In the year of Yvonne Loriod’s centenary, it makes sense to reissue recordings already several times reissued. Indeed, this may prove the final chance to establish her among the leading pianists of the 20th century rather than solely as a Messiaen specialist.

Loriod was in her early 30s and no stranger to the studio when she embarked on a seven-year period of recording for the Véga label, established two years earlier by Jean Bonfanti and which, over the next decade, provided extensive coverage of that more progressive aspect of French music from the post-war era. Not that Loriod was bound by any such consideration in her choice of repertoire: the first disc in this set is devoted to Mozart, with a miscellany that includes several Fantasias – the C minor, K475, even without the K457 Sonata with which is is often paired, is a marvel of logic and intuition – as well as the D major Rondo, K485.

Stealthy in her technical prowess and teasing out numerous subtleties, Loriod’s readings more than stand the test of time. Inevitably more controversial are those of Mozart’s first four piano concertos (K37 and 39-41), still often omitted from ‘integral’ cycles as they are arrangements of various sonata movements by others but which, given in partnership with Pierre Boulez and the Orchestre du Domaine Musical (ODM), exude a physicality far removed from the studied elegance of latter-day exponents. What a pity their projected cycle of all 27 concertos never progressed.

Yvonne Loriod recorded Messiaen and much more for Véga in the 1950s and ’60s

Closing this second disc is a dextrous account of Mozart’s A major Piano Sonata, K331 (‘Alla Turca’), at its best in the opening Tema con variazioni, and Liszt’s Sonata in B minor, which unfolds as a single improvisatory sweep comparable to that of Martha Argerich eight years later and with appreciably greater conveyance of this work’s formal ingenuity. Here, as elsewhere, the often unflattering sound – with its flattened-out dynamics, unwarranted shifts in perspective and all-too-audible edits – has come up satisfactorily in remastering. Loriod’s insight into the Romantic era is further demonstrated on the third disc with a selection of Chopin’s Études (Nos 5, 8 and 12 from Op 10; Nos 1-3, 5, 6, 8, 9 and 11 from Op 25; and the A flat major third study from the Trois Nouvelles études), their agility and incisiveness fairly banishing any undue sentiment. Neither does her reading of Schumann’s Novelletten, Op 21, take any prisoners and, though some may crave greater warmth or geniality, the keen focus by which Loriod renders these discursive pieces into a cumulative whole, crowned by the martial assertiveness of the eighth piece, compels admiration.

A highlight of the set is Loriod’s complete take on Albéniz’s Iberia, made just before Alicia de Larrocha’s first traversal and complementing the latter’s poise or atmosphere (Larrocha was given even less appealing sonics) in its fervid though never wanton theatricality. Those intending to sample each of the four books should hear the starkness of ‘Evocación’, the sultry unease of ‘Triana’, the steely brilliance of ‘El polo’ and, above all, the mounting and ominous verve of ‘Jérez’ in one of this latter piece’s great recordings. The same cannot be said of Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain, in which Loriod’s impetuous response is undercut by indifferent playing from the Orchestre du Théâtre National de l’Opéra de Paris and Manuel Rosenthal’s generalised direction.

Working with Boulez and the ODM, Loriod elicits a deft touch and no little humour from the dance stylisations of Schoenberg’s Suite, Op 29; Rudolf Albert takes the baton for Henze’s brief but insinuating Concerto per il Marigny that was evidently not to Boulez’s liking. The sixth disc again finds Loriod in her element: impulsive but never hectoring in Berg’s Sonata (shorn of its exposition repeat), tensile and precise in Webern’s Op 27 Variations; above all, her all-out confrontation with Boulez’s Second Sonata, whose structural rigour is harnessed to an emotional power that was only equalled 15 years later by Maurizio Pollini. The even greater interpretative challenge of Jean Barraqué’s Sonata is similarly met head-on – its febrile opening part audibly pulverised into submission, then its successor expanded to a point where sound seems to dissolve into time. More than historic documents, these latter recordings palpably attest to those uncompromising qualities of the European avant-garde, and from a time when its provocations had not ossified into dogma.

Inevitably, the works of Messiaen loom largest in this set, and although these recordings do not match the finesse or consistency of Loriod’s early 1970s remakes for Erato, their conviction and impetus are impressive. The composer admitted that, were it not for Loriod’s zeal and fearlessness, his writing would not have been as innovative or less beholden to precedent. This second recording of Visions de l’Amen (12 years after their pioneering version for the Dial label) exemplifies their respective strengths – Messiaen setting the interpretative course while highlighting melodic focus, Loriod providing motivation in terms of harmonic clarity, textural precision and dynamic attack. No less startling is Cantéyodjayâ, its complex formal conception and rhythmic intricacy dispatched with daring spontaneity. This first recording of Oiseaux exotiques – made before its textural and dynamic overhaul, with the ODM sounding not wholly unanimous under Albert – is a historical document and it is fascinating to experience so significant a work ‘in progress’.

Loriod also gave the public premieres of Messiaen’s two most ambitious works for solo piano, and these first recordings combine authority with an acute sense of discovering the music as it unfolds. The recording of Vingt Regards sur l’Enfant-Jésus was made some 12 years after that first performance, and she sets an unwavering but not inflexible course across a ‘theme and variations’ like no other; overt characterisation is eschewed in favour of a gradual yet inexorable accumulation of emotions to a ‘Regard de l’Église d’amour’ of an unequalled fervency. The recording of Catalogue d’oiseaux, by contrast, was made barely a month after the premiere. The contextualised evocation of 11 birds across five books though this may be, its signal achievement centres on the defining of the protagonist’s voice at a time of personal and (however much Messiaen would have resented the term) existential crisis. Is there a more plangent cri de coeur than that of the curlew as it becomes as one with its ominous backdrop?

The very different aesthetic aura of Sept Haïkaï – the ‘Japanese sketches’ from near the end of Messiaen’s most radical phase – emerges as scintillating and not at all forbidding in Loriod’s hands, in another ‘hot after the premiere’ recording. The ODM are again eminently assured under Boulez’s direction. If only the 1961 account of Turangalîla-Symphonie were as fine, but this first studio recording of Messiaen’s most famous work, supervised by the composer, has at best indifferent playing from the Orchestre National de la RTF, despite conductor Maurice Le Roux’s evident sympathy with the music. The first of Loriod’s three studio recordings has her on commanding form, not least as heard alongside her ondiste sister Jeanne, but Hans Rosbaud’s performance of a decade earlier (not released until 1992 on Wergo) has far superior playing by the SWF forces of Baden-Baden and a rare chance to hear Maurice Martenot’s sister Ginette playing the ondes as at the 1949 premiere in Boston. A historic document, then, but no more.

The present reissue comes with the bonus of recordings for the Boîte à Musique and Club Français du Disque. The former comprises the Eight Préludes – with which Messiaen, barely out of his teens, signalled his creative intent – and while Loriod renders them with unfailing accuracy, her angular approach and the rather cramped acoustic means that her later recording for Erato is superior. In Stravinsky’s Petrushka, originally recorded for Club Français du Disque, Loriod is partnered by Albert and Orchestre des Cento Soli in a traversal of the (aesthetically inferior) 1947 revision. A lack in precision and finesse is compensated by its acute atmosphere – most evident throughout the second tableau and then towards the end of the fourth, when the puppet’s demise and ghostly fairground apparition exudes almost tangible dread.

Alongside full details of recording dates and venues, with reproductions from original album covers or photographs of composer and pianist, the booklet has informative essays by Claude Samuel and Nigel Simeone, and a thoughtful afterword by Loriod pupil and Messiaen advocate Roger Muraro. There could be no more stylish presentation for recordings that, whatever the shortcomings in sound and orchestral playing, wear their six decades with ease. The case for Yvonne Loriod as a great pianist and wide-ranging interpreter could not have been better made. 

This article originally appeared in the Autumn 2024 issue of International Piano. Never miss an issue – subscribe today