Leon Delcroix (1880–1938) was born in Brussels. He inherited the musical mantel of Cesar Franck and was a student of both Ysaÿe and d’Indy. His Lied élégiaque was composed in 1909 for English horn and string quintet with two optional horn parts. Here the orchestration is reduced to organ. As in the cases of all the other pieces on this release where a transcriber is unlisted in the headnote, I assume it to be the performers. Whatever the truth of the matter, the result works admirably. This is, in so many ways, the most melodically and harmonically effective track on this release—pure divertimento material.

Marseille-born Ange Flégier (1846–1927) is likewise below the historical radar. He studied with, among others, Ambroise Thomas at the Paris Conservatory and is remembered by a small coterie of cognoscenti for, in addition to the piece performed here, two other works—a Trio for oboe and bassoon and Le cor, based on a poem by Alfred de Vigny. His melodically gracious Solitude for violin (or English horn) with horn or piano or string accompaniment is, after Delcroix’s effort, the second most compelling offering on this release.

René Guillou (1903–1958) was also an alumnus of the Paris Conservatory. A prize-winning student who eventually became organist at Notre Dame de Versailles (1920–1926), he produced a goodly volume of works in assorted genres, few of which are known on this side of the pond. Elegie for viola (or English horn) and piano is a poignant piece that employs some almost impressionistic effects in its accompaniment. The Stradella offering, as the liner notes inform us, is a hoax composed and perpetrated by the Belgian musicologist, organist, teacher, and composer, François-Joseph Fétis. Perhaps this work inspired the early 20th-century Italian musicologist Remo Giazotto to produce his infamous Albinoni Adagio—a piece that sounds like no Albinoni I know, but which is, like Fétis’s effort, a real charmer. Fétis, incidentally, wrote his Elegie for use in his musicology lectures.

Kodály’s Epigrams occupy a special place on our musicological space-time continuum. Like his compatriot Bartók, Kodály understood and appreciated the need to educate the following generations musically. Bartók produced his For Children collections and the multi-volume Mikrokosmos for budding pianists while Kodály focused on vocal music, composing countless similarly pedagogical works. The nine Epigrams fall into that category. It was originally conceived for voice and piano and through it, Kodály, like Bartók, strove not merely to instill solid musical technique, but to imbue the aspiring student with a sense of esthetics—and an inkling into musical possibilities as yet not realized. Substituting the oboe for the voice and the organ for the piano illustrates the versatility of these nine elegantly crafted mini-scores, and this highly simpatico performance elevates these, on-the-surface mere teaching pieces to the realm of fine concert music.

Gicquel and Joubert could make 70-odd minutes of scales and arpeggios musically interesting. Here they apply themselves to 70-odd minutes of small and little known gems, and score a triumph. The organ is that of the Saint-Jean Baptiste de Valence church in France—a Cavaillé-Coll monster that was originally built in the St. Saint-Augustine church in Paris in 1868, but moved to its current venue at some unknown date and improved by Cavaillé-Coll’s successor, Charles Mutin, in 1899. A monster, yes, but here made to purr like a kitten. The recording is both detailed and atmospheric, and the balance between the organ and the English horn is exemplary.

FANFARE: William Zagorski