Le Tombeau de Couperin

arranged for wind quintet by Mason Jones

Prélude

Fugue

Menuet

Rigaudon

As an inveterate and very expert arranger – though always from piano to orchestra or from orchestra to piano – Ravel would have been fascinated to hear a wind-quintet arrangement of his Tombeau de Couperin. He himself made an orchestral version of four of the six movements of the piano original –- not including the Fugue, an essentially keyboard inspiration which he clearly considered unsuitable for orchestral treatment. Written in strictly three parts throughout, it is not an obvious piece for wind quintet either. In the Prélude, Menuet and Rigaudon, on the other hand, Mason seems to have taken a close look at Ravel’s orchestral version, promoting the oboe to the lead role in the Prélude, where it has a tricky but rewarding time, and the Menuet, with the flute always in nearby attendance. While much the same colour is applied to the middle section of the Rigaudon, the robust outer sections require the more assertive voices of bassoon and horn.

Gerald Larner © 2009

Suite d’Orchestre

Prélude: vif

Forlane: allegretto

Menuet: allegro moderato

Rigaudon: assez vif

Between starting and finishing Le Tombeau de Couperin Ravel suffered the double trauma of the death of his much-loved mother and of a breakdown in his health after serving at Verdun in the First World War. It is characteristic of him even so that, although some of the work was written more or less as an amusement in 1914 and some in deep seriousness in 1917, there is little perceptible difference between the early movements and the late ones. In a stylish tribute to a master of the French baroque Ravel would have been even less inclined than usual to give expression to his own feelings. The title is not insignificant, however. In 1914 it was to have been Suite française. In 1917, following the baroque tradition of erecting a “tomb” to a revered predecessor, it became Le Tombeau de Couperin. How sombre Ravel’s thinking really was by then is confirmed by the dedication of each movement to a friend killed in the War (six movements in the original piano version, four in the orchestral suite).

The music itself, on the other hand, has its own life. While there is a certain wistful quality in the sound of the oboe, which carries much of the responsibility here, the Prélude is basically a graceful study in baroque-stye melodic decoration. The Forlane, written in 1914 as a witty comment on a Papal decree that the ancient Venetian furlana should henceforth replace the sinful tango, is both a clever pastiche on a Couperin model and a delightful expression of irony. The most emotional piece is the Menuet: a subtle melancholy, heightened again by oboe colouring, tinges the elegant line and clear textures of the outer sections, while in the middle section a positively outspoken anguish mounts in chromatic progressions on woodwind and brass over a persistent drone on lower strings. Though useful for adding expressive weight here, the brass instruments have had to be very discreet so far. In the final Rigaudon extra brilliance derives from the liberated trumpet and, later, extra vigour from the two horns. A tender middle section, led again by the oboe, is unceremoniously swept aside by the re-entry of the trumpet and its boisterous companions.

Prélude: vif

Fugue: allegro moderato

Forlane: allegretto

Rigaudon: assez vif

Menuet: allegro moderato

Toccata: vif

Ravel began his last piano work in the summer of 1914 as an amusing diversion - provoked by Papal efforts to ban the sinful tango and to revive the ancient forlane in its place - and completed it in the winter of 1917 as a memorial to much that he held dear. “I am working on something for the Pope,” he cheerfully announced as he sketched a Forlane after a model by Couperin. But by the autumn of 1914, after the outbreak of war with Germany, the Forlane was taking its place in what he then called a “French suite.” Work was interrupted by the composer’s service as a lorry driver at Verdun and, even more devastating, the death of his mother in January 1917. Invalided out of the Army five months later, he returned to what was now Le Tombeau de Couperin and, as soon as he finished it, collapsed into creative paralysis.

It is characteristic of Ravel that it is scarcely possible to distinguish those parts of the work written in 1914 from those written in 1917. The neo-baroque spirit prevails almost throughout and, even though each movement is dedicated to a friend killed in the war, there is little in them that is overtly emotional. There is nothing dry about them either. The melodic charm of the Prélude, heightened by graceful harpsichord-style decoration, and the hint of little-boy-lost Petit Poucet pathos in the Fugue are early and irresistible evidence of that.

The satirical inspiration behind the Forlane is only discreetly evident in its illicitly piquant harmonies, while the Rigaudon is a robust interpretation of an old Provençal dance with a middle section in the disingenuous manner of Chabrier. The most emotional piece is the Menuet, above all in the anguish mounting in chromatic progressions over a two-note drone in the central Musette section. Even in the restless and finally manic Toccata - dedicated to the late husband of the pianist Marguerite Long, who was to give the first performance of the work in 1919 - attractively lyrical phrases are floated on the turbulent surface.

Gerald Larner©

Prélude: vif Rigaudon: assez vif

Fugue: allegro moderato Menuet: allegro moderato

Forlane: allegretto Toccata: vif

“I’m beginning a suite of piano pieces,” Ravel wrote to a friend in October 1914, while he was making heroic efforts to get himself enlisted for active service in the War. “No, it’s not what you think: the Marseillaise isn’t in it, but there will be a forlane and a gigue.” The Tombeau de Couperin was completed in 1917, during a long period of recuperation after the composer’s health had been shattered by his military experiences and, even more traumatic, the death of his mother. There is still no Marseillaise in it (and no gigue either) but its patriotic inspiration - in its stylistic allegiance to a period when French music was French - is confirmed by the dedication of each piece to a friend killed in the War.

Although Ravel prepared himself for the project - his last solo piano work, incidentally - by transcribing a forlane from Couperin’s Concerts royaux, his tribute was addressed, as he said, “not so much to Couperin himself as to French music of the eighteenth century.” The gently fluent figuration of the Prélude, for example, is derived from a generalised idea of harpsichord music rather than a particular model. Not that it could satisfactorily be played on the harpsichord for more than a few bars together: in all these pieces, however authentic the rhythmic dimension, Ravel sooner or later asserts his own harmonic individuality and the piano its own technique.

No contemporary of Couperin could have got into the chromatic situations which arise from time to time in Ravel’s ingeniously three-voice Fugue. Within the structural and metrical regularity of the Forlane the exquisitely dissonant harmonies are all the more provocative. The Rigaudon is a tribute to French composers not only of the eighteenth century but also, surely, of Ravel’s own era - Chabrier in the outer sections and Satie in the middle. The Menuet is all period charm, or it would be without its Musette middle section, which rises from bucolic innocence to pained intensity within a few revealing bars. And no eighteenth-century composer, no French composer of any period without a knowledge of Liszt, could have written anything like the hard-driven, percussively articulated and brilliantly sustainedToccata.

Gerald Larner©

Suite d’Orchestre

Prélude: vif

Forlane: allegretto

Menuet: allegro moderato

Rigaudon: assez vif

Between starting and finishing Le Tombeau de Couperin Ravel suffered the double trauma of the death of his much-loved mother and of a breakdown in his health after serving as an Army lorry driver at Verdun in the First World War. It is characteristic of the composer however - even though some of the work was written more or less as an amusement in 1914 and some in deep seriousness in 1917 - that there is little perceptible difference between the early movements and the late ones. In a stylish tribute to François Couperin, his great Baroque predecessor, Ravel would have felt it inappropriate to be explicit about his own feelings.

It is quite clear from the dedication of each of the movements to a friend killed in the War - six movements in the original piano version, four in the orchestral suite - how serious Ravel’s thinking in 1917 really was. It must have been partly for the same reason that, rather than call the work Suite française as had been his original intention, he entitled it Le Tombeau de Couperin: even though tombeau in this context means “tribute” rather than “tomb” it has inevitably sombre reverberations. The music itself, on the other hand, has its own life

While there is a certain wistful quality in the sound of the oboe, which carries much of the responsibility here, the Prélude is basically a graceful study in baroque-stye melodic decoration. The Forlane, written in 1914 as a witty comment on a Papal decree that this ancient dance should henceforth replace the sinful tango, is both a clever pastiche on a Couperin model and a delightful expression of irony. The Menuet, however, is the most emotional piece in the suite. A subtle melancholy, heightened again by oboe colouring, tinges the elegant line and clear textures of the outer sections. In the middle section - which is identified as a musette (a dance with bagpipe accompaniment) in the piano version - a positively outspoken anguish mounts in chromatic progressions on woodwind and brass over a persistent drone on lower strings.

Though useful for adding expressive weight in the musette, the brass instruments have had to be very discreet so far. In the final Rigaudon, a lively dance originating in Provence, extra brilliance derives from the liberated trumpet and, later, extra vigour from the two horns dancing in unison. A tender middle section is unceremoniously swept aside by the re-entry of the trumpet and its boisterous companions.

Prélude: vif

Fugue: allegro moderato

Forlane: allegretto

Rigaudon: assez vif

Menuet: allegro moderato

Toccata: vif

Ravel’s major preoccupations in 1914 were to get himself into the Army - which, since he had long been exempted from military service on account of his small stature and fragile physique, was by no means easy - and to finish his Piano Trio before being posted to the Front. In fact, he was allowed to enlist, as a truck driver, only in March 1915, by which time the Piano Trio was in publication and he was already engaged on another project: “I’m beginning a suite of piano pieces,” Ravel wrote to a friend in October 1914….“No, it’s not what you think: the Marseillaise isn’t in it, but there will be a forlane and a gigue.”

The Tombeau de Couperin was completed in 1917, during a long period of recuperation after the composer’s health had been shattered by his military experiences and, even more traumatic, the death of his mother. There is still no Marseillaise in it (and no gigue either) but its patriotic inspiration - in its stylistic allegiance to a period when French music was French - is confirmed by the dedication of the six movements to friends killed in the War. The dedicatee of the Toccata, Captain Joseph de Marliave, was the husband of Marguerite Long, who was to give the first performance of the suite in 1919.

Although Ravel prepared himself for the project - his last solo piano work, incidentally - by transcribing a forlane from Couperin’s Concerts royaux, his tribute was addressed, as he said, “not so much to Couperin himself as to French music of the eighteenth century.” The gently fluent figuration of the Prélude, for example, is derived from a generalised idea of harpsichord music rather than a particular model. Not that it could satisfactorily be played on the harpsichord for more than a few bars together: in all these pieces, however authentic the rhythmic dimension, Ravel sooner or later asserts his own harmonic individuality and the piano its own technique.

It is true that the ingenious three-voice Fugue scarcely exploits the piano range but no contemporary of Couperin would have got into the chromatic situations which arise here from time to time. As for the Forlane, its exquisitely dissonant harmonies are all the more provocative within the structural and metrical regularity of the piece. The Rigaudon is a tribute to French composers not only of the eighteenth century but also, surely, of Ravel’s own era - Chabrier in the outer sections and Satie in the middle. The Menuet is all period charm, or it would be without its Musette middle section, which rises from bucolic innocence to pained intensity within a few revealing bars. And no eighteenth-century composer, no French composer of any period without a knowledge of Liszt, could have written anything like the hard-driven, percussively articulated, brilliantly sustained and unmistakably conclusive Toccata.

Gerald Larner©

Prélude: vif

Forlane: allegretto

Menuet: allegro moderato

Rigaudon: assez vif

“I’m working on something for the Pope,” Ravel wrote to friends in Paris in the summer of 1914. He was staying in his Basque-country retreat in St-Jean-de-Luz at the time and, as far as his friends were aware, engrossed in the composition of a Piano Trio. So, aware too of Ravel’s attitude to the Church, they must have thought he was joking. In a sense he was. He was also starting something fairly serious.

Amused by recent Papal efforts to ban the seductive tango and replace it with the supposedly innocent furlana - a dance which had been all the rage in Venice in the eighteenth century - Ravel was fascinated to find an authentic eighteenth-century example of the French form of the furlana reprinted in the Revue musicale. Taking François Couperin’s Forlane-Rondeau as his model, he diverted himself from work on a particularly troublesome passage of the Piano Trio by fashioning a modern version of the dance “for the Pope.” That was in June or July. A few weeks later France was at war with Germany and Ravel’s interest in Couperin - the leading figure in French music when French music was French - had taken on a patriotic dimension. With the Piano Trio now out of the way, he was planning to incorporate the new Forlane in what he called “a French suite” for piano. “No, it’s not what you think,” he explained. “The Marseillaise will not be featured in it, and there will be a forlane, a gigue, but no tango.”

The suite was not completed until three years later. In the meantime Ravel had experienced not only the distress of military service as a lorry driver at Verdun but also the anguish caused by the death of his mother in January 1917. Invalided out of the Army five months later, he returned to what he now called Le Tombeau de Couperin and, as soon as he finished it, collapsed into years of ill health and creative paralysis. It is characteristic of Ravel, however, that in spite of the intervening trauma, it is difficult to tell which movements were written before the War and which after.

The dedication of each of the six movements of the original piano version to a friend killed in the War and the sombre new title of the work - although in this context a tombeau (literally a “tomb”) is actually no more than a traditional a form of artistic homage to a revered predecessor - are eloquent evidence of the composer’s thinking. In the music itself, however, it is as though he was using baroque forms and modal harmonies specifically to conceal his feelings.The orchestral version, which he completed two years later, is more revealing in this respect. Although Le Tombeau de Couperin is essentially a modern pianist’s interpretation of baroque harpsichord forms and figurations, the orchestral colours add significant nuances of expression to the four movements he found suitable for this kind of treatment.

The Prélude is a formal exercise in sustaining the flow of triplet figures introduced in the very first bar. On the other hand, both the main themes of the piece take on an extra wistful quality when presented by woodwind instruments, even though the decorative element in the melodic line falls more easily under a pianist’s finger than an oboist’s.

The gently satirical aspect of the Forlane is particularly evident in the orchestral version: the rhythm of the furlana might not be as seductive as that of the tango, Ravel seems to suggest, but there is ample opportunity for a variety of illicit thrills in the piquant harmonies and the flirtatious exchanges between strings and woodwind.

The Menuet is the most emotional piece in the suite. A subtle melancholy, heightened again by oboe colouring, tinges the elegant line and clear textures of the outer sections. In the central Musette section a positively outspoken anguish mounts in chromatic progressions on woodwind and brass over a persistent drone on lower strings.

Though useful for adding expressive weight in the Musette, the brass instruments have had to be very discreet so far. In the final Rigaudon, a lively dance originating in Provence, extra brilliance derives from the liberated trumpet and, later, extra vigour from the two horns dancing in unison. A tender middle section is unceremoniously swept aside by the re-entry of the trumpet and its boisterous companions.

Gerald Larner©

Prélude: vif (orchestrated by Maurice Ravel)

Fugue: allegro moderato (orchestrated by Zoltán Kocsis)

Forlane: allegretto (orch Ravel)

Rigaudon: assez vif (orch Ravel)

Menuet: allegro moderato (orch Ravel)

Toccata: vif (orch Kocsis)

When Ravel wrote the orchestral version of his Tombeau de Couperin piano pieces, which he had completed two years earlier in 1917, he omitted the Fugue and the Toccata. We cannot be sure exactly why he left them out but the probability is that he considered them unsuitable for orchestral treatment. Three of the pieces he did include in the orchestral suite are dances and the one that isn’t, the Prélude, is quite different in texture from the Fugue and the Toccata, both of which are essentially keyboard conceptions.

Zoltán Kocsis has a different theory: “It is more than likely that an arrangement for a relatively small ensemble was tempting for Ravel because it promised wider propagation, and it is no wonder that the Fugue and Toccata were left out of this work, probably for reasons of form in the first case and of orchestration in the second. In terms of its musical material, the Fugue is reminiscent of the orchestration of some kind of medieval consort, whereas the Toccata movement unavoidably demands a large ensemble.” However that may be - and it is just as likely that Ravel chose a small ensemble to suit the baroque orientation of the work - the two unorchestrated movements were clearly an irresistible challenge to a musician as expert in the art of arrangement as Zoltán Kocsis. Certainly, it is a legitimate enterprise which, if the sound is right, needs no further justification.

Ravel was thinking in baroque terms when he started the work in 1914 for two main reasons. The first was his amusement at recent Papal efforts to ban the seductive tango and replace it with the supposedly innocent furlana - a dance which had been all the rage in Venice in the eighteenth century - and his fascination with an authentic eighteenth-century example of the French form of the furlana, Couperin’s Forlane-Rondeau, reprinted in the current number of the Revue musicale. The other reason was more serious. At the beginning of a war with Germany he was moved by patriotism to model a keyboard suite, including a Couperinesque forlane, on examples from a period when French music was still French and free of German influence. He completed it three years later - his work on it having been interrupted by military service - gave it the baroque title of Le Tombeau de Couperin and dedicated each of the six movements to a friend killed in the war.

The essence of the Prélude is its decorative melodic lines which, inspired as they are by baroque keyboard figuration, fall more easily under a pianist’s fingers than, say, an oboist’s. In compensation, both the main themes assume another dimension in personality, an extra wistful quality, when presented by woodwind soloists. The Kocis arrangement of the Fugue preserves the textural clarity and the fresh sound of the original piano piece by excluding strings and restricting the counterpoint largely to woodwind with occasional participation of the harp and well timed interventions from the brass. Ravel’s gently satirical attitude to the Forlane is particularly evident in the orchestral version: the rhythm of the furlana might not be as seductive as that of the tango, he seems to suggest, but there is ample opportunity for a variety of illicit thrills in the piquant harmonies and the flirtatious exchanges between strings and woodwind.

In the Rigaudon, the last movement in Ravel’s orchestral suite, extra radiance derives from the liberated trumpet and, later, extra vigour from the two horns dancing in unison. The Menuet is the most emotional piece in the suite: a subtle melancholy, heightened again by oboe colouring, tinges the elegant line of the outer sections while in the central Musette a positively outspoken anguish mounts in chromatic progressions on woodwind and brass over a persistent drone on lower strings. Zoltán Kocsis’s version of the Toccata is a daringly conceived finale. It is remarkable not so much for its prominent use of percussion or its abandonment of baroque modesty as for its gradual accumulation of orchestral colour and its ultimate explosion in an ending that so brilliantly transcends the piano version that even Ravel might have been impressed.

Gerald Larner ©2004

Prélude: vif

Forlane: allegretto

Menuet: allegro moderato

Rigaudon: assez vif

One of the more curious episodes in the history of the Roman Church was a campaign to ban the tango when it was at the height of its popularity just before the First World War. The idea was to replace it by reviving the forlane or furlana, a supposedly less sinful kind of dance which had been all the rage in Venice in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Ravel, who was in St-Jean-de-Luz at the time working on his Piano Trio, was not only amused by the Papal efforts to turn the tide of popular fashion but also fascinated to find in a recent issue of the Revue musicale an authentic eighteenth-century example of a forlane by François Couperin. Taking Couperin’s Forlane-Rondeau as his model, he diverted himself from work on a particularly troublesome passage of the Trio by fashioning a modern version of the forlane. “I’m working on something for the Pope,” he wrote with characteristic irony to a friend in Paris.

That was in June or July, 1914. A few weeks later France was at war with Germany and Ravel’s interest in Couperin - the leading figure in French music when French music was French - was developing a patriotic dimension. The Forlane then became part of what he called “a French suite” for piano. Work on it was interrupted by the composer’s persistent efforts (in spite of a long-standing exemption on medical grounds) to enlist in the Army, by military service as a lorry driver at Verdun and, even more devastating, by the death of his mother in January 1917. Invalided out of the Army five months later, he got back to work on what he now called Le Tombeau de Couperin and, as soon as he finished it, collapsed into ill health and creative paralysis.

So, as well as being a memorial to Couperin - in this context a tombeau (literally “tomb”) is a form of artistic homage to a revered predecessor - it was a memorial to much that he held dear. The funereal title page he designed for the original piano version, together with the dedication of each of the six movements to a friend killed in the war, is eloquent evidence of that aspect of Ravel’s thinking. It is characteristic of the composer, however, that there is little that is overtly emotional about the work. It is as though he had chosen to use baroque forms and modal harmonies specifically to conceal his feelings. The orchestral version, which he completed two years later, is more revealing in that respect. Although Le Tombeau de Couperin is essentially a modern pianist’s interpretation of baroque harpsichord forms and figurations, the orchestral colours add significant nuances of expression to the four movements he found suitable for this kind of treatment.

The Prélude is, on the one hand, a formal exercise in sustaining from beginning to end the flowing triplet figures introduced in the very first bar. On the other hand, both the main themes of the piece take on an extra wistful quality when presented by woodwind instruments, even though the decorative element in the melodic line falls more easily under a pianist’s fingers than an oboist’s.

The gently satirical aspect of the Forlane - the movement written “for the Pope” before the beginning of the war - is particularly evident in the orchestral version: the rhythm of the forlane might not be as seductive as that of the tango, Ravel seems to suggest, but there is ample opportunity for a variety of illicit thrills in the piquant harmonies and the flirtatious exchanges between strings and woodwind.

The Menuet, the last and best example of its kind in Ravel’s piano music, is the most emotional piece in the suite. A subtle melancholy, heightened again by oboe colouring, tinges the elegant line and clear textures of the outer sections. In the central Musette section a positively outspoken anguish mounts in chromatic progressions on woodwind and brass over a persistent drone on lower strings.

Though useful for adding expressive weight in the Musette, the brass instruments have had to be very discreet so far. In the final Rigaudon, a lively dance originating in Provence, extra brilliance derives from the liberated trumpet and, later, extra vigour from the two horns dancing in unison. A tender middle section is unceremoniously swept aside by the re-entry of the trumpet and its boisterous companions.