Québécoise contralto Marie-Nicole Lemieux is an inimitable performer, a real personality who delivers with an engaging commitment to text. These qualities come across vividly in this new recording of French song-cycles that are not really song-cycles: Berlioz’s Les nuits d’été, Ravel’s Shéhérazade and, a rarity, Saint-Saëns’s Mélodies persanes. The last two exploit the 19th-century French obsession with the Orient, which could theoretically be extended to the Berlioz, depending on the geography of L’île inconnue.

In the Mélodies persanes, Saint-Saëns sets six poems by Armand Renaud. Like Les nuits d’été, the songs were not composed for the same voice – three were written for contralto, three for high tenor – but Lemieux sings all six. She is voluptuous in the teasing, seductive hip flicks of ‘La brise’, languorous in ‘La splendeur vide’. The third song, ‘La solitaire’ (dedicated to Augusta Holmès), sees the woman fantasise about her lover’s impressive weaponry – double-entendre territory and done with a nudge and a wink, before ‘Sabre en main’, in which the warrior boasts about how great his sword is. ‘Au cimetière’, scored for four cellos and tolling harp, is a really beautiful moment of reflection before the closing ‘Tournoiement’ (‘Delirium’), where the poet crashes after an opium high, ‘devoid of pleasure as of anger, shivering despite my sweat’, which sets up the perfumed atmosphere of ‘Asie’, the long opening song of Shéhérazade.

When it comes to the Berlioz and Ravel pairing, there is strong competition on disc. Many others (not me) will swear by Régine Crespin and Ernest Ansermet (Decca, 3/64), but for darker mezzo territory, Janet Baker and John Barbirolli are nonpareil. Lemieux has a lively way with the text, colouring Berlioz’s opening ‘Villanelle’ brightly at a bubbly tempo, her characterisation slightly over-egged. It’s at ‘Le spectre de la rose’, however, that nagging doubts creep in. Lemieux’s contralto is opulent, but at pressure points there are hints that the voice could spiral out of control. Things get blustery in the central section of ‘Sur les lagunes’, where high notes spread. ‘Au cimetière’ benefits from being taken swiftly by Kazuki Yamada and the fine Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte-Carlo. ‘L’île inconnue’, though, is nicely accented by Lemieux, with a sweetly phrased ‘toujours’ and a twinkle in the eye.

In Shéhérazade, the repeated opening calls of ‘Asie’ are unsteady and, again, there’s the sense of a singer trying to contain a huge instrument, with an awkward swell on the word ‘immense’. Lemieux’s excellent diction, though, leads to vivid storytelling. Yamada and his Monte Carlo forces are impressive partners, the flute especially inviting in ‘La flûte enchantée’.

If you’re looking for a pairing of the Berlioz and Ravel on disc, others may command your attention first, but if you’d like to explore the Mélodies persanes as well, this is a recommended place to start.