EIF 26: Julie Roset and Susan Manoff

Queen's Hall 27/8/26

Julie Roset (soprano), Susan Manoff (piano)

The Queen’s Hall recital of 27th August presented French soprano Julie Roset and American pianist Susan Manoff in a selection of mélodies ranging from the Belle Époque to the present day. Surtitles helpfully supplied English translation of the French lyrics. For a recital of music that was likely to be of surpassing beauty (notwithstanding the unfamiliarity of some of the composers), attendance was disappointingly sparse.

From the first song, Koechlin’s 1890 ‘M’a dit Amour', with a melodic line imitative of plainchant, much became immediately clear. Firstly, Ms Roset possesses a vocal instrument of crystal clarity, flawless purity, persuasive directness and engaging expressiveness. Secondly, the unity of the artistic partnership between the two performers was absolute. Thirdly, a third artist was present in the performance, the poet. In what followed, not once did the words slip out of focus or importance, but each mélodie manifested as greater than the sum of its parts.

The elegant flow of phrasing and dynamics in Rosenthal’s 1934 ‘Pêcheur de Lune’ reminded me of John Ireland’s ‘Sea Fever’. The first of three witty gems by living composer Isabelle Aboulker (new to me) was ‘L’inconstante’ (2003), the manifesto of a man-eating seductress, a sultry central interlude flanked by vixen personified. Hilarious. Lili Boulanger’s 1914 ‘Elle était descendue au bas de la prairie’ followed a beautiful girl walking in an idyllic landscape, picking flowers and laughing, at one with nature. Gorgeous. In Debussy’s ‘En Sourdine’, the first song from the cycle ‘Fêtes galantes’, a pair of lovers surrender to the hypnotic stillness of the forest floor where they lie. Staying with Debussy, the piano solo ‘La fille aux cheveux de lin’ is No.8 in the first book of Préludes, an elegant simple melody said to be based on a Scottish song, giving Ms Roset a rest. When she returned, another name new to me, Louis Beydts, was represented by his ‘Chansons pour les oiseaux’, a collection of 4 songs. ‘La colombe poignardée’ featured delicious agile and ornate vocalise, and the stark realisation that pain and heartbreak are hotwired into creation. ‘Le petit pigeon bleu’ is the poet longing to eavesdrop unseen on a scene of domestic bliss. ‘L’oiseau bleu’ extols the beauty of women by listing female names from mythology with some more stunning vocalise. The last song, ‘Le petit serin en cage’, was hilarious, the wise canary observing that the terrorising cat Mistigri’s corpse will ultimately nourish the very creatures on which he preyed.

After the interval, another Aboulker gem, ‘Je t’aime’ (2003) was a histrionic quasi-operatic caricature of a girl in love, elated, dejected, at death’s door, then elated again. Fabulous vocal agility and astonishing tonal range. In Rosenthal’s 1934 ‘Rêverie’, a poet walks to the seashore in a beautiful sunset, pauses, then keeps walking to his watery death. Chilling. Reynaldo Hahn’s ‘Naïs’ is very sensuous, with a girl kneeling by a river, a boy picking a flower, kissing it and then setting it afloat to carry the kiss to her. Exquisite. The last helping of Aboulker was ‘La princesse aux petit pois’, a playful graphic 2018 retelling of the ‘The Princess and the Pea’, complete with snoring. Delightfully funny. Debussy’s 1883 ‘Romance (silence ineffable)’ tells of the intoxicating pleasure of lovers drifting off to sleep together. Indeed. More Debussy in the form of a piano solo was billed as ‘Fête galante’, but I recognised it as the Menuet from the ‘Petite Suite’ in a solo piano transcription. Delicious. Enescu’s 1908 ‘Languir me fais’ is the melancholy song of a man feeling forsaken by his lover (though in fact it is just the pain of separation). Another piano solo in the form of Hahn’s 1910 ‘Le banc songeur’ was dreamy right enough. Debussy’s 1884 ‘La Romance d’Ariel’ is a sensuous song of wooing from Ariel to the distant Miranda, calling in vain for her to come to him. Poulenc’s 1960 ‘La reine de cœur’ reminded me of Keats’ ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’ – those who succumb to the Queen of Hearts’ charms are doomed. Finally, Mel Bonis’ 1912 ‘Songe (Vers le pur amour)’ offered the opposite: love as a mystical spiritual journey to eternal bliss. Fabulous.

Back to Manuel Rosenthal for the hilarious encore: his 1934 ‘Grammaire -L'adjectif qualificatif’, a setting of a poem parodying a didactic text.