The one ''indispensable thing'' a recitalist needs, or so wrote Pierre Bernac, Poulenc's greatest interpreter, is to have ''a great variety of colours in his palette of sound''. What is required, he sensed, is ''a different voice for each of the songs''. Alas, that is exactly what is missing from these otherwise faithful performances of Poulenc melodies. The selection is interesting, contrasting three groups of songs Poulenc composed to words by his friend, Louise de Vilmorin, all for soprano, with three other cycles, sung by the baritone Gilles Cachemaille. To my ears the most successful performance on this disc is Cachemaille's of the Chansons gaillardes, the seventeenth-century poems that Poulenc described as his attempt to show that ''obscenity can adapt itself to music''.
Catherine Dubosc was an effective Blanche in Kent Nagano's recording of Dialogues des Carmelites (Virgin Classics, 9/92) but she has a rather one-dimensional approach. At crucial moments such as ''voila c'est ton portrait'' in ''C'est ainsi que tu es'' from Metamorphoses, one longs for that hushed quality that Bernac called ''tenderly melancholy''. Similarly in the following ''Paganini'' all the subtle little puns need more colour and interpretation than Dubosc provides. Anyone who has heard Yvonne Printemps, or Jessye Norman for that matter, in ''Les Chemins de l'amour'' from Leocadia will recognize what is missing at moments such as ''Un jour j'ai senti sur moi bruler tes mains''. In this song, the character is meant to be trying to seduce a young man who is suffering from shock; ''bruler tes mains'' should reek of sex.
The recording seems to place the voices very close, and does not flatter them. Pascal Roge's accompaniments, as one would expect, are sensitive to Poulenc's ripples of frequently opposing rhythmic and melodic phrases. The whole programme might be an agreeable introduction to Poulenc's songs, especially since EMI's complete edition is currently unavailable. The problem is that in the past they have all been recorded by great singers whose interpretations are not easily banished from one's memory. Intrepid collectors are advised to search out the composer himself accompanying Denise Duval in Trois Poemes de Louise de Vilmorin (Clio) and the marvellous Bernac Metamorphoses (HMV DB6267, reissued by the Friends of Pierre Bernac), while Gabriel Bacquier gives us the saltiest Le Bestiaire, recorded live at a recital at the Sorbonne in 1972 (Vogue ).'