Organ Concerto

Allusions may add interest to Saint-Saëns Symphony No. 3, but they seem even more germane in the works of Françis Poulenc (1899-1963). Poulenc wrote five keyboard concertos, several of which paraphrase Mozart, Rachmaninoff, Gershwin, American Jazz standards, and more. Growing up in affluent surroundings—his father was head of France’s largest chemical corporation—Poulenc could easily have been a mere dilettante. Musical talent passed to Françis from his mother, and by his late teens he was already making a name in Parisian circles of new music. Even before receiving his first formal composition lessons, Poulenc was associated with a loose-knit group of composers known as Les Six who admired Satie, Cocteau, and trends ranging from Neoclassicism to Dadaism. But in 1936 Poulenc experienced a mystical breakthrough while mourning the death of a colleague. From then onward, his renewed devotion to Catholicism stimulated an outpouring of more introverted compositions.
Among the first fruits of this new direction was the Organ Concerto, written between 1936 and 1938. It was commissioned by Winnaretta Singer, Princesse Edmond de Polignac, host of a highly influential Parisian salon that inspired no less a figure than Marcel Proust. The princess was a talented organist, and Poulenc originally planned to feature her as soloist, scoring the concerto for a reduced string orchestra that would fit into Polignac’s private music hall, complete with 1892 Cavaillé-Coll organ. As the composition took shape, however, Maurice Duruflé was engaged to assist Poulenc with issues of registration and give the premiere in December 1938. In gratitude, Poulenc dedicated the concerto to Duruflé.
In the Organ Concerto Poulenc wrestled with two competing musical impulses as the radiant, urbane style of his younger years was being gradually supplanted by newfound religious sobriety. Cast in a single movement, the Concerto opens with powerful G-minor harmonies. These striking chords clearly mimic a Bach fantasia, although their dissonant continuation is pure left-bank esprit. The opening section continues in quiet exploration between organ and timpani, soon joined by strings. This understated style reflects the composer’s new interest in sacred music. It gradually builds to a towering dominant-ninth chord on D (with added F-natural and B-flat!), which resolves into a lively Allegro giocoso—Poulenc at his captivating best. The Allegro takes on the guise of a sonata-form development before stalling on two massive plateaus of sound in C major and G major. We depart this world as quickly as we entered it, turning instead to a polyphonic organ solo. Vast stretches of lyrical themes unfold until we meet the resurrected Allegro, and the work closes with a circular glance back at the opening G minor fantasia. Taken as a whole, the bon vivant of Poulenc’s youth makes only brief appearances. Instead, a more sober Poulenc holds our attention—perhaps sitting in a side parlor of Polignac’s salon, his eyes sadly surveying a scene of Paris’ faded belle époque.

(c) Jason Stell