Classical Notes - Classical Classics - Ravel's Daphnis et Chloe, by Peter Gutmann The final gasps of orgasm (soprano and alto parts) (from Kramer's Classical Music and Post-Modern Knowledge) The magical opening evokes primeval wonder as instruments and voices grope for melody amid searching harmonies, their ebb and flow dissolving into a meltingly lovely theme that awakens in wonder and innocence as the materials become more refined and begin to coalesce. The dances that follow begin in gentle, teasing flirtation, then mock Dorcon more pathetically than cruelly, present Daphnis lightly and in uncertain rhythm so as to portray his innocence, uncertainty and inexperience in courtship, and end fitfully with his bewilderment at Lyc�ion's advances. The former motifs are torn in explosive dissonance as the pirates attack, and then subside into a suffusion of mystery as the nymphs stir to life (with help from the wind machine) and comfort Daphnis.

The wordless chorus reverts to timeless mystery to introduce the second tableau, and swiftly builds to an outburst of the pirates' gruff vigor, their incessant stomping rhythm disrupting the bittersweet melancholy of Chlo�'s dance of supplication. The music then subsides into tense expectation before Pan decisively restores order. For those seeking a more concentrated experience in keeping with the demands of our hurried times, the third tableau (often performed alone as the second suite) provides an abundant and satisfying taste of the splendor of Ravel's achievement. As day breaks, nature slowly stirs to life - rivulets flow in harp arpeggios, birds chirp in the flutes, shepherds begin to stir, a gorgeous string theme evokes the sheer beauty of pristine nature, and the sun rises to its full brilliance as a simple repeated sequence builds into an astoundingly powerful climax. Indeed, the music of the opening scene is so masterfully suggestive by itself that a visual depiction on stage seems doomed to compromise its impact.

John Culshaw views it as "Ravel as a man searching for a means to express the essence of beauty and finding it." Indeed, it just might be the most gorgeous few minutes of orchestral music ever written. Next, the gentle interplay of the pantomime provides a needed respite and at the same time is full of evocative melodic shreds to enable us to picture the narrative it was meant to accompany. The electrifying final pages simply defy description, other than to return to our initial thought, as the bacchanal surges and throws off constant sparks of euphoric energy as it inexorably builds to a final explosion of unbridled ecstasy. Since we have few hints as to Ravel's own preferred orchestral style, we are fortunate that a remarkable number of the first three decades of Daphnis recordings were led by conductors who had significant ties to the composer. Victor Seroff considered him a "very poor conductor" who didn't succeed in bringing out the proper perspective of a piece, either overall or in the details, which he attributes to Ravel's lack of experience as a performer and a resultant lack of authority.

Ravel conducting Indeed, he quotes Ravel as having said after a concert he had led: "I had no idea what was going on." Even during festivals of his music, Ravel generally declined the baton. Our only recording of Ravel as conductor is barely relevant - a rock-steady 1930 Bolero, but even then he was assisted by a more experienced conductor, Albert Wolff, his tempo is far slower than his own indication in the score, and in any event that piece is so atypical that little can be inferred - Ravel described it as "orchestral effects without music" and indeed it's nothing more than a single melody wending its way through the instruments.

(A 1932 recording of Ravel's Piano Concerto in G with Marguerite Long, routinely attributed to Ravel, actually was conducted by Pedro de Freitas-Branco, who told the story of Ravel attempting to lead a "filler" side of his Pavane at a tempo that would have lasted nearly seven minutes, whereupon the producer took him out for a drink, Freitas-Branco cut the side speeded up to 4:32, and Ravel approved it.) Although Ravel insisted that conductors adhere to the score (and even disparaged Toscanini, who held the score sacrosanct, as "one of those incorrigible virtuosi who go about daydreaming as if the composer didn't exist") he complimented others' interpretations and, indeed, even the players in his Bolero take substantial expressive liberties (including a wayward trombonist), albeit without altering the tempo.

Several recordings that he supervised or approved display considerable tempo variations and, indeed, his piano professors at the Conservatory had criticized his playing as having "a great deal of temperament," "a tendency to pursue big effects," being "overly-enamored of violence" and "lapsing into exaggeration" (although from their rigid academic perspective the degree of Ravel's feeling may have been rather mild). Perhaps more revealing than his Bolero is the highly inflected 1927 recording he supervised by the International String Quartet of his Quartet in F, the score of which, like Daphnis, is full of expression markings (many of which the performers ignore). Perhaps as a tribute to its essential continuity, no recording of the complete Daphnis score arose until well into the LP era (although there were plenty of Bruckner symphonies chopped into 78 rpm side lengths).

Before then, the only Daphnis recordings were of the two suites that Ravel had extracted from the full score - a Suite # 1, comprising the Nocturne from Tableau I and the Interlude and Danse guerriere from Tableau II; and a Suite # 2, essentially the entirety of Tableau III (excepting only a ten-bar introduction). The first Daphnis recording was of the Suite # 2, cut in late 1928 by Serge Koussevitzky leading the Boston Symphony Orchestra (Victor 78s, Pearl and BSO CDs; 15:33). Robert Cowan aptly describes it as "strong on sonority but weak on impulse," and, indeed, while it presents a smooth, blended evolution of orchestral color (with considerable portamento), it lacks the intensity of a 1944-5 Koussevitzky/Boston remake (Victor 78s; BMG CD; 14:58), which boasts cleaner articulation, a more powerful daybreak climax and a vastly more incisive general dance, abetted by more detailed, if thinner, sonics.

Perhaps the reason for Koussevitzky's earlier reticence lay in a 1924 interview in which the composer had criticized the conductor as "a great virtuoso who always has a very personal style of interpretation, sometimes admirable, but sometimes mistaken." Later, Koussevitzky defended his approach: "A talented artist, no matter how accurately he follows the markings of the score, renders the composition through his own prism, his own perception, his own temperament and emotion. And the greater the emotion of the interpreter, the greater and more vivid the performance." The next Daphnis recording, also of the second suite, was from Philippe Gaubert conducting the Concerts Straram orchestra (March 1930, French Columbia 78s, VAI CD; 15:45).

Koussevitzky had commissioned Ravel to prepare the now-famous orchestration of Moussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition in 1922, and had honored the composer with a festival and shared the baton of his orchestra during Ravel's only American tour in 1928, but Gaubert's bond with Ravel went even deeper - he had conducted Daphnis for its 1921 revival at the Paris Opera and, an acclaimed flutist, played under Ravel's personal supervision in the 1924 recording of Ravel's ravishing Introduction and Allegro. Reportedly, this Daphnis was the only one Ravel had in his personal record collection. Chief conductor of the Paris Opera and Conservatoire orchestras, Gaubert affords an opportunity to hear a quintessentially French reading.

While his 1936 recording of the Tchaikovsky Pathetique is full of rich emotion, deep expression and sharp inflection and attests to his versatility, his Daphnis (as well as a 1927 La Valse that minimizes the acidic undertone) opts for smoothly flowing phrasing, finely judged balances and an overriding tenderness that present an evolutionary sense of continuity and unity, all within an aura of nonchalant diffidence that, more than any other trait, has come to define the French sensibility. Interestingly, the first Koussevitzky and Gaubert recordings are remarkably similar in feeling, from the barely audible twittering birds, which form more of a grace-note to the wonder of dawn than accurately following the score's specification of en dehors (prominently), to the deliberately attenuated climaxes, which emphasize classical grace over heart-pounding drama. Nearly all of the subsequent 78-era studio recordings of the second suite came from American orchestras and labels.

Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra (1939; Victor 78s; 15:20) boasts beautiful playing with abundant feeling (perhaps surprisingly so, from a severely under-rated conductor) and a superbly detailed recording - but with the first side break placed disastrously right in the middle of the daybreak climax; Artur Rodzinski and the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra (1941, Columbia 78s; Lys CD; 14:20) is briskly paced, but rather brusque and detached; Fritz Reiner and the CBS Symphony (1945; V-Disc; Lys CD; 16:48) is bland overall, but with an uncommonly measured and patient pantomime section; and Arturo Toscanini and the NBC Symphony (1949; RCA LP, BMG CD; 16:10) is precise but rather dry and mechanical with potent climaxes (albeit with considerable overload distortion); a 1938 NBC concert had allied equal power with more pliant phrasing. More interesting interpretatively were several concert readings, although none was released at the time.

Willem Mengelberg and the Concertgebouw Orchestra of Amsterdam (1938; Audio Legends CD; 16:05) is colorful and expressive, reveling in the kaleidoscopic marvels of Ravel's textures and orchestration); Wilhelm Furtwangler and the Berlin Philharmonic (1944, DG CD; 16:30) is dark and impassioned, with scorching climaxes fueled by fearsome tympani, although relieved with far more repose and gentleness than one might expect in light of the oppressive time and place - perhaps both a reaction to and respite from the horrors of war - and, ironically, bridging the vast cultural gap between the music of France and that of Germany that he was so desperately trying to preserve; and Guido Cantelli and the New York Philharmonic (1951, AS Disc CD; 14:45) displays precision inherited from his mentor Toscanini, but youthfully fleet without seeming driven or rushed; a 1954 Rome RAI concert (Fonit Cetra LP, 13:35) is even faster, enlivened with a sense of constant forward

 momentum).

The far less popular Suite # 1 had been introduced and published in 1911, the year before the premiere, as a preview of the full ballet. Fittingly, its first recording came from Piero Coppola (1934, Gramophone 78, Lys CD). Although Italian, Coppola directed the French branch of HMV and was tasked to achieve a nearly complete set of the Debussy and Ravel orchestral music. Cut toward the very end of that project, his Suite # 1 comprises only the Nocturne and Danse guerri�re. Heard together nowadays the juxtaposition seems jarring, but in practice his omission of the interlude (undoubtedly to fit the rest onto a single 78) hardly mattered, since the disc had to be flipped over, creating a natural separation between the two parts.

Leading the premiere orchestra in France at the time, the Orchestre de la Soci�t� des Concerts du Conservatoire, Coppola's reading is moderate and eminently sensible, atmospheric without any abrupt emphases or shifts, a style that came to be respected as authentic, not least by Ravel himself, who had anointed Coppola to cut the first recording of his infamous Bolero just days before the composer would direct his own rival edition. (Unlike many conductors who disdained recordings, as a loyal employee of HMV Coppola was quite conscious of how to sound good on records and produced many fine results; his 1927 Pavane pour un infante d�funte, sped up to 4� minutes to fit on a single 12" side, has a refreshing wistful quality rather than the funereal weight it often bears.) Strangely, despite the scope of HMV's goal, Coppola never recorded the Suite # 2. Two further recordings of the Suite # 1 arose in 1946.

Charles Munch followed in Coppola's footsteps by leading the same Orchestre de la Soci�t� des Concerts du Conservatoire in the Nocturne and Danse guerri�re (plus a fine Suite # 2 - Decca 78s; Lys CD) and Pierre Monteux led the San Francisco Symphony in the entire first suite, including the Interlude which, in context, provides a fitting transition between the languid Nocturne and urgent Danse (Victor 78s; BMG CD). Their significance transcends matters of interpretation, as they served as heralds of these important conductors' recordings of the full ballet. The Monteux recording has further significance as the first to include the wordless chorus that seems such a crucial component of the score (and, while rare in the suites, is always included in recordings of the complete ballet). Therein lies a tale.

The full score, as published, contains an appendix providing an orchestrated version of the a capella Part II vocal introduction with a directive that it be used "for performances without choruses." Yet when Diaghilev mounted the ballet in London in 1914 and dispensed with the chorus as a needless expense Ravel was furious and wrote an open letter to the London papers, calling the all-orchestral alternative "a make-shift arrangement � in order to facilitate production in certain minor centers" and chided Diaghilev for considering London to be one: "I consider the proceedings to be as disrespectful to the London public as well as toward the composer." The upshot - Ravel bound Diaghilev to a contract requiring the use of a chorus in all further productions. Among the dozens of later recordings of the Suite # 2, two seem of exceptional interest.

Leopold Stokowski and the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus (1970, London Phase 4 LP and London CD; 16:40) give a glorious, deeply engaged reading (although it may strike some as overly mannered) in which Stokowski and the engineers seemingly spotlight every player of every note, and it's one of the very few Suites with chorus - but why, oh why, did he have to spoil the end by tacking on a gratuitous a capella choral swell leading to an orchestral sting? For exquisite polish and sheer ravishing beauty, no other recording can compare to Sergiu Celibidache and the Munich Philharmonic Orchestra and Chorus ([date undetermined], Originals CD; 19:10). Their luxuriant unfolding of the score and the rivetingly powerful climaxes derive their full force from the sensational intrinsic balances among the musical materials.

Sadly, it's hard to find and, to make matters worse, of the eight other concert recordings of the Suite # 2 listed in Celibidache discographies, I can vouch that the 1970 RAI Milan (Finit Cetra CD) and 1974 ORTF (Exclusive CD) are poorly-played and -recorded and don't even come close. EMI's omission of this (and superb concerts of the Sibelius Second and other significant works) from their 36-volume posthumous Celibidache Edition is criminal. Ernest Ansermet, Orchestre de la Suisse Romande (Decca, 1952; 53:30) 1952 finally brought a crucial development - the first of what soon would become a bounty of recordings of the complete ballet. The source was propitious. Ernest Ansermet (1883 - 1969) had succeeded Monteux as conductor of the Ballets Russes in 1915.

Throughout his long career, while not immune to criticism of uninspired routine in other genres, his recordings of full-length Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and other ballets were (and remain) exemplary, serving as constant reminders that these works were not conceived as symphonies or even tone poems but rather intended for the dance. Indeed, an essential component of Ansermet's style was his rhythmic steadiness and moderated transitions, which are vital to a successful presentation of ballet in which the dancers depend upon metric regularity and the absence of impulsive surprises in order to coordinate their moves. Ravel, who rarely spared criticism of those who led his works, praised Ansermet's understanding of La Valse as "perfect" and cited in particular his "rhythmic suppleness." Moderate, steady and beautifully proportioned, this is at once a literal reading as well as a thoroughly convincing treatise of advocacy for the unadorned score. The conductor and composer were both close friends and an ideal esthetic match - Ansermet's art has been called "the poetry of precision," while he considered Ravel's poetry to have crystallized from melodic and rhythmic figures.

The Orchestre de la Suisse Romande, which Ansermet founded in 1918 and led for nearly a half-century, is at one with its guide. Indeed, Ansermet is one of those extremely rare conductors whose style barely changed over the course of a 50-year recording career - aside from some slightly greater incisiveness, his first eight sides (with the Ballet Russes Orchestra in 1916) already boast the extraordinary balance, rhythmic vitality and precision that would typify his style from the acoustic to stereo eras. A final marvel is the exquisite sharpness and sonic detail of the recording itself, which serves as an object lesson for those who sadly think of the monaural format as incapable of conveying the "realism" of stereo (or quad or surround, for that matter). Indeed, it still sounds wonderful, perhaps in part because Ansermet reportedly adjusted dynamics and balances to sound well in a living room.

Ansermet and the Suisse Romande remade Daphnis in stereo in 1965, but while that version is the one generally reissued and heard nowadays, it was slightly slower and more diffuse (by then the conductor was 82) and its gain in spatial soundstage is offset by a duller sound that, although perhaps more "natural," loses the riveting cutting-edge brilliance of the earlier one. In any event, with Ansermet the floodgates opened - from that point on, with very few exceptions, nearly every significant Daphnis recording would be of the full ballet. D�sir� Inghelbrecht, Choeurs et Orchestre National de la Radiodiffusion Fran�aise (1953, Ducretet-Thomson LP, Testament CD; 53:30) Remarkably, the very next complete Daphnis provided the opposite side of the interpretive coin - overt drama fueled by vastly powerful emphatic surges, dynamics and tempo shifts.

The contrast with Ansermet is apparent from the very outset - Ansermet's carefully groomed and layered evolutionary sonic swells become sharp highly-charged explosions of surging vitality - and later in the pirate invasion Ansermet's polite tingling bells become a clanging alarm. While such an approach would seem overwhelming as accompaniment to ballet, it seems fully appropriate to sustain interest as a purely auditory experience, shorn of the complementary narrative stage action, especially in the rather lengthy, musically uneventful and somewhat barren stretches of the first part. Yet the emotional surfeit could be deemed antithetical to Ravel's fundamental delicacy. Even so, Inghelbrecht's approach cannot be discounted as that of an outsider - as a member of the Apaches he had the longest relationship to Ravel of any conductor on record. Indeed, despite personal coolness that developed, Ravel called him "a remarkable musician," was "struck by [his] exceptional skill and understanding" and in 1910 personally recommended him for the prestigious position of conductor of the Parisian Th��tre des Arts.

(Inghelbrecht was even closer to Debussy, of whose works he made numerous recordings that tended to be more leisurely than his Daphnis, although still quite trenchant, and are still vaunted for their "French" quality, as is fitting for a musician who rarely ventured outside his native land and played a leading role in its culture, founding its first permanent orchestra, the famed (and aptly named) Orchestre National de France.) In any event, whether or not aligned with the composer's underlying intentions, for better or for worse it cannot be denied that Inghelbrecht's approach has become increasingly dominant in our age of home listening, increased distractions and reduced attention spans in which a galvanic recording has to bear the entire burden of our experience. Antal Dorati, Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, Macalester College Choir of St. Paul (1954, Mercury LP; 51:15) The following year brought yet another contrast, geographically and culturally distant from European tradition. Although the timing would suggest a more urgent infusion of energy than Dorati's predecessors, his interpretation is rather neutral and leaves an impression more of dispassionate mechanics than persuasive engagement.

Despite the breadth of his repertoire and the strength of his recorded legacy (including the first integral set of the Tchaikovsky ballets), Dorati seemed to have had little empathy for French music, and in retrospect it seems a shame that the first American opportunity to record the complete Daphnis had not been given instead to his label-mate Paul Paray, whose 1961 reading of the Suite # 2 with the Detroit Symphony surged with power and grace. The recording itself, though, is notable for its detail without the clinical precision of the Ansermet, and is infused with the natural ambiance of an actual auditorium, due in large part to the use of Mercury's famed single microphone technique that was intended to replicate the sound that would be experienced by a theatre audience. The album was enhanced with a gatefold format featuring a cover drawing by Aristide Maillol and a booklet with further illustrations and extensive text. Charles Munch, Boston Symphony Orchestra, New England Conservatory Chorus and Alumni Chorus (1955, RCA LP, BMG CD; 54:25) By reputation a French specialist, Munch actually was Alsatian and injected considerable energy into his readings of a wide swath of the traditional repertoire.

Although recorded and eventually reissued in "Living Stereo," initially his 1955 taping was published only in monaural format on vinyl. As had the Dorati record, the Munch album added an artistic element, here with its booklet containing five rather straightforward sketches by a very young Andy Warhol. Munch and his Boston forces rerecorded Daphnis in 1961, but the effort hardly seemed worthwhile, as the two versions are barely distinguishable (and in fact all the CD reissues so far are of the earlier one, as if to suggest that the successor was superflouous). In both performances Munch has his chorus vary their sounds - rather than a uniformly bland (and emotionally inappropriate) "aah," they cry out "hi-ya" in the pirate abduction and intone a soothing "loy loy" in the a capella interlude.

But both studio efforts are thoroughly eclipsed by a staggeringly vital July 28, 1961 concert that was issued all too briefly on a 1988 Music and Arts CD (before it was forced off the market under the apparent fear - highly justified - that it would overshadow the authorized studio products) in which orchestra and chorus, despite a few unavoidable slips, play their proverbial hearts out. The intensity is not derived from interpretive exaggerations or bizarre eccentricities. Rather, everything fits together just as it should, but with a heightened attention to expression and added jolts of vigor that have an overwhelming cumulative impact. Just consider the sunrise that opens Part III - it's not just a glorious wash of sound, but Technicolor, 3-D and I-Max. The fidelity is spectacular and the final minutes are emotionally draining. While we all fantasize over how we would improve a performance if only we were in charge, in this instance I simply cannot imagine a more effective rendition. And I'll give critics who still drench the Munch studio recording in superlatives the benefit of the doubt that they've simply never heard this live one.

It's one of those astounding, soul-shaking experiences after which no other recording ever sounds quite the same. Beg, borrow or steal a copy (but not mine, please). Pierre Monteux, London Symphony Orchestra, Chorus of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden (1959, Decca/London LP and CD; 52:00) After a brief hiatus, 1959 brought two recordings of immense historical significance. Monteux had prepared and conducted the world premiere of Daphnis 47 years earlier. Here, at age 84, near the very end of his career, he finally documented his interpretation. Like Ansermet, Monteux was one of those extremely rare artists whose interpretive outlook barely changed over a long creative lifetime. Toscanini, Walter, Klemperer, Bernstein, Celibidache and many others evolved so radically that their earlier work is of an entirely different nature than their final maturity.

But we can surmise from the continuity of his multiple recordings of other works that Monteux's 1959 Daphnis probably is a fair representation of how he led the premiere, under the close guidance of the composer, and thus may be as near as we can ever get to Ravel's own approach. The overall impression is one of moderation. While often praised to the heights as the finest of all Daphnis recordings, I must respectfully disagree - everything is in its proper place, the score is followed faithfully, the musicianship is impeccable and the recording is well-balanced, yet something intangible and essential seems missing - the human feeling that others mine and convey. Perhaps this is how Ravel wanted his work performed, and perhaps this is an ideal presentation to accompany the ballet for which it was intended, but as a purely auditory experience it seems too well-groomed.

Manuel Rosenthal, Orchestre du Th��tre National de l'Op�ra de Paris, Choeurs de la Radiodiffusion T�l�vision Fran�aise (1959, Vega LP, Ades CD; 61:00) Rosenthal's bond with Ravel was the most intimate of all - in 1926 he became the last of Ravel's very few students and remained one of his closest associates. Ravel even arranged for his conducting debut (of Rosenthal's own works). While we have no way of knowing if his esthetic ideals had departed from those of his teacher by the time of this recording, his Daphnis is stunning for its unparalleled depth of atmosphere, which suggests throughout a constant dream-state. It's truly remarkable how much difference a relatively slight slackening of the tempo can make in the quiet portions. In the opening, nocturne and daybreak sections time seems suspended, and Chlo�'s dance of supplication gains heart-rending poignancy. Yet the overall timing is somewhat deceptive, as Rosenthal's energized sections are substantially faster than the norm, and as the result of the contrast seem to have even further urgency.

Thus Chlo�'s dance seems all the more moving after a frenetic pirate's dance, and the finale seems wilder simply for having followed an exquisitely tender pantomime. Dynamics, too, are extreme, beginning in bare audibility and mounting to shattering climaxes. Along with Munch's unbridled energy, Rosenthal's atmospheric essay is a remarkable and striking presentation. His direct relationship to Ravel, and Monteux's to Daphnis, leave us with the intriguing question of which, if either, of their diametrically-opposed approaches is the more authentic, or whether the composer's own stylistic ideals lay somewhere in between. Leonard Bernstein, New York Philharmonic, Chorus of the Schola Cantorum (1961, Columbia LP, Sony CD; 51:25) Next came the first all-American complete Daphnis - not only an American orchestra but a native-born conductor as well. At the risk of reading too much into that, the result seems quintessentially American - swift, bold, bright, vivid, brash and rather neutral in the sense of being stripped of foreign influence, without any pretense of emulating other cultural approaches.

Bernstein presses forward with constant onrushing activity and no pause for sentimentality. While he later would record with the Orchestra National de France in 1975 (including a sensuous, atmospheric Ravel collection - but no Daphnis), his work here has a fresh-scrubbed quality and is propelled by his characteristic rhythmic flair. At the further risk of stereotyping, his approach is characteristically youthful, not in the sense of reckless audacity but rather in its attention to execution and a fair degree of impatience. Indeed, one of the undeniable virtues of this reading emerges by comparing Bernstein's age at the time (41 - very young for a world-class conductor) with those of all but Dorati who preceded him with full recordings (Ansermet: 69; Inghelbrecht: 73; Munch: 64; Monteux: 84; Rosenthal: 55). Perhaps this is how Monteux would have led it at the premiere. For a relatively neutral, speedy performance it's a fine introduction, but it's also somewhat superficial, as other versions have more to say.

Like Dorati's, it's clearly a concert-hall rendition, too fleet to accompany stage action, but with a far greater sense of engagement. Jean Martinon, Orchestre de Paris, Choeurs du Th��tre National de l'Op�ra (1974, EMI LP and CD; 57:00) It seems fitting to include this last recording by a conductor who had been associated with the composer - Martinon had played violin under Ravel's direction, and thus at least was well aware of Ravel's own style, even if he didn't absorb and adopt it. Indeed, he described Ravel's conducting as being "in contrast to the rather sensual character of his music. Ravel demonstrated a neo-classic temperament in his conducting. His interpretations were curiously rigorous." An acclaimed composer in his own right, Martinon's style was far more expressionistic than impressionistic, and more spiky than sensual.

Yet the Debussy and Ravel recordings he cut in his final years reflect neither of these stylistic influences and sound French to the core - relaxed, laid-back and rather conventional, with few distinguishing characteristics, at first somewhat disappointing in its lack of flair and definition (especially in a bland and listless pirates' dance), but perhaps compensating with integrity appropriate to its role as accompaniment to a ballet. The recording, too, is thoroughly blended and somewhat indistinct - perhaps evoking the ambience of a theatre filled with a sound-absorbing audience rather than the controlled sonics of a studio. A decade earlier Martinon had cut the Suite # 2 with the Chicago Symphony (RCA LP, BMG CD). The timings are virtually identical but the earlier suite emerges as more powerful and detailed. Perhaps they serve to exemplify the difference between American and French ensembles and the approaches of their recording teams.

Pierre Boulez, (1) New York Philharmonic, Camarata Singers (1974; Columbia LP, Sony CD; 54:35); (2) Berlin Philharmonic, Rundfunkchor Berlin (1994; DG CD; 56:50) Boulez, too, was a French composer/conductor. Indeed, he is the most acclaimed and influential "serious" composer of our time, venturing way beyond exploring extensions of conventional tonality into serial, aleatory and electronic idioms. Yet the vast bulk of his concert programs and recordings are of less venturesome fare, perhaps dictated as a matter of practicality more by audience than personal taste. While his Berlioz, Mahler and Bruckner often seem cold and calculated (presumably out of a fellow-composer's extreme respect for the sufficiency of the scores), his Debussy and Ravel run the full gamut of emotion, with extreme tempos both urgent and patient.

More than any other distinctive feature, Boulez brings out the full splendor of Ravel's variegated orchestration, with constant focus on the ever-shifting and evolving instrumental textures, while maintaining a clear, "modern" sound - analytical without being clinical. His two Daphnis recordings, each part of Debussy and Ravel cycles, are quite similar in approach, although I would give the edge to the Berlin version for its marginally deeper sense of repose, superior execution and sonics that suggest a more natural balance and ambience. A CD bonus is a remarkable performance of Ravel's La Valse which achieves a tense and unsettling balance between Viennese grace and post-war cynicism. Charles Dutoit, Montreal Symphony Orchestra and Chorus (1980, Decca LP and CD; 55:55) During his quarter-century as the head of the Montreal Symphony, Dutoit achieved a miracle akin to Paray in Detroit - creating one of the great French orchestras out of a provincial ensemble in an unlikely New World locale. Recorded toward the outset of his tenure, his Daphnis evokes Monteux's but without the historical resonance.

Reflecting Ravel's symphonic approach, the entire score flows smoothly together into a beautifully integrated whole. As with Monteux, there's nothing distinctive or challenging here - just an opportunity to enjoy the sheer sound of this gorgeous score. And when all is said and done, what could possibly be wrong with that?

As usual, I'll take both the credit and the blame for the musical judgments, while acknowledging for the factual information and quotations - and recommending for further reading - the following sources: Daphnis & Chloe by Victor Borisov-Musatov (1901) Davies, Lawrence: Ravel - Orchestral Music (BBC Music Guides, 1970) Downes, Edward - notes to the Bernstein/NY Philharmonic LP MS-6260 (Columbia, 1961) Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1954 edition) Ivry, Benjamin: Maurice Ravel - A Life (Welcome Rain Publishers, 2000) Kramer, Lawrence: Classical Music and Postmodern Knowledge (University of California Press, 1995) Larner, Gerald: Maurice Ravel (Phaidon Press, 1996) Lee, Douglas: Masterworks of Twentieth Century Music (Routledge, 2002) Longus: Daphnis & Chloe (tr.

and introduction by Paul Turner (Penguin, 1956) Malloch, William - notes to Maurice Ravel: Ses Amis et Ses Interpr�tes, CD-703 (Music and Arts, 1992) Mawer, Deborah (ed): Cambridge Companion to Ravel (Cambridge University Press, 2000) Mellers, Wilfred Man and His Music, volume 4 (Schocken, 1962) Nichols, Roger: Ravel Remembered (Norton, 1988) [contains Fokine's Memoirs of a Ballet Master] Orenstein, Arbie: Ravel - Man and Musician (Columbia University Press, 1975) Orenstein, Arbie (ed): A Ravel Reader (Columbia University Press, 1990) [contains Ravel's 1928 Autobiographical Sketch] Ravel, Maurice and Michel Fokine: Daphnis et Chloe [orchestral score] (Durand, 1913) Schonberg, Harold: Lives of the Great Composers (3d edition) (Norton, 199

7) Schult, Richard - notes to the Munch/Boston Symphony CD-278 (Music and Arts, 1988) Seroff, Victor: Maurice Ravel (Books for Libraries Press, 1953) Zakariasen, Bill - notes to the Boulez/NY Philharmonic LP M-33523 (Columbia, 1975) Copyright 2013 by Peter Gutmann Daphnis et Chloé - 必应 Daphnis et ChloÃ©, ballet for orchestra: Scene 2.

Creatures of Pan appear and frighten the pirates, who flee in terror, leaving ChloÃ© Daphnis et Chloé is a ballet in one act with three parts (scenes) by Maurice Ravel described as a "symphonie chorégraphique" (choreographic symphony). San Francisco Symphony - RAVEL: Daphnis et Chloé San Francisco Symphony Ravel: Daphnis et Chloé Daphnis et Chloé, Choreographic Symphony in Three Parts Maurice Ravel was born in Ciboure, Basses-Pyrenées, France, on March 7, 1875, and died in Paris on December 28, 1937. He began writing his ballet Daphnis et Chloé in 1909 and finished the initial version of the piano score on May 1, 1910; that piano version was published the same year. Ravel revised the score considerably in 1911, at which point he doubled the length of the “Danse générale.” The orchestral score was finished on April 5, 1912, and was published in 1913.

The ballet was first presented by the Ballets Russes at the Théâtre du Châtelet, in Paris, on June 8, 1912, with Pierre Monteux conducting. The ballet was first seen in this country in July 1935, in a presentation by the Philadelphia Ballet. The complete score was first performed by the San Francisco Symphony in December 1947, with Pierre Monteux conducting and the University of California Chorus. The most recent performances, in May 2010, were conducted by Michael Tilson Thomas and featured the San Francisco Symphony Chorus. The Daphnis et Chloé ballet score requires an orchestra of piccolo, two flutes, alto flute, two oboes, English horn, E-flat clarinet, two B-flat clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, contrabassoon, four horns, four trumpets, three trombones, tuba, timpani, an extensive percussion section, two harps, and strings. The score also calls for optional four-part chorus. Performance time: about fifty minutes.

When he was approached about writing the music for a new ballet that Serge Diaghilev was planning for his Ballets Russes, Maurice Ravel became as excited as was seemly within the bounds of his even-tempered nature. The Ballets Russes—with Diaghilev as director, Michel Fokine as choreographer, Léon Bakst as designer—had arrived in Paris in 1909, and a commission from the company was a signal that a composer had arrived at the summit of cultural life in the city that prided itself as the summit of culture. Fokine had been urging Diaghilev to consider a ballet on the myth of Daphnis and Chloé, and early in 1909 he began working with Ravel to devise a suitable scenario. For their source they turned to the pastoral romance attributed to the third-century Greek author Longus, as filtered through the late sixteenth-century French poet Jacques Amyot. The going was not easy. Whether due to the logistics of collaborating with his Russian colleagues or to some personal block, Ravel fell farther and farther behind schedule—so much so that at one point Diaghilev came close to canceling the whole project.

Following considerable lobbying by Ravel’s publisher, Jacques Durand, the impresario’s better judgment ruled, and the ballet (structured as a single act divided into three scenes) finally made its way to the stage of the Théâtre du Châtelet in June 1912—about two years after Diaghilev had hoped—with Vaslav Nijinsky dancing the role of Daphnis and with Tamara Karsavina as Chloé. Because the program fell at the end of the company’s season, it got only two performances. Although it was revived in Paris the next season and in 1914 received a production in London, Daphnis et Chloé has enjoyed only sporadic success in the world of ballet. Ravel’s score, however, has achieved the status of a classic. The sheer sound of this score is exceptional, even in Ravel’s colorful oeuvre. In Daphnis et Chloé he employs the largest orchestra he would ever require, and he uses it with consummate skill. A wordless chorus is also used to imaginative effect at several points in the score, sometimes gliding between notes in a sort of microtonal, perhaps pseudo-Greek, ecstasy.

The matter of the chorus became a bone of contention between Ravel, who felt that the voices made a fine impression, and Diaghilev, who felt that they represented an unnecessary expense, detracted from the ambience, and in any case necessitated so great a congregation of performers that such practicalities as set changes might be impeded. Fokine’s ballet scenario is divided into three parts, though the action is dovetailed into a single sweep in the staged ballet and, accordingly, in Ravel’s score. Here is the general scenario, compressed from inscriptions spread through the score. PART ONE: A meadow on the outskirts of a sacred wood. Hills in the background. On the right a grotto, at the entrance of which, carved from the same rock, are depicted three Nymphs from an ancient sculpture. A bit farther back, on the left, a great mass of rock in the form of the god Pan. In the mid-ground sheep are grazing. A clear afternoon in springtime. The curtain rises on an empty stage. Youths and maidens enter carrying open baskets of gifts intended for the Nymphs. The stage gradually fills. The crowd bows before the altar of the Nymphs.

The maidens wrap garlands around the pedestals. Religious Dance: Daphnis comes clearly into view in the deep background, preceded by his flocks. Chloé joins him. They prostrate themselves before the Nymphs. The dance is interrupted. The maidens enter and flirt with Daphnis. Chloé is jealous. At that point she is drawn into the dance of the young men. The herdsman Dorcon comes across as particularly aggressive towards her. Now it is Daphnis’s turn to feel upset. General Dance: At the end of the dance, the emboldened Dorcon wants to kiss Chloé. She innocently offers him her cheek. But with a brusque motion Daphnis pushes aside the herdsman and gently approaches Chloé. The young men intervene. One proposes a dance contest between Daphnis and Dorcon. The winner’s prize will be a kiss from Chloé. Dorcon’s Grotesque Dance: The crowd imitates the herdsman’s awkward motions, and the dance ends in general laughter. Daphnis’s Light and Graceful Dance: All invite Daphnis to receive his prize.

Dorcon also comes forward, but he is chased away by the crowd. The laughter subsides when the crowd glimpses the radiant couple, Daphnis and Chloé. The crowd leads Chloé away. Daphnis remains motionless. Lycanion enters: She sees the young shepherd and lifts his head. Daphnis thinks it is one of Chloé’s flirtations; but he recognizes Lycanion and tries to escape. Lycanion dances. She lets one of her veils fall, as if by accident. Daphnis picks it up and places it back on her shoulders. Another veil falls and again Daphnis retrieves it. Annoyed, she slips away. The sound of weapons and war cries are heard approaching. The women are pursued by pirates. Daphnis dreams of Chloé, who may be in danger, and quickly leaves to rescue her. Chloé runs in, lost and seeking shelter. She throws herself before the altar of the Nymphs, begging their protection. A group of bandits rushes in; they see the maiden and abduct her. Daphnis enters, looking for Chloé. He finds a sandal she lost in the struggle.

Crazed with despair, he curses the gods and falls fainting to the ground. A strange light envelops the landscape. A small flame illuminates the head of one of the statues. Coming to life, the Nymph descends from her pedestal, then the second Nymph, then the third. Together they begin a slow, mysterious dance. They spy Daphnis and dry his tears. They revive him and lead him to the rock. They invoke the god Pan. Gradually the form of the god takes shape. Daphnis prostrates himself, imploring. The scene grows dark. PART TWO: Voices are heard offstage, very distant at first. Trumpet calls in the distance. The voices draw nearer. It is the pirates’ camp. War Dance: Bryaxis orders that the captive be brought in. Chloé, her hands bound, is led in by two pirates. Bryaxis commands her to dance. Chloé’s Dance of Supplication: She tries to flee. She is brought back violently. Desperately she resumes her dance. She tries to flee a second time. Again she is brought back. She gives herself over to despair, thinking of Daphnis.

Bryaxis wants to seduce her. She pleads with him. The triumphant pirate chief bears her off. Suddenly the atmosphere seems charged with strange new elements. In places small fires ignite, lit by invisible hands. The entire camp is seized by terror. The earth opens. With a menacing gesture, the formidable shadow of Pan is seen profiled against the mountains in the background. On a deserted stage Chloé is motionless. The scene dissolves to the landscape from Part One, towards the end of night. PART THREE: No sound but the murmur of rivulets. Daphnis remains stretched before the grotto of the Nymphs. Dawn. Shepherds enter. They find Daphnis and awaken him. Chloé appears surrounded by shepherdesses. The two rush into each other’s arms. The old shepherd Lammon explains that Pan saved Chloé, in remembrance of the nymph Syrinx, whom the god loved. Daphnis and Chloé mime the story of Pan and Syrinx. Chloé impersonates the young Nymph wandering over the meadow. Daphnis, as Pan, appears and declares his love for her.

The Nymph rejects him; the god becomes more insistent. She disappears among the rushes. In desperation he plucks some reeds, fashions a flute, and on it plays a melancholy tune. The dance grows animated. Whirling madly, Chloé falls into Daphnis’s arms. Before the altar of the Nymphs he swears his fidelity. Maidens enter; they are dressed as Bacchantes and shake tambourines. Daphnis and Chloé embrace tenderly. A group of young men come on the stage. Joyous tumult. General dance. Dance of Daphnis and Chloé. Dance of Dorcon. Final Dance: Bacchanal. —James M. Keller Portions of this note previously appeared in different form in the program books of the New York Philharmonic and are reprinted by permission.

More About the Music Recordings: Pierre Monteux conducting the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus (Decca Originals) | Charles Dutoit conducting the Montreal Symphony (London/Decca Legends) | Yan Pascal Tortelier conducting the Ulster Orchestra (Chandos) | André Previn conducting the London Symphony Orchestra (EMI Seraphim) | A “historic” recording worth attention is that by Charles Munch with the Boston Symphony Orchestra (RCA Living Stereo) Reading: Ravel: Man and Musician (Dover) and A Ravel Reader,by Arbie Orenstein (Columbia) | Ravel: Life and Works, by Rollo H. Myers (Thomas Yoseloff) | Ravel, by Norman Demuth (Collier) | For reminiscences by people who knew the composer: Ravel Remembered, by Roger Nichols (Norton) San Francisco Symphony Daphnis and Chloe | ballet by Fokine | Britannica.com Daphnis and Chloe THIS IS A DIRECTORY PAGE. Britannica does not currently have an article on this topic.

Alternative Title: “Daphnis et Chloé” Set design by Léon Bakst for a production of Maurice Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé, 1912; in a private collection. © Photos.com/Jupiterimages Learn about this topic in these articles: in theatre music: Music for ballet ...success, most leading composers in the 20th century have contributed something to the art of dance. Diaghilev directly commissioned two outstanding examples in the French composer Maurice Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé (1912), which the composer defined as a “poème choréographique,” and The Three-cornered Hat (1919) by the Spanish composer Manuel de... in dance (performing arts): Drama in Western theatre dance Fokine’s own work reflected these ideas faithfully. He experimented with angular movement reminiscent of archaic Greece in Daphnis et Chloé (1912; “Daphnis and Chloé”), developed individual styles for different characters (such as the jerky wooden movements of the puppet Petrushka), and brought mime much closer to natural gesture than the...

in Michel Fokine In 1904 he wrote the scenario for his first ballet, which was based on the ancient Greco-Roman legend of Daphnis and Chloe. He sent it to the director of the Imperial Theatre with a note about reforms he wanted to see adopted by choreographers and producers. His crusade for artistic unity in ballet had already begun, but at this stage it made little impact. He was not encouraged to produce... Daphnis et Chloé Complete Ballet Daphnis et Chloé Complete Ballet About the Work Composer: Maurice Ravel Program note originally written for the following performance: National Symphony Orchestra: Matthias Pintscher, conductor: Karen Gomyo, violin, plays Pintscher's Mar'eh / Works by Fauré & Ravel © Thomas May In 1898, when Fauré composed his music for Pelléas et Mélisande, a young student enrolled in his composition class at the Paris Conservatory: Maurice Ravel. Unlike his teacher, who showed little interest in the art of orchestration, Ravel would develop into one of the supreme exemplars of orchestral mastery of all time.

But the meticulous, slow-working Ravel had published precious little for orchestra by the time he undertook what would become the single largest composition of his entire oeuvre: the complete ballet score for Daphnis et Chloé. The impetus for this project came from the great impresario, director, and stage wizard Serge Diaghilev. His adventuresome company of Russian expatriates, the Ballets Russes, would become a sensation in Paris, where a craze for all things Russian held sway (enhanced by the BR's hit production of the second act from Borodin's Prince Igor in 1909). The always-planning Diaghilev decided to embark on a series of innovative new commissions for upcoming seasons that would also include music by the leading French composers of the period. The young Igor Stravinsky also benefited from Diaghilev's experiments and was given a stage for his pioneering early ballets, becoming an overnight celebrity with the success of The Firebird in 1910.

(The company's groundbreaking premiere of The Rite of Spring came Just a year after Daphnis et Chloé was staged for the first time.) Ravel composed Daphnis et Chloé between 1909 and 1910 and completed his orchestration the following year but continued to refine the final scene until 1912. Already in April 1911, more than a year before the ballet's premiere, he introduced the first of two concert suites he would extract from the full-length score - the format in which this music is usually encountered by concert audiences. The source for Daphnis et Chloé is a romance from late antiquity attributed to the second-century Greek writer Longus (and regarded as a progenitor of the novel). Here's a brief synopsis of the narrative used for Ravel's ballet, as adapted from Longus by the choreographer and Ballets Russes associate Mikhail Fokine (also the choreographer for The Fire Bird): Companions since childhood, Daphnis and Chloé are archetypal innocents, foundlings who have been raised in the peaceful pastoral landscape that serves as the ballet's backdrop.

Part One establishes the setting as taking place in pagan antiquity. On a spring afternoon, young men and women pause from tending their sheep to worship before an altar representing three nymphs. Shepherdesses dance around Daphnis, causing his beloved to feel jealousy. She then naively responds to the lustful advances of the clumsy cowherd Dorcon. When Dorcon engages in a dance contest with Daphnis, he loses and is then ridiculed by the group. Taking leave of his beloved Chloé, Daphnis is left alone to muse to himself but then watches the seductive dance of another shepherdess, Lyceion. At this point pirates steal on the scene. Daphnis rushes to protect Chloé but is too late and sees the sandal she has left behind - evidence that Chloé has been abducted by the pirates. Despairing, Daphnis is comforted by nymphs, who summon Pan, the god of the wild and protector of shepherds. Part Two takes us to the pirates' camp on the seacoast. After they engage in warlike dance, their chief orders Chloé also to dance.

Pan then intervenes, sending an army of satyrs, and the pirates flee in terror. In a remarkable transition scene, Part Three starts with a dazzling depiction of dawn. Daphnis wakes up before Pan's grotto and is joyously reunited with Chloé. As the couple dance, their symbolic pantomime reenacts the story of Pan's love for the nymph Syrinx. The dance turns increasingly passionate, and the surrounding crowd eventually joins in to participate in a communal dance that ends the ballet in "joyful commotion." Ultimately celebrating the triumph of love between Daphnis and Chloé, the ballet tells this story through a melange of atmospheric scenes, set pieces that etch out particular characters, and action sequences. Ravel remarked that his idea was to compose "a vast musical fresco, less concerned with archaism than with faithfulness to the Greece of my dreams, which is similar to that imagined and painted by French artists at the end of the eighteenth century." He also referred to the score as a "choreographic symphony," using a vast orchestra to invent some of the most thrilling passages of color and sonic nuance in the repertoire.

The scale of the complete ballet surpasses that of any other of Ravel's compositions. This is music that was clearly conceived as part of a deftly integrated totality incorporating choreography (also Fokine), sets (Léon Bakst), and the unique dance style of Vaslav Nijinsky (who created the role of Daphnis, with Tamara Karsavina doing the same for Chloé). Ravel painted his "fresco" with the subtlest mixture of timbres and harmonies from his extended orchestral apparatus, even calling on a wordless chorus. (The latter caused a major rift between the composer and Diaghilev when Ravel learned that for the London tour the impresario tried to cut expenses by excising the chorus.) Its deft, economic construction from a small group of motifs and harmonic ideas stands as a counterpart to the score's dazzling spectrum of colors and sonorities. Part One, the longest, opens with gently rocking harmonies, the chorus adding color, and gives the main motivic ideas of the piece. Ravel's fluid rhythms for the flute are associated with the sphere of the nymphs and Pan, while a solo horn plays the couple's love theme.

Pagan worship is one of the diverse species of love and desire depicted in Daphnis et Chloé. In the contrasting sequence of ensuing dances, the grotesque movements of the would-be suitor Dorcon given a comic edge; Ravel even depicts the onlookers' mocking laughter. The graceful dance of Daphnis is given a lilting momentum. Ravel's conveys the ecstasy of his love through his shimmering orchestration, contrasting this with the eroticism of Lyceion's dance. A moody nocturne follows Chloé's abduction, in which Ravel introduces "exotic" sonorities (and an unmissable wind machine) to signal the numinous entrance of Pan and the nymphs onto the scene. Segueing into Part Two is an unaccompanied chorus. Now we hear the aggressively menacing music associated with the pirates. Chloé's vulnerability is evoked by an English horn as she is forced to dance in supplication. The pirates flee in fear as the awe-inspiring music of the supernatural takes over of the soundscape. The most-celebrated tour de force of Ravel's orchestration comes in his scenic depiction of "Daybreak" in the sequence opening Part Three.

The string players, subdivided into many groups, are asked to remove their mutes one by one while the woodwinds imitate a menagerie of bird calls. The chorus contributes to the impression of sunbeams surely casting away all darkness and fear. This is the moment when Daphnis and Chloé actually dance together for the first time. What they dance, however, is a "performance": a pantomime in homage to the god Pan (the flute represents Pan - "played" by Daphnis - in his role as a passionate suitor trying to win Syrinx, the nymph he loves. The love music given a rapturous development but then leads suddenly into the concluding dance, which is nothing less than an orgy. Accordingly, Ravel writes a feverish, thrilling scene of complex rhythms and sexualized, pulsating currents. (In practice, it all turned out to be fiendishly tricky even for the seasoned Ballets Russes.) Daphnis et Chloé gathers bout after bout of impossible new energy, coming to end with this scene of bacchanalian splendor.

Related Artists/Companies Ravel: Daphnis et Chloé - Bernard Haitink,John Alldis Choir,London Philharmonic Orchestra | Songs, Reviews, Credits | AllMusic Ravel: Daphnis et Chloé google+ AllMusic Review by Blair Sanderson Even though the music of Maurice Ravel 's 1912 ballet Daphnis et Chloé is most often heard in the two suites he arranged a year later, the whole work deserves listeners' rapt attention because it is one of his greatest scores and is especially rewarding when heard in its complete form. Called a symphonie choréographique by Ravel , though composed in scenes along the lines of a Classical ballet, the three parts of the piece are unified by common motives and by the use of a rich orchestral palette, which includes a wordless chorus. This 1979 live recording by Bernard Haitink , the John Alldis Choir , and the London Philharmonic Orchestra runs to just under an hour, though its fascinating sonorities, gently wafting rhythmic movement, and impressionistic harmonies make it seem dreamlike and timeless.

The performance is indeed atmospheric and the orchestra's textures are diaphanous, so listeners can get lost in the wonderful orchestration and be distracted only slightly by the occasional audience noises, which are rather faint in the background. The analog stereo recording is quite warm and rich, and much of its vividness remains in the digital remastering. Track Listing

Question: Who composed the music for the 1912 ballet "Daphnis et Chloe"?
Answer: (Maurice) Ravel