Felicity Lott and Graham Johnson gave this same programme of Poulenc melodies last year in Paris on the thirtieth anniversary of the composer's death, and repeated it a few days later in London at the Wigmore Hall. I thought then, and this CD reinforces the impression, that it is one of the most perfectly chosen and balanced solo recitals I have ever come across.
Juxtaposing song cycles and single numbers from the whole of Poulenc's career, giving them in chronological order, it highlights the extreme modernity of Poulenc's choice of poetry with his universal appeal as a songwriter. Le Bestiaire from 1918, to Apollinaire's verses, is his earliest substantial group. Originally composed with a chamber-orchestra accompaniment, Poulenc later wrote that he regretted that no one ever used it. Be that as it may, it is remarkable how vivid and strong the Poulenc sound already was, when he was just 19. Poulenc particularly admired Marya Freund's interpretation of this cycle and insisted that it needed to be sung ''as gravely as any song by Schubert''. Claire Croiza with the composer accompanying (now on Pearl, 10/88) is more skittish.
Le Bestiaire was composed for soprano, but the three early Cocteau settings, Cocardes, were originally for high tenor, Poulenc said he wanted them to have ''the smell of French fried, the accordion, Piver perfume''—once one has that in mind, both pianist and singer do splendidly, with lines such as ''Lionoleum en trompe-l'oeil. Merci. Cinema, nouvelle muse''.
The three poems by ''Louise Lalanne'' were in fact by Apollinaire in collaboration with the painter Marie Laurencin (who designed Poulenc's ballet Les Biches). While writing the third, ''Hier'', Poulenc ''imagined an interior painting by Vuillard''—all these little insights add enormously to one's enjoyment of such miniature songs.
Tel jour, telle nuit was, of course, one of the great cycles composed for Pierre Bernac. I don't think I had heard it sung by a soprano before, the brighter colours of Lott's voice make it more romantic than, for instance, Souzay's interpretation (RCA, 3/69—n/a). ''Tu vois le feu du soir'' from Miroirs brulants is also a man's song, though Poulenc wrote that it ''can work if sung by a Leontyne Price''. Compared with Price (RCA, 5/93), Felicity Lott's performance is very restrained. If there is something missing from her interpretations, it is that elusive, Parisian slight hint of broadness. Pierre Bernac encouraged his pupils studying Banalites to listen to Maurice Chevalier—if they had been sopranos he would have said Marie Dubas—and if one turns to Regine Crespin's recordings of ''Chanson d'Orkenise'' and ''Hotel'' (Decca, 11/88), one can hear what Bernac means when he asks (in Francis Poulenc: The Man and His Songs; Gollanz: 1977) for ''A certain brusqueness … a touch of coarseness … it must be ironic … suddenly here is the poetry''. With the exception of ''Sanglots'', the most difficult of them, which she brings off to perfection, this group suits Lott less well than the rest.
In Louise de Vilmorin's Metamorphoses, Lott is again in her element with the lyrical nostalgia of ''J'est ainsi que tu es''. The programme continues with two late glances at Apollinaire, Voyage from 1948 (''a poem of peace'', as Bernac called it), and Le Souris, a pendant to Le Bestiaire, composed in 1956 for Marya Freund's eightieth birthday, then finally Poulenc's last major work for solo voice, La Dame de Monte-Carlo. This was composed for his foremost female interpreter, Denise Duval; originally a monologue written by Jean Cocteau for the cabaret diseuse, Marianne Oswald, Poulenc found it by chance one day on a tall and he said it took him back to the 1920s. It should be sung, he wrote, with the fervour of ''Vissi d'arte'' in Tosca: ''Sadness, pride, lyricism, violence and sarcasm''. Felicity Lott presents them all authentically.
Graham Johnson as accompanist is the worthy successor to Dalton Baldwin and the composer himself as the perfect interpreter of Poulenc's melodies. Since his trail-blazing BBC Radio 3 cycle in the 1970s, Johnson has never let Poulenc slip from the centre of his activities. Even if you already own the complete Poulenc melodies on EMI (sadly now deleted) or other recitals by Bernac, Souzay or Mady Mesple whose EMI recital—3/87, nla—includes La Dame de Monte-Carlo in its orchestral version, this disc will not disappoint.'