Samuel Barber's songs, some of the finest of the twentieth century, are short, pithy and varied, and this gripping release from Hyperion brings together many of the composer's finest works in the medium.
The Hermit Songs, Op.29, is ten settings of translated medieval Gaelic and Latin poems. Barber noted that they were written by monks, "often on the margins of manuscripts they were copying... not always meant to be seen by their Father Superiors". Though these poems are highly personal utterances, Barber's music only enhances their effect. The Church Bell at Night provides ample demonstration: the sparse, unsettling bass notes and introspective chordal harmonies suggest both the night and the poet's ambiguous mindset. The twinkling in the piano's upper register is the ringing of the bell. The song lasts for but a minute, yet it conjures a fully-realised atmosphere and widely-explored sound-world.
Sea Snatch takes even shorter time, yet the piano's insistent bass line penetrates and sticks in the cranium, the song's abrupt, violent conclusion dramatically suggesting the text's "The wind has consumed us". Fluidity is the key in these songs, and that they are written without time signature allows for great melodic and rhythmic freedom, though the structure always appears to be tightly constructed.
Also present here are the Mélodies passagères, Op.27, 1950s settings of poems by Rainer Maria Rilke, where Barber treats the French language with grace and poise. The three early songs that open this disc are also fascinating: There's nae lark for its sweet, only occasionally forced lyricism, In the dark pinewood for its unusual, rich and shifting harmonies. The Beggar's Song is a hardly immature masterpiece, poking fun at Christians who rest on the Sabbath - the poet rests every day! Barber's music, morphing into an ironically sprightly dance rhythm to show the beggar's laziness, is both economical and comic.
Gerald Finley delivers the songs with his famously rich, noble baritone, his experience in the opera house contributing to his theatrical yet subtle characterisation. Occasionally, Finley's nobility and polish of tone lose from the songs their personal element, but he delivers with great expression that cannot help but captivate the listener. Julius Drake is a near-perfect accompanist. Listen to his piano playing in Le clocher chante (part of the Mélodies passagères), and note how its twinkling beauty ripples around the voice. The final track, Dover Beach (an early setting of Matthew Arnold's poem, inexplicably not robbing this masterpiece of its dignity but adding intriguing psychological and dramatic musical layers), works for the brutality and sorrowful dignity of The Aronowitz Ensemble's string textures. The whole, as an introduction to Barber's songs, could hardly be bettered.
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