the composer accompanying the long-lived French tenor Hugues Cuénod, whose tone was similar to Schäfer's. This set presents some of Lipatti’s most searching writing. It’s highly personal music as well, and perhaps indicates where his compositions might have ventured had he lived to write more. More than in the other set of songs, both roles are equal in their partnership; recording shows singer and pianist meeting the challenge of the work head on.

 
Violeta Dinescu’s sixteen minute long single-movement song tribute to Lipatti concludes the recital. Dinescu, like many of her compatriots, is a composer too-little-known outside Romania. Thankfully though there is a slowly growing discography of her works. In this work, the song tableau is given structure by the accompaniment – which contains its own references to the writing of Lipatti and Enescu. There is a vocal challenge in the writing, though undoubtedly the German translation of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy helps Schäfer deliver a performance that deserves wider appreciation. As so often the case for a first recording, one wonders what other performers will eventually bring to the piece, but for now this will do very nicely.
 
The recording places Schäfer’s voice forward of Ungureanu’s piano, which given his slender, lyrical tenor tone is no bad thing. Ungureanu’s playing is captured faithfully too. With a playing time of barely an hour, so it’s a pity that more material is not provided to fill out the experience still further. Enescu’s songs on verses by Carmen Sylva, Fernand Gregh, Jules Lemaitre and Sully Prudhomme might have provided rich pickings in this regard. Although recorded by Dan Iordăchescu (Electrecord), they are still all-but-unknown outside Romania and demand wider exposure. Maybe, being an enterprising label, Dreyer Gaido could consider them for a further release. My only other quibble is that texts and translations are not included in the booklet. Fortunately, Jörg Jewanski’s note is highly descriptive of the works and incorporates some insights from the performers.
 
A few rather personal niggles aside, there's no denying the seriousness of intent behind this enterprising recording. For anyone wanting to explore some lesser-known yet finely crafted song-writing in performances that have to be taken on their own terms, this release is recommended.