Beauty, for One Thing. - Review - sound recording review

National Review, Sept 3, 2001 by Jay Nordlinger

Who is the most beautiful person in all of music? It's a ridiculous question, but it does have an answer, probably: Helene Grimaud, a young French pianist. She could easily be taken for an actress or model. What does this matter? Ah, you must not be in marketing. La belle Helene is displayed on her CD covers like a kittenish starlet. You may want to buy her recordings for her face alone. Indeed, Teldec, her current label, has arranged for her latest CD booklet to work as a "mini- poster" (the company's word). They thoughtfully provide instructions. Funny, but no one ever did this for Artur Schnabel.

The only real question, of course, is, Can she play? And the answer is yes-adequately. Her latest CD is devoted to Rachmaninoff, starting with the Second Concerto, that great war-horse. Grimaud is a little stilted in it, lacking the Romantic qualities required, including a sense of flow. She is a little dull, actually. The piece seems too sprawling for her, not fitting her hands. In the middle movement, she is unlyrical, jabbing out the melodic line. In the final movement, she is clean and nimble, but without the fire and heart of a more natural Rachmaninoff pianist. This is sort of pixie-ish playing, out of place here.

Not helping matters is that Grimaud's conductor is Vladimir Ashkenazy, who has been associated with Rachmaninoff all his life-not that this has done the composer any favors. This much can be said for Grimaud's approach to the work: It is not bombastic, but rather reserved, understated. Still, this is the "Rach Second."

The remainder of the CD is given over to smaller pieces, in which the pianist fares better. The best of the lot (which is to say, the best played) are the Corelli Variations, which ought to be heard more often. In Grimaud's hands, they are tasteful, clean, polite-if without the mystery and sweep that Rachmaninoff should be accorded.

Helene Grimaud is far from an interpretive firecracker. But she has a fundamental competence, and is clearly more than a pretty face. But, oh, what a face!

Renee Fleming doesn't have a bad one either, and she has teamed up with Jean-Yves Thibaudet to make an album called Night Songs. Fleming is the American soprano, and Thibaudet the French pianist; their CD is composed of some of the most popular songs in the Romantic repertory, by Faure, Debussy, Joseph Marx, Strauss, and Rachmaninoff. Why "Night Songs"? Simply a marketer's invention. The label, Decca, has gone to the trouble of putting a crescent moon on the disc itself-get it?

These two performers are at the top of their games, triumphing in every capital, and it was an inspired idea to pair them. Thibaudet, to begin with the one we're not supposed to begin with-he is merely the accompanist-is superb. He is one of the finest players of the French repertory in the world today, or, truth be told (and it will take a while), ever. Seldom does a pianist of this caliber consent to participate in a song album. In addition to his obvious abilities as soloist, he proves to be an adept "collaborative artist," to use the current PC expression for "accompanist." (Such a shame: There is no shame in being an accompanist. All the best accompanists have been.)

Fleming is . . . well, simply Fleming. If you love her (and you probably should), you will love her very much in this recorded outing. She is one of the great sighers in the history of music: In song after song, she delivers sigh after sigh, laying on that portamento, unwilling to travel directly from one note to another, insisting on her slides. This is her trademark mannerism. To enjoy her singing, you must get over it, as you would a prominent blemish on an otherwise beautiful face. (Pardon the obsession of this column.)

For the most part, Fleming performs admirably. In a simple song like Faure's "Mandoline," however, she can seem to be working too hard, and to be too aware of the gorgeousness of her own voice, this big, plush Cadillac in her possession. Her "Beau soir" (Debussy) is not very French, lacking delicacy and coolness. She is almost too lush in this music, her voice being made for Strauss. But the Strauss, accordingly, is creamy and glorious, as is the Marx (a favorite composer of Leontyne Price, whom Fleming resembles in several ways). The Rachmaninoff songs are sung beautifully, but they are also a little precious. The beauty in Rachmaninoff is a manly and unsentimental beauty, except when it is feminized and sentimentalized by those who don't know what they're doing.

Quibbles aside, Night Songs is an exceptionally pleasurable, almost decadent affair. It's hard to resent that.

So too is it hard to resent a live concert by Cecilia Bartoli and Bryn Terfel, the Italian mezzo-soprano and the Welsh bass-baritone. They have done a videotape (or DVD-it depends on how up-to-date you are) entitled Cecilia & Bryn. (With these two, no last names are needed.) The performance comes from the BBC, and it was captured at the Glyndebourne Festival, the English summer's gift to music. Here is another natural teaming: Both Bartoli and Terfel are extremely personable, their musical qualities aside (although personableness, to a degree, is a musical quality). Each singer has achieved something close to a pop standing.