Socrate

Description

Do not run away! At first, what Barbara Hannigan’s singular soprano does in the Three “nude” Mélodies of 1886 may frighten you. Rightly so, and it may also irritate you with the deliberately foolish tone she adopts in the “Three Other Mélodies.” Once the “Hymn for Sar Peladan” is over, and if you have survived, will you dare to enter into the reason this record exists: Socrate. Female voices are rare there; long ago Suzanne Danco had attempted it in the orchestral version, at the request of Darius Milhaud, then, returning to the version with piano, Hugues Cuénod had literally appropriated the work. Well, in the modal recitation of Socrate, Hannigan is magnificent in her attentiveness, poetry, and allusion, and suddenly Reinbeert de Leuw’s piano, so steeped in Satie’s language, no longer accompanies her, but joins with that very clear timbre. The whole album gives off an odd fragrance, something disconcerting that is enough in the “Satie spirit” for one to accept its radical intent.
This Socrate was commissioned from Erik Satie by Princess de Polignac in 1916. Satie completed his composition in 1918, the year of its premiere. A composition for chamber orchestra and four solo voices, the work is here reduced to its voice-piano version. Satie abandons his usual language: implicit subversion, worldly veneer, fanciful inspiration, for a writing that is aporetic, stripped to the extreme, reduced to a linear recitative supported by the harmonic punctuations of the piano. The libretto in three sequences is made up of fragments of Platonic dialogues (in Victor Cousin’s translation). The work calls for an “impeccable vocal incarnation” (Antoine Goléa) from the singer. She must neither “speak” nor whisper, but her incarnation (which replaces the four voices originally assigned) must restore the dramatic evolution of the score. On the cover, the black-and-white photos of the two performers immersed in a melancholic reverie are symptomatic of their intimate complicity. Reinbert de Leeuw (a great connoisseur of the “Master of Arcueil”) has put himself in Satie’s shoes and Barbara Hannigan (whose versatility is well known) in those of Suzanne Valadon, his mistress. Their duo works so well that they perform this Socrate by transforming the Platonic narrative into a love duel. Whatever she sings, Hannigan’s voice has an exceptional narrative charge (warmth, projection), here doubled by a careful articulation of French. Her luminous timbre brightens the few brief melodies that complete the program. Conversely, Reinbert de Leeuw’s piano respects the minimal accompaniment imposed by the scores, rhythmically steady, alternately flat and colorful. Refined presentation from the Winter & Winter label, but one regrets the absence of the texts.