United Kingdom Wigmore Hall 125: Schubert, Clara Schumann, Wolf, Poulenc, Lili Boulanger, Ravel, Jeanne Bernard: Sandrine Piau (soprano), David Kadouch (piano). Wigmore Hall, London, 9.2.2026. (CC)
No interval, but a recital of two halves, the first exploring Austro-Germanic Lieder, the second over to Sandrine Piau’s native France for a mix of the well-known and the less so. Piau has impressed on multiple occasions, while her Pamina (Die Zauberflöte) in Gstaad a few years ago was unforgettable. David Kadouch is a different story, though, with his Beethoven (Triple Concerto) in the Barbican Hall with Insula in 2016 rather disappointing. At least in the earlier, Austro-Germanic part of the recital, those estimations held out.
Familiar Schubert first, though, three songs from Schwanengesang. The Rellstab setting ‘Liebesbotschaft’ found somewhat pedestrian playing from Kadouch, his three-quaver anacruses rather unanimated. In contrast, Piau – sounding wonderful – was the epitome of Schubertian grace right from the opening ‘Rauschendes Bächlein’ (Mumuring brooklet). The darker hue of ‘Standchen’ (Serenade) was emphasised by a generally slow tempo; and while Piau’s legato was a thing of wonder (as were her realisations of Schubert’s decorations of line), Kadouch remained rather monochrome and even plodding. Over to Heine for ‘Am Meer,’ and a more concerted effort, the darkening at, especially, ‘Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib’ (Since that hour my body is consumed) most effective. Yet even here Kadouch’s over-emphasis of lines in the texture was trying.
How wonderful to have songs by Clara Schumann here. First, two of the six Lieder, Op.13. Rúckert now: the easy flow of ‘Ich hab’ in deinem Auge’, opening to a delicious expansiveness at ‘Einmal die Rosen des Himmels sehn’ (To once see the roses of heaven). Only one slight problem (that was to recur sporadically): so much diminuendo at a phase ending can result in the final syllable getting rather lost, as in the first line of the final stanza (‘Und niemals werd’ ich die Wangen seh’n’; And never will I look at your cheeks …). The first song of Op.13 sets Heine, compositionally a better song but again some syllables got lost (‘Und ach, ich kann es nicht glauben’; and oh, I cannot believe …). Somewhat riven with post-Schubertian angst (and surely influenced by that composer’s Der Zwerg), Lorelei of 1843 bought out Piau’s storytelling abilities, while Kadouch gave his finest performance yet, the song rising to a nicely fatalistic and grim end.
Kadouch got his moment in the spotlight (Piau sitting to the side of the stage) with Clara’s Scherzo No.2 in C minor, Op.14. No doubting the stormy minor mode. Nods to Chopin, surely, but also a central contrasting section intensely wedded to Lied.
It is always good to have some Hugo Wolf. This maverick, unpredictable composer offered the world song after song of pure genius in myriad styles. ‘Verbogenheit’ (Withdrawal) has a lovely chromatic ’sway’. Again, a touch too much end of phase diminuendo for the diction to survive intact (‘Lasst dies Herz alleine haben’; Let this heart keep to itself) and, here, a slightly untidy pedal clearance from Kadouch. ‘Begegung’ (Encounter) is stormier, impetuous, the piano part tough and well delivered, very even and rapid from Kadouch. ‘Auf ein altes Bild’ (On an old painting) is another side of Wolf, a calm chorale ceding to a line of astonishing purity (in and of itself, and in this performance by Piau).
To France, then, and the inimitable, individual world of Poulenc. A rare opportunity to hear songs from his last song-cycle, La courte paille (The Short Straw, 1960); six of seven songs to texts by Maurice Careme. The programme booklet, text, and (after hearing the BBC broadcast) the announcer all stated the first song we heard was ’Quelle aventure!’ (What goings-on’) as the announcer said, a tale of an elephant’s adventures. But actually we had the first song of the cycle, ‘Le sommeil’ (‘Le sommeil est en voyage’; Sleep has gone off on a journey). Appropriately lullaby-like and yet Poulenc–spiced, this was simply beautiful. Poulenc ends with a sense of anticipation for the next song (the first listed): now, we got our elephantine adventure. ‘Mon Dieu!’ came Piau’s exclamations against Kadouch’s beautifully spicy contribution. Then came a song very close to a French popular music ballad, ‘La reine de coeur’ (The queen of hearts), at least until a cloud passes over. This was a beautiful performance clothed in deepest melancholy, only the arrival at ‘lune’ offering hope. ‘Ba, be, bi, bo, bu’ is a French patter song, brilliantly done here before the anglickals of ‘Les anges musiciens’ (The angel musicians’) arrived, its gentle sway balancing the opening lullaby. If ‘Le caraton’ (The baby carafe) offers Poulenc in acidic mood (Kadouch offering great staccato here), ‘Lune d’avril’ is pure beauty, heard here in a performance of equivalent power.
Lili Boulage’s Cortège for solo piano is terrific: Ladouch’s left hand was beautifully articulated, light against the more legato right. Some lovely harmonic twists around, too. Over to Greece via, of course, France: Ravel’s five Melodies populaires grecques. Kadouch’s touch was magical, suspending time in ‘Chanson de la mariée’ (The bride’s awakening), complemented by Piau’s superb phrasing. ‘Là-bas, vers l’eglise’ (Down there by the church) delivered with heavenly purity by Piau against perfectly even piano spreads and bell invocations. Over a sea of audible page turns, Piau valiantly delivered ‘Quel galant m’est comparable?’ (What gallant can compare with me?) before the magnificently bare-textured ‘Chanson des cueilleuses de lentisques’ (Song of the lentisk gatherers: ‘lentisk’ = mastic). ‘Tout gai!’ (So merry!) is the concluding song, full of perfect ‘snaps’ on the piano.
But it was the final set of songs that really intrigued. Jeanne Bernard (1895-1965), an enigmatic composer, 20 or so of whose scores are housed in the Bibliothèque nationale de France. The texts by Piere Louÿs, have fascinated a number of composers (including Debussy). No missing the sultry Impressionism of ‘Les petits enfants’ (The little children), the piano actively imitates water at ‘Tant la rivière est basse’ (The river is so low) and full of contacts derived from the text. Impressionist, yes, but wholly individual and, a one harmonic progression, decidedly Wagnerian. ‘Les contes’ (The tales) is about children sounding about a possible contemporary of Sappho ‘Dear Bilitis, tell us [again]’. Finally, another lullaby ‘Berceuse’), perfectly paced, the only problem Kadouch’s slightly messy pedal clearance right at the end.
One hour, almost exactly. Nice to hear the Bach-based ‘A Chloris’ by Reynaldo Hahn (which goes decidedly off-piste in a bare-bones diversion before returning home) and Wally Karveno’s La robe de luneas as their encores.
Colin Clarke
Schubert – Schwanengesang, D 957: Liebesbotschaft; Ständchen; Am Meer
Clara Schumann – Ich hab’ in deinem Auge, Op.13/5; Ich stand in dunkeln Träumen, Op.13/1; Lorelei (1843); Scherzo No.2 in C minor, Op.14 (1845)
Wolf – Morike-Lieder: (1888) Verborgenheit; Begegnung; Auf ein altes Bild
Poulenc – Six songs from La courte paille (1960)
Lili Boulanger – Cortège (1914)
Ravel – Cinq mélodies populaires grecques (1934-6)
Jeanne Bernard – Trois Chansons de Bilitis (1933)