Eric Parkin has often given us valuable access to out-of-the-way piano repertory that doesn't deserve to be out of the way—I'm thinking of his Bax, Bridge, Ireland, Mayerl and a disc devoted to American music. Now he has turned his attention to Roussel, a composer still far too patchily known in the UK and, I suspect, in his native France as well.
I must admit I had forgotten how well he wrote for the piano. In some ways one thinks of Faure, for although the notes are quite different there is often in Roussel the same sense of determined individuality and of that quietly uncompromising kind of utterance which makes no easy gestures to woo the listener. I admit that sometimes this composer's rhythm strikes me as over-elusive and his melodic invention as grey, as in the very first piece, called ''Danse au bord de l'eau'' (Rustiques), where one looks for some of the fluidity and colour that most other composers would have given to music with this title. As for the fugue of the Prelude and Fugue, some of it is as dry as Hindemith, which is saying something (in fact, at first it could pass for Hindemith). But if one perseveres, most of this music is rewarding, and Eric Parkin plays it most persuasively.
The most immediately appealing piece here is perhaps the little one called Segovia, written for guitar in 1925 in tribute to that artist but later transcribed for piano by the composer; but other things such as the Sonatine of 1912 and the Trois pieces (a late work of 1933) have more substantial charms, while the Suite in F sharp minor (1910) is an important utterance and the biggest work here, proving that it deserves to be played more often. This issue benefits greatly from having an enthusiastic and stylish booklet essay by another sensitive supporter of deserving musical causes, Christopher Palmer—I enjoyed his note on the Fugue more than the music! The recording made in The Maltings, Snape, is faithful to the piano sound and places the instrument in good perspective.'