S2.E56. 'Un Pack de Six pour les Olympiques'. Chabrier, Debussy, Faure, Saint Saens, Gossec, Poulenc.

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Welcome back to Perfect Pitch with Nick Healy Hutchinson and his fresh approach to the world of classical music. Whether you're an expert or a beginner, old or young. Perfect Pitch has something for everyone.

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Among other places, the eyes of the world are on Paris right now. So this seems a good time to show a collection of a few French favorites. Some weeks ago, I mentioned how Chapelier seemed to embody that joie de viva at the end of the 19th century. And also how he's only really remembered nowadays unfairly, in my view, for two pieces Espagna, which we listened to then, and Joyeux Marche, which we'll kick off with today, played here by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Jan Pascal Totellier. I suppose we shouldn't be too surprised by this, given that his life overlapped exactly with the French impressionist movement in art. But it's a rather lazy and altogether too convenient description of which Debuti did not himself approve. I suspect people use it because its music can sometimes appear to lack any obvious direction. And that I think is to miss the point. Because it suggests that it lacks a structure, which it most certainly doesn't. It creates it doesn't sound in a very particular and deliberate way. How you may well ask. Well, it's not too easy to explain, and I'm not going to get too technical. But I do think it's worth a brief try. So stay with me for just a minute. It's better described by the keyboard of a cannon, with which most of us are familiar. And it doesn't matter if you don't play. If you go to middle C, the note immediately closest to it in an upward direction is a black one, which represents half a tone in music. A full tone is obviously two half tones. And on the cannon, that would be the white note next to middle three. The basic style comes out of exploring full tones, and that helps to create this atmospheric sound. Certainly you should listen attentively. But for best appreciation, don't go looking for a thread or musical line. Just let it be. I hope that makes some sort of sense. But if you find yourself near a piano, start from middle C and go up the keyboard by playing the notes two half-tones above the previous note, and you'll see what I mean. Here is one of his many works of piano, Lille Joyez, played by Johnny Vibody. The delightful anthem is often performed alongside his requiem, but there's nothing sombre about it. On the contrary, it's a hymn of adoration. Culminating with a line O Christ look with favour upon your people now gathered here to praise you. May they go forth filled with your glory. It's sung here by the choir of King's College, Cambridge, directed by Stephen Caber. In recognition of the themes he picked up in the Middle East. When Francois Joseph Gotick died in 1829, he was 95 years old. I don't know what his secret was, but that's a phenomenal number, when the average age of demise in France around that time was under 40, and even less so in other parts of Europe. He'd established a good reputation with a substantial output. But it all came to be superseded by his better known European contemporaries, especially Haydn, who had five surveys commissioned by the Olympic Mesonic Lodge in Paris. We've listened to a few one-hit wonders in the past, and here's another one. But it's a bit rum that the piece for which a man who'd had a lifespan of ninety-five years and not inconsiderable influence is little more than a minute long. The tombar from Le Triumph de la République is played here by Mela Tanbaume on the piano and Richard Capp on the piano. The reason I enjoy his music so much is that he is first and foremost a melodist. But a melodist with more than a little bit twist. Born right at the end of the nineteenth century, he took to composing late in life, was largely self-taught, and created a harmonic language of all his own. He just wasn't interested in the conventional rules. So the melodies, however fresh and apparently simple, are always overlaid and interrupted with his own identity. A sort of humorous quirkiness that was picked up from his exposure to the new world of jazz. There are dark sides, of course, but these tend to be reserved for his larger scale choral work. So we'll conclude today with a final moment of his symphonieta. The work was commissioned by the BBC in 1947 to mark the first anniversary of the creation of what was then called the third program, now Radio 3. My great uncle Victor was director of music at the BBC at the time and played no small part in that. And I have no idea if he was involved in the commission, because he died from pneumonia in March of the same year. But I like to think that had he survived until his premier in 1948, he might have been in with a decent child of conducting it on that occasion. And a brief reminder before we listen to the music that there's a fan and a contact page on the website. And I really hope you might send me a message wherever you are to let me know what you like or don't like, and any burning requests. The final movement of Pulang's Sinfonietta is played here by the NDR Elbe Philharmonie, conducted by Paavo Yevi.

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