Last issue, I suggested that Haydn—whose music is generally recognized for its technical mastery and historical significance—is still not played or listened to enough. This time, I turn to another (relatively) underrated composer, Francis Poulenc (1899-1963). Now, I suspect even Poulenc aficionados would not try to present him as an innovator or a jack of all trades. He did not influence subsequent composers like Debussy or Stravinsky. He did not excel in a wide range of genres like Mozart. That is not why we listen to his music.
We listen to Poulenc because his compositions are well-crafted, emotionally candid, and enjoyable. Indeed, if you do not mind being merely entertained by classical music, Poulenc may be for you. Hourlong symphonies may be primus inter pares in the canon, but there is plenty of room for other kinds of music too. For the most part, Poulenc is not out to transmogrify the listener or performer, and that is alright. Moreover, I would point out to the Poulenc sceptics that we accept other composers on their own terms; we do not dwell on what they are not. For example, I have never heard anyone criticize Brahms or Rachmaninov for being overly serious, or lacking in humour. Their objective seriousness (even in their more upbeat music) is not seen as a flaw. Applying the same logic to Poulenc, then, we should not fault him for writing music that is breezy or sentimental.
It is true that Poulenc’s music—in defiance of the musical trends that prevailed in his lifetime—is unambiguously diatonic, primarily melodic, and generally brief. I see these characteristics as virtues. Poulenc knew what he was good at, and he capitalized on those strengths. He is hard to beat as a generator of tunes that are hummable yet avoid sounding derivative. He did not strain to write more dissonantly or contrapuntally, or on a grander scale.
Given these qualities, it is unsurprising that some of Poulenc’s finest compositions are for vocalists. For the songs, I started with the selection that was included on Regine Crespin’s classic recording of Ravel’s Shéhérazade and Berlioz’s Nuits d’été. It gives a good sense of Poulenc’s range and includes the famous “C”. Of the choral works, I would highlight the Quatre motets pour le temps de Noël—which, fear not, are eminently listenable at any time of year. I especially like the way in which the first movement juxtaposes the dark, tonally murky opening and the crystalline melody that wafts in at measure 6.
Poulenc also wrote a lot of excellent music for instruments—particularly for his own, the piano, and for winds (though he struggled with strings). There is too much piano music to cover comprehensively here, so I will just take note of a few works. The Trois mouvements perpétuels, Novelettes, Nocturnes, Improvisations, and Concerto for Two Pianos are all worth hearing. They demonstrate Poulenc’s gift as a melodist, detailed knowledge of the keyboard, and immaculate sense of timing. With respect to his wind music, I would recommend the Oboe Sonata, one of his last works. Dedicated to the memory of Prokofiev, it finds Poulenc in a more elegiac mood than usual. But it still has everything you would expect from him—concision, well-placed dissonances to spice up the harmonic picture, and memorable melodies.
I believe that as long as Poulenc is approached with an open mind and on his terms, he will not disappoint. Lightweight or not, he is a distinctive composer with a deft technique. Set aside the preconception that classical music needs to be transcendental. Listen for Poulenc’s supreme lyricism, appreciate his small-scale craft, and—most importantly—enjoy the music. Poulenc may be many other things, but he is rarely (if ever) boring.