Paris-born, Geneva-raised lyric tenor Benjamin Bernheim possesses a rare gift shared by only a few of the greatest French lyrics on record. When he’s not producing full-throated opera-house-level fortes and declamations, Bernheim can generate some of the sweetest, warmest, and most beguiling sounds you are ever likely to hear. I expect many a heart will melt listening to his recording of composer Henri Duparc’s inspired setting of poet Jean Lahor’s opium-laced fantasy “Extase” (Ecstasy), which is featured on the tenor’s latest album, Douce France (Deutsche Grammophon). Bernheim’s soft tones are nothing short of exquisite.
If some of his and pianist Carrie-Ann Matheson’s repertoire selections here push the envelope, it’s more due to performance tradition than to the compositions themselves. The opening tracks, the six songs of Hector Berlioz’s Les nuits d’été (Summer nights) and the three songs of Ernest Chausson’s Poème de l’amour et de la mer (Poem of love and the sea), were initially conceived, in whole or part, for tenor and piano. Only after receiving their premieres were these works orchestrated and transformed for female artists.
Berlioz’s and Chausson’s compositions aren’t alone in suffering this fate. Consider the reverse case of Gabriel Fauré’s late song cycle Mirages, which sets the lesbian poetry of Renée de Brimont and was premiered by Madeleine Grey, who in 1932 famously recorded Maurice Ravel’s Chansons madécasses (Madagascan songs) with an instrumental ensemble conducted by the composer. The work is often sung by men today, thus robbing it of an entire range of meaning and nuance. (Fauré’s cycle doesn’t appear on Douce France.)
Bernheim and Matheson continue to flout conventions wonderfully. Taking a step into the present, they gently roll from classical to popular as they end the recital with Joseph Kosma’s “Les feuilles mortes” (better known in English as “Autumn Leaves”), Charles Trenet’s “Douce France” (Sweet France), and Jacques Brel’s “Quand on n’a que l’amour” (When we only have love). Bernheim’s delivery may not be that of a cabaret singer, but his vocal beauty, sincerity, and excellent enunciation on all but a few of the highest full-voiced words will leave listeners swooning.
For me, Bernheim and Matheson’s inclusion of these numbers, along with the soft singing in Berlioz’s “Au cimetière” (In the cemetery) and the four Duparc songs, is the highlight of the recital. Listen, for example, to the exquisite way Bernheim voices the words “larmes” and “vagabonde” in Duparc’s “L’invitation au voyage” (Invitaiton to journey) before hitting the song’s climax on “lumière” in beautiful full voice.
The opening of “Phidylé” is heavenly. Who could not be seduced into slumber at the sounds of this voice, which in Duparc’s mélodie caresses ear and heart in a shaded break from the midday sun, only to awaken at a lover’s beckoning? As for the various meanings of Duparc’s “La vie antérieure” (The previous life), listen for yourself and discover if Bernheim’s invocation of past lives leaves you suspended in ambiguity or longing for more masterfully sung climaxes that lead to a realm of voluptuous calm.
Let us all sigh together now.
