Hahn is almost always referred to as a musician of the ‘Belle Epoque’‚ meaning the 1890s and the period up to 1914. Certainly that was when he knew his first great success‚ and most of his best­known works – his mélodies and song­cycles – belong to that time. However‚ he is just as much a composer of the 1920s‚ as his Violin Concerto and Violin Sonata‚ both recorded here for the first time‚ show in surprising ways. Both works belong to a period in Hahn’s life when he knew that strange mixture of happiness and regret that comes to us all in our fifties. The great figures he had known in his youth were nearly all dead‚ the First World War had claimed many of his contemporaries‚ and the glamour that had once surrounded his name had faded. Yet in the Paris of the 1920s he had his biggest stage successes (Ciboulette and Mozart) and entered on the longest and happiest relationship of his life with the tenor Guy Ferrant; all this seems to be expressed in the slow movement of the Violin Concerto. Here we have Hahn the successor to his teacher Massenet‚ spinning a slow‚ languorous tune that hovers between dance and delirium. It is marked throughout Tranquillo‚ Très calme‚ Amoroso and Sans rigueur. Denis Clavier plays it with just the right air of restraint: as Jean Gallois writes in the notes‚ it is ‘a song from the soul without pathos’. The better­known Piano Concerto from 1930 is in comparison a slighter work. Perhaps its curious structure – the second movement lasts less than three minutes – makes it seem a little jokey. Those who already have a recording should not be deterred from hearing this excellent performance: Angeline Pondepeyre takes the opening somewhat slower than Magda Tagliaferro in the historic recording conducted by the composer‚ but she brings out the slightly jazzy element more. (Hahn would have been horrified at the notion that‚ like Ravel‚ he had allowed himself to be so influenced‚ but it is there.) As for the Suite Hongroise‚ with its raunchy scoring for violin‚ piano‚ percussion and string orchestra‚ was it intended as a ballet? If this really was composed in the final years of Hahn’s life (the manuscript was deposited with the French Society of Authors in the year following Hahn’s death in 1947) it is tempting to see it as a sort of exuberant outpouring of energy‚ an old man’s cry of laughter in the face of destiny. The second CD starts with the Violin Sonata‚ composed in 1926. Its central movement‚ like the Piano Concerto’s‚ is fast and furious. It bears the subtitle ‘12CV; 8 cyl; 5000 revs’ apparently in praise of an automobile which took Hahn from Toulon to Paris. Denis Clavier and Dimitris Saroglou give a first­rate performance‚ the opening movement a beautiful questioning theme which gives way to a second‚ more romantic melody. The final and longest movement brings back one of the themes from the opening section‚ only this time with a sadder‚ more pessimistic mood. The Romance and Nocturne are both real salon pieces‚ and the Romance in particular has a haunting tune. As for the Piano Quintet‚ this has some of Hahn’s most passionate music in the slow movement. It’s impossible not to believe that this piece – composed in 1920­21 – isn’t a commentary on the tragic events of 1914­18. Hahn was decorated with the Légion d’Honneur and the Croix de Guerre for his service at the Front. The Quintet may be his personal reaction to the war‚ but while actually in the trenches‚ he composed music which was as far removed from the horrors as possible. His Five Little Songs‚ to words by Robert Louis Stevenson‚ were dedicated to Jan Bathori‚ who gave the first performance in Paris in 1915. It’s very difficult for modern singers to hit off the mood of deliberate naivety in these songs‚ but at least it’s good to have Catherine Dune’s performance. Most of the other songs on the third CD in this set have not been recorded before. In the case of those to words by Mary Robinson‚ it’s not difficult to see why. It would take Clara Butt or John McCormack to make these work‚ the heavy sentiment is so hard to take. Feuilles blessées‚ a cycle of 11 songs to words by Jean Moréas‚ is one of Hahn’s most ambitious works. Two of these songs – ‘Belle lune d’argent’ and ‘Fumée’ (‘Compagne de l’éther’) – have been recorded several times. Didier Henry sings them with the right mixture of robust tone and detailed articulation. The Neuf mélodies retrouvées were published a few years after Hahn’s death. Five of them are poems by Guillot de Saix‚ a couple of which‚ ‘Au rossignol’ and ‘Je me souviens’‚ were included by Graham Johnson in his Hyperion selection of Hahn mélodies a few years ago (10/96). It’s the final song‚ though‚ ‘Sous l’oranger’‚ that is the most fun‚ a ‘tango­habanera’ that seems to hark back to the Second Empire‚ that frivolous‚ dangerous period for which Hahn felt such nostalgia. The three songs from the 1934 movie of La dame aux camélias were sung in the film by Yvonne Printemps‚ but she didn’t record them. Instead two other sopranos‚ Mlles Bertin and Brégis‚ ‘covered’ at least two of them at the time for Odéon and Polydor. ‘C’est à Paris’ would make a nice encore; without ever having seen the film‚ I guess it is sung in the gambling scene. I cannot recommend this set too highly to devotees of Hahn’s music. Three CDs might seem too much to the uninitiated‚ but if you only know his songs or operettas‚ these is a lot to surprise here.