A Rewarding Exploration of Saint-Saëns’ Spiritual and Symphonic Worlds
Geoffrey Simon and Cala Records deserve credit for coupling the Organ Symphony with Saint-Saëns’ unjustly neglected Requiem—a pairing that makes considerably more sense than the usual filler of the Carnival of the Animals or some other bonbon. The Requiem, composed in 1878 at the request of Albert Libon (who thoughtfully commissioned his own funeral music), occupied Saint-Saëns for all of eight days. That’s breathtaking efficiency, though hardly surprising from a composer who could sight-read full orchestral scores at the piano and who once claimed he composed as naturally as an apple tree produces apples.
What emerges from this 1993 recording is a work of genuine beauty—operatic in its sensibility, yes, but with a translucency of orchestration that sets it apart from Verdi’s more theatrical approach to the text. The “Hostias” in particular achieves moments of ethereal delicacy, with harps and organ creating a sonic halo around the vocal lines. Simon understands this music’s restraint; he doesn’t push for drama where Saint-Saëns offers consolation.
The four soloists blend exceptionally well. Tinuke Olafimihan—and whatever did become of her after that revelatory Porgy and Bess?—brings a silvery purity to the soprano line without the vibrato wobble that can mar this repertoire. Catherine Wyn-Rogers offers her customary richness in the lower register, though I occasionally wished for more textual clarity in the densest choral passages. The two gentlemen, Anthony Roden and Simon Kirkbride, acquit themselves honorably without making any particular case for stardom.
The tragic circumstances surrounding this work—Saint-Saëns returned from Switzerland to find his young son dead from a fall, then lost his second child weeks later—cast a retrospective shadow. Whether the music contains premonition or simply the coincidence of grief… well, that’s the sort of biographical speculation critics indulge when we should stick to what’s audible. What is audible: a composer writing with complete technical assurance, perhaps too much facility for the work’s own good. The Requiem never quite achieves the searing intimacy of Fauré’s masterpiece, but it deserves better than obscurity.
The Symphony No. 3—or fifth, if we’re counting the juvenilia—needs no advocacy from me. Commissioned by London’s Philharmonic Society in 1886 and dedicated to Liszt (who died that July at Bayreuth), it remains one of those pieces that simply works with audiences. The organ’s entrance in the "finale" still raises goosebumps after countless hearings.
Simon conducts with obvious affection, though the London Philharmonic occasionally sounds a touch casual in the first movement’s "Allegro" moderato. The string sound lacks the last degree of burnish—this isn’t quite the LPO at its most lustrous. But when that organ enters… James O’Donnell at Westminster Cathedral’s magnificent instrument provides exactly the grandeur required. The engineering team deserves praise for seamlessly integrating organ tracks recorded four months after the orchestral sessions at All Saints Church, Gospel Oak. You’d never know from listening that this was a technological marriage rather than a simultaneous interpretation.
The disc opens with the Overture to La Princesse jaune, a trifle from 1872 that shows Saint-Saëns in his Offenbachian mode—charming orientalism of the armchair-traveler variety, nothing remotely authentic but thoroughly entertaining. Simon dispatches it with the requisite lightness.
The acoustics at All Saints provide sufficient space without excessive bloom. The digital remastering by Christopher Fifield preserves detail while maintaining warmth—no small achievement given the challenges of early-1990s digital release, which could turn unforgiving in an instant.
My reservations are minor. The Requiem could use more dramatic urgency in the “Dies irae,” and I wish the choral forces (three combined choruses, no less) had been placed with greater precision—they occasionally sound generalized rather than focused. The Organ Symphony, while well-played, faces stiff competition from recordings with more distinctive interpretive profiles.
Still, this remains a valuable disc. The Requiem alone justifies the purchase for anyone interested in French sacred music beyond the usual suspects. At full price in 1993 this might have been a harder sell; at whatever Cala charges now, it’s worth investigating. Saint-Saëns may have been a conservative in an age of revolutionaries, but his craftsmanship and melodic gift remain undeniable. This recording serves him well—not definitively, perhaps, but with respect and considerable accomplishment.
