In the firmament of the French mélodie repertory, stars named Chausson, Duparc, Debussy, Fauré, Poulenc shine resplendent. Somewhere below this galaxy, an endearing personality has succeeded in carving himself a modest but indisputable niche in posterity: Reynaldo Hahn (1874-1947). An emblematic figure of the Belle Époque, a link between Romanticism and the Anneés Folles, he was Marcel Proust’s lover and – above all – the composer of a handful of mélodies that have enjoyed undimmed success ever since: Si mes vers avaient des ailes, L’Heure exquise, D’une prison and À Chloris. Yet the disconcerting fact is that almost three-quarters of Hahn’s output for voice and piano have almost never been recorded (or recorded on such esoteric labels that they might as well not have been) when all mélodie specialists acknowledge his unquestioned talent in the field. This simple observation was the starting point of the Palazzetto Bru Zane’s project to record his complete mélodies for solo voice and piano, with the friendly cooperation of the baritone Tassis Christoyannis and his faithful acolyte, the pianist Jeff Cohen.

REVIEW:

Reynaldo Hahn’s contributions to the French art song tradition may be underestimated. One reason is that only a handful of his songs frequently turn up on disc and in recital. However, this splendid release devoted to the composer’s 107 solo songs aims to put the situation right.

In a certain sense, Hahn had songwriting in his blood. He was a singer of distinction and no mean pianist, gifted with an astute command of prosody and a refined ear. These factors all enhance the scope and range of his output. To hear what I mean, sample the Verlaine settings that comprise the song cycle Chansons grises. Its opening salvo Chanson d’automne resembles a clever retooling of “Dark Eyes”, while the concluding song La bonne chanson conveys a Schumann-esque urgency.

The extensive cycle Premier recueil abounds with variety. At first you might write off Reverie as an innocuous tango, yet the melodic twists and turns preclude any predictable outcome. By contrast, it’s followed by a song that’s pure, innocent Mendelssohn. Seule transpires at a lilting trot that’s slightly offset by Hahn’s telling deployment of the piano’s lower register. I especially love Paysage, where the long vocal line and sustained piano chords float alongside each other like those proverbial ships slowly passing in the night. To hear Hahn at his most harmonically sophisticated, check out the agitato qualities of Les fontaines, or the English-language cycle Love Without Wings.

Ideally one might want to experience the totality of Hahn’s songs with different voice types, yet the Greek baritone Tassis Christoyannis never lets you down. His intonation is as perfect as his diction (yes, he betrays a slight accent in the English songs, but his French is mightily impressive!), while his supple legato allows for seamless negotiation of wide intervals. He subtly adjusts his timbre and attitude to address each song’s character, from Venezia’s sardonic undertones to the understatement and simplicity he brings to L’heure exquise, which may be Hahn’s greatest hit, if not necessarily his greatest song.

Pianist Jeff Cohen proves every inch the equal partner in this endeavor; he knows exactly when to support the singer and when to assert his polished and sensitive virtuosity. A 134-page booklet includes excellent annotations plus complete texts and translations. In sum, a release that significantly contributes to the catalog, and deserves serious attention from anyone who cares about art song.

– ClassicsToday (Jed Distler)