Carolyn Sampson with Tapiola Sinfonietta and Pascal Rophé: Canteloube: Chants d'Auvergne
BIS Records

The first exposure to a work's performance often becomes the prismatic template through which other interpretations are measured. In my case, for example, being first enraptured by the recording of Mahler's fourth symphony by Claudio Abbado, the Vienna Philharmonic, and Frederica von Stade meant that all others would be heard with it in the background; it also would be difficult for me to objectively assess a different treatment of Stravinsky's Histoire du Soldat when John Gielgud's with The Boston Symphony Chamber Players is the one I've repeatedly returned to with delight. All of which is a roundabout way of saying that any new recording of Chants d'Auvergne by Joseph Canteloube (1879-1957) is broached against the backdrop of the first version I heard, namely the two admired volumes featuring Kiri te Kanawa from the early ‘80s. Hearing her give lustrous voice to the transfixing “Baïlèro,” arguably the most well-known of the collection's thirty songs, the first time was a magical and fondly remembered moment.

Of course others have recorded the work (all or part thereof), among them Netanya Davrath, Victoria de los Angeles, Dawn Upshaw, Renée Fleming, and von Stade, so there're many interpretations to choose from. How well, then, does this new iteration by award-winning British soprano Carolyn Sampson, French conductor Pascal Rophé, and the forty-three-member Finnish orchestra Tapiola Sinfonietta hold up? Perfectly well, their treatment a credible addition to those already available. True, theirs isn't a radical re-imagining, but creating a novel departure for the sake of it would do a disservice to the integrity of Canteloube's creation. Sampson, in other words, adopts an approach faithful to the spirit of the original and commendably so. Hearing her bring what The Observer's Stephen Pritchard called the “crystalline beauty” of “her glorious soprano” to the twenty-five selections provides multiple rewards. If her rendering is a tad less languorous than te Kanawa's, it's still sumptuous.

Starting in 1923 and in the three decades following, Canteloube gathered and orchestrated folksongs from the Auvergne region in central France where he was born (Ardèche, specifically). Respectful of the material's origins, the lyrics are in the Auvergne dialect derived from the ancient langue d'oc (Occitan), just as they were when sung by the farmers and shepherds who inhabited the mountainous setting. As is always the case when a composer uses folk material as a foundation, the question arises concerning just how much of the final creation should be credited to the composer. In this case, Canteloube retained the songs' melodic armature but built upon it with interludes, intros, and postludes and by writing elaborate arrangements rich in woodwinds. In terms of lyrics, the songs deal with everyday matters—courtship, work, longing, etc.; the musical effect, on the other hand, is in many cases sublime. It's not uncommon for a line such as “Oh! Ah! What shall I do? I have no hat” (“Oï ayaï”) to be clothed in the most alluring melodic garb.

The songs repeatedly charm for their humble beauty, life-affirming spirit, pastoral tone, and yearning melodies. Dance pieces (bourrées), lullabies (“Brezairola,” “Per l'èfon”), shepherd songs (“Baïlèro”), work songs (“Passo pel prat”), and humorous vignettes (“Lou coucut”) appear, with a solo woodwind often used to effect transitions from one to the next. Consider, for instance, how splendidly oboe and clarinet respectively introduce the rousing “Ound' onorèn gorda?” and “Obal din lou Limouzi” from the first series' Trois bourrées.

While all seventy minutes of the recording register strongly, some moments stand out. “La pastoura als camps” introduces the release strongly with Sampson alternating seamlessly between liveliness and sensitivity and the Sinfonietta matching her every gesture. “Baïlèro” is as entrancing as ever, with the the slow, graceful lilt of the vocal and backdrop casting a dream-like spell and the patient execution of the performance amplifying its hypnotic effect. The haunting “Pastourelle,” “Jou l'Pount d'o Mirabel,” “Là-haut, sur le rocher,” “La delaïssádo,” and “Uno jionto postouro” match it for impact when Sampson luxuriates in their stirring vocal melodies and delivers them so poignantly. The delicacy of which she and the orchestra are capable is captured in their exquisite rendering of “N'aï pas iéu de mio”; playfulness is also abundant (“Lou boussu,” “Malurous qu'o uno fenno,” “Tchut, tchut,” “Lou coucut,” “Hé! beyla-z-y dau fé!”).

October 2021