I was having some difficulty getting stuck into Ravel, but then one Saturday evening at the gym they were playing Simon Bates' soundtracks show on Classic FM (slushy, boring sub-Titanic drivel) and after that I couldn't wait to get home and listen to some real music. Why is the station so obsessed with movies - as if a film link somehow gives classical music extra status? And is there any evidence that, as Classic likes to claim, anyone has ever made the jump from the constant repetition of the melodies-we-love (plus soundtracks we hate) to, say, Mahler 6? I know, I must try to relax.
Just as bad as Classic FM's glutinous style and refusal to take classical music seriously are the attitudes of some of those who responded to my introduction to this series of composer-by-composer blogs. "Classical music is by its very nature an elitist enterprise, and so has it always been, and will always be," says one blogger. Why? It's just a series of sounds that may or may not appeal to listeners. The more you listen, the more you try to make sense of the music, the more you will appreciate the composer's soundworld. The truly great composers - Bach, Beethoven, Verdi, Puccini - wrote music with which anyone can empathise. Why mystify it? It just needs to be listened to.
Which is what I've been trying to do with the music of Maurice Ravel. I've been studying the life a little, too. Born 1875, died 1937; father was Swiss, mother was Basque; he was born in Ciboure, in France's Pays Basque, but the family moved to Paris when he was three months old. He was a contemporary of Proust's and it's hard not to find in Ravel a wistful musical counterpoint to Proust's claustrophobic fin-de-siecle world.
His compositions are so refined that, like the richest desserts, they should be consumed in small quantities and savoured. Ravel was a perfectionist who, it is claimed, only committed a piece to manuscript when it was fully realised in his head. "I can be occupied for several years without writing a single note," he said. "One must spend time in eliminating all that could be regarded as superfluous in order to realise as completely as possible the definitive clarity so much desired."
Stravinsky likened him to a "Swiss watchmaker" and others have found his work austere and emotionless. But I find his work deeply affecting, shot through with a sense of loss and longing. It is astringent, but certainly not devoid of feeling. These seem to be the key works, but contrary views welcome.
Piano Concerto in G: The Penguin CD guide calls this his masterpiece. It was one of the last pieces Ravel completed and is a gorgeous amalgam of jazzy rhythms and lyrical beauty. It is the charismatic Argentinian pianist Martha Argerich's signature piece, and there is a famous Deutsche Grammophon recording from 1967 with Claudio Abbado and the Berlin Philharmonic. But there is no shortage of other fine recordings: Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli with Ettore Gracis on EMI, Krystian Zimerman with Pierre Boulez on DG, and Samson Francois with Andre Cluytens on EMI.
Piano Concerto for the Left Hand in D Major: The pianist Paul Wittgenstein lost his right arm in the first world war, and commissioned this concerto from Ravel, to be played with the left hand only. ''In a work of this kind," wrote Ravel, "it is essential to give the impression of a texture no thinner than that of a part written for both hands." He succeeds completely. It makes sense to get both concertos on one disc, which probably points to Francois or Zimerman.
Works for solo piano: Ravel's solo piano music is superb and you will want it all. Happily, there are several treasurable discs that make that possible, including two-CD collections by Jean-Philippe Collard on EMI and Pascal Rogé on Decca. The latter also includes his five pieces for children, Ma Mere l'Oye, which were written for four hands. Ravel orchestrated many of his piano works, but if I had to choose between the versions I would almost invariably choose the piano originals for their directness and simplicity.
String Quartet: A relatively early piece, written when Ravel was in his late 20s. Once you have heard the pizzicato opening of the second movement, you will never forget it. Usually paired with Debussy's String Quartet, written 10 years earlier, whose soundworld it shares. I have an old LP with the Melos Quartet (available as a CD on Deutsche Grammophon), but more recently I've been listening to the Belcea Quartet on EMI. The Penguin Guide also recommends the recording on Naxos by the Ad Libitum Quartet, which has a more original coupling - the E minor Quartet by Ravel's teacher, Gabriel Fauré.
Piano Trio in A minor: This is a work that has taken a little longer to seep into my consciousness. I may have been put off by the sleevenotes that came with the Trio Wanderer's recording on Harmonia Mundi: "The initial allegro-de-sonate is a model of nonchalant luminosity, instrumental balance and an elegant disposition of wholes and partials in a unrepentant, seamless dialogue." The bit of the notes I did understand suggests that the work, completed in 1914, is suffused with the sense of Europe's march to war, and I suppose that reading is now inevitable. The slow movement is, with or without contextualisation, highly charged and very moving. So much for Stravinsky's watchmaker. The recording that finally sealed my appreciation of this work is by Georges Pludermacher (piano), Gérard Jarry (violin) and Michel Tournus (cello), part of a terrific double CD on EMI of all Ravel's chamber music. I borrowed this disc from a library, but it's listed on Amazon France (google Ravel + Musique de Chambre) at 15.60 euros and is well worth buying.
Orchestral works, songs, operas: Dedicated Ravelians will choose La Valse; Boléro, a piece much damaged by association; Rapsodie Espagnole; Daphnis et Chloé; and the song cycle Shéhérazade. None of these appeals to me as much as the piano music and chamber pieces, but that no doubt is my problem. Ravel's songs (even the Trois Poemes de Stephane Mallarmé so beloved of some of you) are a work in progress in my head. Similarly, I have yet to be convinced that my one-night stand with his two one-act operas, L'Heure Espagnole and L'Enfant et les Sortileges, will deepen into love. The exploration may only just have begun - a conclusion I will endeavour not to reach too often in these surveys.
Next up: Ralph Vaughan Williams, the link being that he studied with Ravel for a short time and, apparently, learned a great deal about orchestration from him. I know and like his third and fifth symphonies very much, adore his Songs of Travel, and even admit to humming along to the Fantasia on Greensleeves. Other suggestions gratefully received, though I draw the line at Hugh the Drover.
