CD: 1
  1. Ariane et barbe bleue acte I scene 1 a mort a mort!
  2. Ariane et barbe bleue acte I scene 2 ou sommes nous
  3. Ariane et barbe bleue acte I scene 3 hesitante, elle ouvre la sixieme porte
  4. Ariane et barbe bleue acte I scene 4 ariane que faites-vous
  5. Ariane et barbe bleue acte I scene 5 vous aussi
  6. Ariane et barbe bleue acte II scene 1 ecoutez  la porte se referme
  7. Ariane et barbe bleue acte II scene 2 Ah! Je vous ai trouvees!
  8. Ariane et barbe bleue acte II scene 3 nous comptons mal les jour

CD : 2
  1. Ariane et barbe bleue acte II ah ce n est pas encore celle-ci!
  2. Ariane et barbe bleue acte II scene 5 je vois la mer!
  3. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 1 prelude
  4. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 2 nous n'avons pu sotir du chateau enchante
  5. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 3 il revient! Il est la!
  6. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 4 madame on peut entrer
  7. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 5 adieu adieu; vous nous avez sauvees
  8. Ariane et barbe bleue acte III scene 6 adieu

Ariane KATHERINE CIESINSKI, mezzo-soprano ( Ariane )
Barbe-Bleue GABRIEL BACQUIER, baritono ( Barbe-Bleue )
La Nourrice MARIANA PAUNOVA, mezzo-soprano ( Nurse )
Selysette HANNA SCHAER, contralto ( Sélysette )
Ygraine ANNE-MARIE BLANZAT, soprano ( Ygraine ) 
Melisance JOCELYNE CHAMONIN ( Mélisande )
Bellangere MICHELLE COMMAND, soprano ( Bellangère )

Choeurs de Radio France
Nouvel Orchestre Philharmonique
Armin JORDAN – conductor

Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleu is cut from the same cloth as Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande, but much less well known; unfairly so, in my view. Both are based on work by Maeterlinck and both are fairly plotless inner-dramas where the poetry of symbolism is more important than any action. In the same way that Pelléas and Mélisande inhabit the timeless, locationless region of Allemonde, Ariane takes place entirely indoors in a carefully unspecific time and place, with only the briefest intrusion of the outside world towards the opera’s conclusion. The affinities go even deeper when you compare their musical style side by side. Dukas’ style of orchestration is very similar to that of Debussy. His is a half-lit world of twilight and near darkness, literally so in the second act when Ariane enters - or, in this production, descends - into the final chamber to meet and then set free Bluebeard’s previous wives. The orchestration is suggestive of weight and claustrophobia, with strong use of the darker colours of, say, the horn and cor anglais. That is not to say that Dukas is overwhelmed by the prior example of Debussy; quite the opposite. He proves himself every inch the master of his subject and is not in the least intimidated by the stature of his predecessor. Listen, for example, to the extraordinary prelude to second act, depicting the darkness of the seventh chamber in which are imprisoned Bluebeard’s wives, a subtle but unflinching crescendo that makes its way fleetingly towards the uncertain light. Like Debussy, this is not a world of melody but of suggestion and atmosphere and it is very powerful, Dukas adopting (and adapting) the sound-world of Wagner to his own special ends. It’s an extraordinary and multi-layered work of music drama, and I suspect that the main reason why this opera isn’t better known is simply because Debussy got there first.

The story, what there is of it, bears some similarities to Bartók’s in its first act, with seven doors, behind the last of which lie Bluebeard’s previous wives. However, while Bartók’s Judith is an abrasive character who finally accedes to her place in Bluebeard’s gallery, Ariane is liberated and a liberator. She perpetually takes control of her situation and she sets free Bluebeard’s five wives, encouraging them to freedom. Intriguingly, however, they are not prepared to follow her. In the final scene Bluebeard is wounded by the hostile villagers but, rather than kill him, the wives (including Ariane) tend his wounds and try to nurse him back to health, to music of remarkable tenderness. In the end only Ariane has the courage to leave and she does so alone. There is ripe territory here for a director who wants to explore the deepest implications of the Stockholm syndrome, with the suggestion of the wives returning voluntarily to their imprisonment. Guth’s production is very static, but it’s hard to complain about that in an opera like this one. The white which dominates all the sets and costumes is reminiscent of sterile institutions like hospitals, prisons and asylums, and Guth’s depiction of the five wives is surprisingly naturalistic in its vision of the deranging effects of solitary confinement.

For all his importance to the plot, Bluebeard has a tiny role in the action. He appears on stage in the third act, but his singing is limited to a very few phrases at the end of the first act. --- Simon Thompson, musicweb-international.com

Paul Dukas’s take on the Bluebeard legend has a libretto by Maurice Maeterlinck and a score that evokes both Debussy (directly quoted) and Wagner. It’s a curious take, in that Bluebeard has no more than 20 bars to sing in the whole opera, whereas Ariane – the sixth wife who eventually abandons him to her five predecessors – is on stage throughout. The second most prominent character is Ariane’s nurse. Add important contributions from four of the other wives (the fifth being a foreigner who doesn’t speak the language), and it’s almost a concerto for female voices and orchestra. Without a score or libretto (the latter happily provided here) it can be difficult on CD to know just who is singing at any moment.

For a long time the only recording in the catalogue was a 1983 Erato version under Armin Jordan. This, though, is the fourth further release in recent years. Of these I confess to fondness for a slightly abridged 1968 French radio recording for its full complement of native French singers and a conductor (Tony Aubin) who studied with Dukas himself. However, it can only be an adjunct to a recording with modern sound that brings out the full glory of Dukas’s luminous score.

That is certainly provided by this newcomer – a splendid 1986 recording from the archives of Cologne Radio. From the very first bar Gary Bertini reveals a mastery of the score that puts in the shade all but Bertrand de Billy, achieving a menacing quality and tension missing elsewhere, and surging to brilliant effect at key orchestral moments such as the opening of the various doors of Bluebeard’s castle to reveal ever greater hordes of priceless jewels.

As for the main singers, Bertini has the most natural pairing in Marilyn Schmiege and Jocelyne Taillon – expressive, secure in intonation, well coupled and well contrasted. By contrast, Jordan has a plummy Bulgarian Nurse with odd French vowels, de Billy a sometimes ill-focused Ariane, and Botstein voices poorly distinguishable from each other. Altogether this newcomer seems to me a clear winner all round. --- Andrew Lamb, gramophone.co.uk

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1. La Peri

Orchestre de Bordeaux Aquitaine
Roberto Benzi – conductor

2. The Sorcerer's Apprentice

New York Philharmonic
Leonard Bernstein – conductor

Dukas' final significant work, the 20-minute ballet La Péri (subtitled "Poème dansé") was written for dancer N. Truhanova and was premiered by her on a program that also included dances to Schmitt's La tragédie de Salomé, d'Indy's Istar, and Ravel's Valses nobles et sentimentales (here retitled Adélaide). La Péri fit perfectly in this company, with its dreamy manipulation of two exotic themes in an orchestration Dukas intended to resemble "a kind of translucent, dazzling enamel." This is Dukas' most Impressionistic score, with the primary themes used as vehicles for explorations of mood and timbre. The orchestra can make a powerful noise in the work's many passionate sections, but at least half the score is given over to quiet washes of strings and delicate swirls of woodwinds, with Middle Eastern flavor provided by a few extra percussion instruments, notably the tambourine. In the story, which is based on an ancient Persian legend, Iskender (Alexander the Great) at last finds the Flower of Immortality in the hand of a sleeping Péri, or fairy. Iskender snatches the flower, which distresses the now wide-awake Péri; without it, she cannot serve Ormuzd, the god of light. Iskender becomes aroused by the Péri, who performs a seductive dance while the Flower of Immortality causes Iskender's face to glow red with desire. Realizing himself unworthy, he willingly hands back the flower; with it, the Péri rises into the light while Iskender recedes into the shadows and, presumably, death. The score begins with a regal, questing brass fanfare in ternary form, a piece written, and often played, separately. The dance music itself falls into three parts. The first opens with shimmering strings and mysterious horn calls, leading to variations on Iskender's sinuous, ever surging-and-receding theme. A mysterious transition leads to the second part, the Péri's dance, which is really a set of variations on her own more ecstatic theme. Dukas then developed the two themes together, eventually bringing them to a shattering climax. The final part is a brief epilog in which the Péri's theme, now dreamy and increasingly distant, mingles for the last time with Iskender's, which is now much calmer and broader than it initially was. The music dies away into the muted horn calls of the beginning. ---James Reel, Rovi

On January 3, 1897, the premiere of Dukas' great Symphony in C met with a cool reception. An impressive Beethovenian overture, Polyeucte (inspired by Corneille's play), had been heard in 1892, the year in which Dukas began his career as a critic, covering productions of Wagner operas in London. Behind him lay an undistinguished apprenticeship at the Paris Conservatoire and a year's military service. Older colleagues, d'Indy and Saint-Saëns foremost, recognized his talent. The latter tapped him to orchestrate Guiraud's uncompleted Frédégonde, and edit several operas for a new Rameau edition, despite the fact that he lacked a public profile. That literally changed overnight on May 18, 1897, with the premiere of The Sorcerer's Apprentice; it became one of the most popular orchestral works ever penned, long before Disney's animated version for the 1940 film Fantasia.

The public has always responded avidly to pictorial and literary associations in music. In matching Goethe's laconic ballad Das Zauberlehrling with an orchestral showpiece, Dukas found unmistakable musical equivalents for the events of the poem, and did so with formal concision. Teasingly called a scherzo by its composer, this resourceful, brilliantly orchestrated work is cast as a compact sonata movement with four themes that are tenuously alluded to in a brief introduction depicting an aura of mystery as the old sorcerer leaves his atelier. Quietly descending thirds in the strings suggest magic -- and later the water that magic summons -- yielding to the softly enunciated broomstick theme on clarinets. The apprentice makes a sudden appearance in a skittering, vacillating rush before quiet descends again, and the commanding theme of the master's spell is heard as if from a distance, on muted brass. With startling abruptness, the spell motif rings out on trumpets combined with the broomstick motif pizzicato. The magic has been worked and the introduction ends with a single tympani stroke. The exposition proper begins now as the lurching broomstick theme gradually shudders to strident, march-like life, drawing in the descending minor thirds signifying water and sorcery. Development proceeds relentlessly with the enchanted broomstick filling the apprentice's bath, which overflows, becoming an inundation. Despite his frantic cries and the partial enunciation of the spell motif -- or the apprentice has forgotten the words -- the broomstick heedlessly continues. To a mighty climax, he seizes an axe and cuts the broom in two. For a moment this seems to have worked. But slowly, shudderingly, "two" brooms -- the theme in canon -- begin to draw water, initiating the recapitulation. Tension escalates even more alarmingly, but this time the climax is capped by the authoritative pronouncement of the spell motif, signaling the master's return, at which a crashing orchestral tutti brings all to a halt. The mysterious quiet of the beginning returns as the waters dissipate and the apprentice's theme, now supplicating, is heard twice before a triplet rush to the final "once upon a time" chord.

The indebtedness of the stormier parts of The Sorcerer's Apprentice to the Ride of the Valkyries has been noted a number of times, while the adroit use of Wagner-like motifs is self-evident. Nietzsche referred to Wagner as "the old Sorcerer" -- it is not too much to see in The Sorcerer's Apprentice, a masterpiece demonstrating that Dukas had not only learned "the lessons of the Master," but cunningly combined them with the French penchant for formal clarity. --- Adrian Corleonis, Rovi

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1. Allegro
2. Andante
3. Allegro

State of Mexico Symphony Orchestra
Guillermo Villarreal – conductor

Live, Mexico, 16 september 2011

In la belle époque, very few French composers wrote symphonies and, aside from Saint-Saëns, fewer still wrote more than one. There was Lalo's Symphony in G minor (1886), Franck's Symphony in D minor (1888), Chausson's Symphony in B flat major (1889), and Dukas' Symphony in C major (1896). All except the Franck symphony are hardly known outside of France, but the Dukas symphony is probably the least known of them all. Only his fourth published work, Dukas completed his symphony the year after he finished his tone poem The Sorcerer's Apprentice, that is, after he considered that he had reached maturity as a composer. Like Franck and Chausson's symphonies, Dukas' symphony is in three movements. Unlike them, it does not use a single motif, an idée fixe, to unify the work, but, like them, it does use Wagnerian chromatic harmonies as the basis of its musical language. Nevertheless, Dukas' symphony is a powerful and distinctive work whose tone of exuberant optimism is a welcome tonic after the heavy late-Romanticism of Franck and Chausson. The opening Allegro non troppo vivace, ma con fuoco has three themes: an agitated first theme in C major, a lyrical theme in A minor, and a fanfare theme in F major. After a quiet return of the first theme, the development deliberately moves toward the recapitulation of the three themes, the first two in C major, the third in F major. The coda begins calmly, but rises to a magnificent climax. The central Andante espressivo e sostenuto also has three themes: an expansive first theme in E minor, a tender second theme in E major, and a lyrical third theme that winds its way through many modulations back to the first two themes' recapitulation. The closing Allegro spiritoso is a rondo with two episodes: a vigorous rondo theme followed by a chromatic episode and a gentler, more lyrical episode. After the third statement of the rondo theme, Dukas combines all three themes in a Presto coda that takes the movement and the symphony to its exultant close. ---James Leonard, Rovi

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