Most of Cecile Ousset's recordings so far have been of music on the largest scale: Liszt, Rachmaninov, Mussorgsky, Prokofiev. She obviously feels no need to restrict her armoury of pianistic resource when approaching Debussy: her readings of the Preludes are generally big and dramatic, with the dynamics often marked up a degree, from p to mf and so on. She is at her most effective, therefore, in the more exuberant numbers: she has all the necessary dazzling brilliance for ''Feux d'artifice'', all the formidable power for ''Ce qu'a vu le vent d'Ouest'', she can be crisply dapper in ''Minstrels'' and can bring massive, organ-like tone to ''La cathedrale engloutie''. But even these pieces demand subtle shadows, quiet mysteries and delicate half-lights as well as sonorousness and virtuosity, and here she has rather less to offer. For a sense of the calm night sky between the exploding rockets in ''Feux d'artifice'' (and for an indication that in one passage Debussy specifically asks his pianist to relax from the headlong, toccata-like rush) you must turn to one of the other pianists listed above. Turn to them, too, to learn that Debussy's West wind has its ebbs and lulls as well as its turbulence, and that it passes over cloud-shadowed as well as storm-lit landscapes. Debussy's seaside minstrels sometimes turn aside pensively from their drollery (Egorov on HMV is particularly good at evoking this) and they are sometimes downright funny as well as grotesque (Rev on Saga is the most skilful comedian here), but these qualities are understated or ignored by Ousset.
Her weaknesses are most evident, for all her commanding strength and splendour of tone, in ''La cathedrale engloutie''. She plays it rather fast for Debussy's marking of Profondement calme and begins so loudly that the first big crescendo already takes her to ff, leaving practically nothing in reserve for the true ff climax five bars later. She pre-empts the second climax of the piece in the same way, and throughout both sets of Preludes her consistent loudness robs her of much ability to take note of such frequent markings as doux, leger or lointain. In the more elusive pieces this heaviness, combined with an occasional reluctance to allow the music to be still, can destroy any real sense of atmosphere. In ''Canope'', for example, that rapt contemplation of a Greek funerary urn, the sinuous arabesque of the melody sounds almost capricious in her hands, especially since the shading from pp to p in the third bar draws from her a disturbing mf accent. Egorov's quiet solemnity, Arrau's sense of the pensive contemplation of a rite (Philips), best of all Rev's absolute tranquility, combined with an imaginative transformation of chords into arpeggios (thus giving the music grace as well as stillness) are all greatly to be preferred. So too in ''Feuilles mortes'', where Ousset's strong line and clashing, Messiaen-like chords are impressive, but barely hint at the grave melancholy at the heart of the piece (Egorov is outstanding here, simply by observing so scrupulously the dynamic markings that Ousset ignores).
Perhaps the most revealing comparison comes in ''Les tierces alternees'': the sheer prestidigitation of Ousset's account is exciting, and as she plays one looks in mild incredulity at the profuseness of Debussy's markings—is it physically possible, when playing up to tempo, to observe this subito pp, this molto diminuendo and, good heavens, this passage marked gracieux? Egorov and Rev, without slackening the speed, demonstrate that these instructions can at least be approached, while Arrau, with wonderful grace and delicacy, demonstrates how much more the piece is than an awkward test of a pianist's dexterity; one turns back to Ousset and hears only clatter.
A word about couplings. Rev and Arrau both take a full record for each book of Preludes; in both cases they are available separately. Egorov's two-LP set also contains the ''Estampes'' and ''Reflets dans l'eau'' from the first book of Images. Ousset adds the suite Pour le piano (very nimble in the outer movements, but rather steely and rarely quiet) and a vividly virtuoso account of L'isle joyeuse. All three rival interpretations are distinguished. I especially like Egorov's subtlety and scrupulousness, but Arrau's authority and imagination and Rev's delicate fantasy are scarcely less appealing (and Rev's performances are distinctly cheaper than any of the others). All are well recorded, not least the newcomer, though here again Egorov strikes me as being placed in marginally the best-judged focus of all.'