Music Lounge (49)

There is very little science in Fach. It is not like taxonomy; there has never been a Carl Linnaeus in the history of music. It is a classification simultaneously based in various criteria. Sometimes it has to do with the writing for voices, sometimes with types of role, sometimes with models established by a specific singer etc – and it definitely is specific to national repertoires. Critics generally try to establish (inexact) parallels between Italian and Germany categories, but French voices are a law unto themselves. For instance, the voice of haute-contre is a specimen exclusively observed in French baroque music. The name itself could mislead the uninitiated to believe it is a French word for countertenor, but that is not the case. The haute-contre is closer to a tenor than a countertenor will ever be (although there is “tenor” in the name): he basically is a tenor who sings in very high tessitura by means of voix mixte (not falsetto). One might point out that, in the baroque, all tenors would produce their high notes like that. Yes, but the tessitura for a tenor in a Handel opera or a Bach cantata is basically lower. For some reason – maybe the very sound of French language – contemporary haute-contres (we can only imagine how they sounded in the 18th century) have a clearly brighter sound that makes them a little bit more metallic in tone than the warmer sound of a Handel or Bach tenor, even when they sing a high g or a high a. This also means that the voice of haute-contre can be an acquired taste. Jean-Jacques Rousseau said its very unnaturalness meant it was usual a bit acidic in tone and rarely true in intonation.

When we look at the discography of French baroque opera, we observe that haute-contres are not only a domestic product of France. Belgium, the United Kingdom and even the US have their share of hautes-contres. French hautes-contres sometimes veer into light lyric repertoire, for the tradition of high notes in voix mixte did not disappear in the end of the baroque era in France. In any case, this is a very special niche of the repertoire, a little bit less unknown these days due to the recent growth of Rameau’s popularity with the audience. This week, we’re listening to one of the most popular works by Rameau and probably what is the most famous aria for the haute-contre voice (in the score, an “ariette’), which is Règne, amour from the acte de ballet Pygmalion.

An acte de ballet is actually a vocal work – a one-act work with a simple romantic intrigue, generally of mythological inspiration with as much dance numbers as you can imagine. As it is, the plot of Pygmalion does not require any explanation. Règne, amour is the last vocal number in the score. Amazed by the power of the child god, Amor, who transformed a beautiful statue in a woman, the enamoured sculptor announces the miraculous event: Règne, Amour, fais briller tes flammes,/ Lance tes traits dans nos âmes./ Sur des coeurs soumis à tes lois/Épuise ton carquois./ Tu nous fais, dieu charmant, le plus heureux destin./ Je tiens de toi l’objet dont mon âme est ravie,/ Et cet objet si cher respire, tient la vie/ Des feux de ton flambeau divin. (“Reign, o Love, light your flames/ Shoot your arrows in our souls./ On hearts subject to your laws, empty your quiver./ You procure us, o charming god, the happiest fate./ I receive from you the object that enraptures my soul,/ and the dearest object breathes, receives its life/from the fire of your divine torch.”).

When you see a text like that, you know this is going to be a superflorid aria. And it is! This is a very tough piece of singing. First, it mostly stays in the second octave – it’s like the tenor aria in Der Rosenkavalier… with coloratura. Second, the coloratura always has a weird vowel. We know, tenors love nasalizing their runs because, yes, it help keep everything in focus, especially around the passaggio. But singing bars and bars of of divisions on the French “an” without sounding a bit grotesque is a tough assignment. Third, you need crystal clear diction. And, last but not least, this is French. It is the hardest language to sing idiomatically.

Finding the right recording of Règne, amour is not difficult if you have in mind that, when hautes-contres are involved, you’ll never find anything ideal. Rousseau was right. Singing an aria like that is like walking on a tightrope – and the singer will have his tense and/or acidic moments and those when intonation is perfectible, especially in the end of long phrases. This is a celebratory aria and it must feel exhilarating in the fast tempo for the singer to form the ideal contrast with the slower tempo, when he must rather sound elegant and poised. So it needs a truly balletic tempo – you must feel like moving to the rhythm. As this requires extraordinary flexibility for the tenor, few conductors go for it. In the end, we have Hervé Niquet with Le Concert Spirituel and Jean-Paul Fouchécourt and Michi Gaigg with L’Orfeo Barockorchester and Anders J. Dahlin with Michi Gaigg. In terms of orchestra, L’Orfeo has a warmer sound and less bumpy playing – but, of course, in the end, choosing a recording turns around the singer in the role of Pygmalion.

Both Fouchécourt and Dahlin are regarded as Rameau specialists, and Fouchécourt appears in some extremely famous recording of French baroque music. I have to say that I first heard Règne, amour in concert with Luciano Botelho, a bel canto/Mozart tenor, who delivered it in a warm, round tonal quality that made me believe that you can expect some velvet there. Maybe the fact that he is not French made me think that a little bit less nasality than what the authentic French pronunciation requires might have been the reason for it. That is why I first checked Dahlin, who, yes, is marginally less nasal than Fouchécourt and therefore a little bit easier on the ear. His intonation is also a bit truer, but once you hear Fouchécourt, his naturalness, firmness of tone and truly astounding flexibility makes you understand his reputation. This is an aria with a cruel amount of attacks in high g’s and a’s. Without the da capo, the aria has 17 high a and three high b flat and an endless demand of high g’s. As an element of comparison: Handel’s Ev’ry Valley (from The Messiah) has no high a or b flat, Bach’s Frohe Hirten (from the Christmas Oratorio) has four high a’s… and Mozart’s Ah, lo veggio (from Così fan Tutte) has 20 high a’s and 13 (!) high b flat (I might have missed some). With Fouchécourt, we don’t feel that Règne, amour is high at all, although you’ll tend to agree with Rousseau here and there.

I’ve seen Jean-Paul Fouchécourt twice, never in baroque music, always in character roles. First at the Met in a Massenet’s Manon, then late in his career in Berlin both in Bizet’s Carmen and Chabrier’s L’Étoile and finally in the Saito Kinen Festival in a double bill L’Enfant et les Sortilèges/L’Heure Espagnole. Although he didn’t command then the ease with high notes we hear in the Rameau item this week, he was always characterful and impressively clear in his diction.