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| Hear the music with Real Audio:
Sonata No. 1 - opening (2:28) |
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| Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)
was in his seventies when he wrote his two cello sonatas Op.109 (1917)
and Op.117 (1921). They were followed by only two works, the Piano
Trio of 1922-23 and the String Quartet of 1923-24. What
is remarkable about these late chamber works is not only the vigour conveyed
through them, but also the continuing development of Fauré's writing,
economising and paring down to reveal the barest of harmonies and the most
seamless of melodies. The contrast between Fauré's opulent
early Violin Sonata (1875) and his last work is like climbing from
sea level to the rarefied atmosphere of the highest altitudes. Even
compared to the "commodo" finale of Op.109 the Second Cello Sonata
feels breathless, hectic, almost dizzy.
It was not until his fifties that Fauré began to realise his ambitions as a composer and to become something of a celebrity, particularly after he became director of the Paris Conservatoire in 1905. But by 1920 fame was overshadowed by declining health and an unusual disability that distorted high and low sounds, producing what Fauré called a "véritable cacophonie". The parallels with Beethoven's late cello sonatas and possibly the isolation that deafness caused are there - Beethoven's Op.102 sonata find a mixture of warmth and restraint through melodic and textural economy and vivid harmonic contrasts. Without completely destroying the sense of tonality Fauré certainly freed himself from the bonds of nineteenth-century traditions. Fauré's greatness was recognised by his pupil Maurice Ravel and it was he who was the true inheritor of Fauré's genius - compare the Second Cello Sonata with Ravel's masterful Sonata for Violin and Cello written a year later. But while Ravel was a colourist extraordinary, Fauré composed almost regardless of timbre - he even asked his pupil Koechlin to orchestrate his symphonic suite Pelléas et Mélisande in 1898. The cello sonatas are important contributions to the repertoire and are undoubtedly highly accessible to the listener. They follow two other major works of the period, the majestic Second Sonata by Saint-Saëns (1905) and Debussy's extraordinary Sonata. Why then are Fauré's sonatas relatively rarely heard when Debussy's Sonata has become universally popular? The answer lies perhaps not with the listener but with the performer. The writing is often unconventional. The concentration on the middle registers of both cello and piano makes it harder to find a clear voice - often there is no real "bass line" in the piano left hand. Unlike the early Violin Sonata, the cello sonatas do not contain overt displays of virtuosity. This is music written for its own sake, not through the fingers of the performer - technical assurance is understood but subservient to the music's purity. Whilst appearing less as showpieces to the performer, the sonatas with their beautiful melodies cannot fail to delight the listener. The sonatas follow similar patterns, launching headlong into the opening movements, while the middle movements' lengthy melodies search out the furthest limits before finding repose. The events which led to the composition of the Second Sonata's central movement are unusual. Fauré was commissioned to write a work for wind band to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Napoleon's death in May 1921. Fauré rescored the Chant Funéraire for the cello, its restrained expression making this a particularly poignant movement. Fauré is remembered particularly for his wealth of songs and
his early, short cello pieces also possess the radiance of the songs and
are wonderful to play. The Sicilienne Op.78 was composed for
the cellist W.H. Squire in 1893 and Fauré later rescored as part
of the suite Pelléas et Mélisande. Originally
composed for cello and organ, the Romance Op.69 was rescored in
1894, whilst the Berceuse Op.16 and Après un Rêve
(both written in 1878) are transcriptions of a violin and piano piece and
a song respectively. Best known amongst cellists is the Elégie
Op.24, with its brooding opening and dramatic virtuoso climax. Perhaps
this rare moment of obvious technical brilliance has contributed to the
work's undoubted popularity.
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| © 1993 Lowri Blake |
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