The reappearance of this 1956 Paray Chausson invites a brief appraisal of ‘classic’ accounts of the Symphony. The 1962 Munch is a performance of more overt passion, brilliance and dash, even if the tempo relationships in the first movement aren’t entirely convincing. And Munch’s RCA recording, though bristling with early stereo presence, is a little neglectful of Boston Symphony Hall’s ambience. Paray by contrast keeps the Symphony on an even keel, and the playing is disciplined and refined, often more so than that of Munch’s Bostonians. But for all Paray’s admirable ‘symphonic’ integrity, you may feel that Chausson’s Symphony invites a degree more daring; and his 1956 stereo recording, while decent for its years, is inclined to overload, and to cloud Chausson’s multicoloured address (editing, I imagine, removed the first note of his strings’ melody in the finale at 4'39''). Monteux’s 1950 mono recording is brilliantly lit (and bass-boosted), faithfully capturing the more transported ‘playing out’ of his San Francisco players, and of Monteux’s own relishing of the Symphony’s Wagnerian synthesis (space doesn’t permit itemizing all the Symphony’s constituent Wagnerisms, so I’ll settle for Magic Fire Music in the first movement; storm and horseback-ride in the third; and Tristan all over the place). Monteux’s choice and gearing of tempos also has that quality of ‘rightness’ you recognize within minutes – all of which prompts the thought that if there were more conductors of Monteux’s persuasion around, this Symphony wouldn’t be playing second fiddle to the Cesar Franck. Unfortunately Monteux’s Chausson is only available as part of RCA’s 15-disc Monteux Edition.
Though recorded only a year or two later, Paray’s couplings – more than half of his disc – offer Mercury sound of a much better vintage (with all the familiar maximal tonal vibrancy and minimal sense of the hall). And the Lalo items are a particular delight: a wonderfully alive, poised and pointed performance of the First Suite from the ballet Namouna (essential listening for anyone who responds to ‘lighter’ French music from Bizet through to Ibert), and a Le roi d’Ys Overture finding an ideal balance between hazy impressionism and stormy strife. This Overture is a striking example of sea and romantic legend music – a high-quality swashbuckler – with memorable solos for clarinet and cello (beautifully done here).
The Barraud Offrande is the odd-man-out in this programme, though not incongruously so, as it is, in its way, as much of a period piece: if Wagner had ‘happened’ for Chausson and Lalo, for Barraud it was music for film and radio, and the Second World War (Barraud helped to organize Resistance Broadcasting). The Offrande – literally “Offering to a Shadow” – dates from 1942, and is dedicated to a friend killed at the Front, and a brother shot by the Gestapo. By turns darkly graceful and graphically dramatic, it is an intense and moving piece, the experiences concisely expressed and well structured.'