Sung poetry: soprano Véronique Gens in subtle & supple form with pianist James Baillieu in French song at Wigmore Hall

Véronique Gens

Gounod, Hahn, Saint-Saens, Ravel, Ropartz, Duparc, Debussy, Canteloube, Louiguy, Marguerite Monnot, Weill, Kern, Willson; Véronique Gens, James Baillieu; Wigmore Hall
Reviewed 12 September 2025

A masterly exploration of highways and byways of over a century of French chanson in wonderfully subtle and supple performances from Véronique Gens and James Baillieu

Whilst soprano Véronique Gens is best known for her recordings of Baroque music, her repertoire stretches far wider, not just French song but a series of French operas for the Bru Zane label including works by Lecocq, Offenbach, Messager, Hahn, Franck, Gounod, Félicien David and most recently Massenet.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Véronique Gens’ recital at Wigmore Hall on Friday 12 September 2025 with pianist James Baillieu should also range widely. The first half explored aspects of love from the carefree to the despairing with songs by Gounod, Hahn, Saint-Saens, Ravel, Joseph Guy Ropartz, Duparc and Debussy whilst the second focused on Canteloube’s Songs of the Auvergne followed by two Edith Piaf-associated chanson by Louiguy and Marguerite Monnot, and then intriguingly ending with English-texted songs by Kurt Weill, Jerome Kern and Meredith Willson.

We began with Gounod. First the 1839 setting of Théophile Gautier, ‘Où voulez-vous aller?’ (a text also set by Berlioz). Light yet full of character with a sense of story-telling that really mattered, what came over was the effortless charm that Gens and Baillieu brought to the song. French song of this period requires careful handling, it is all about the subtle and supple approach to the text and here Gens made the words prime. A much later Gounod song came next, ‘Viens, les gazons sont verts’, a setting of Jules Barbier from 1875. Here all was urgent and eager, pushing on.

A group of four Reynaldo Hahn songs followed. ‘Le rossignol des lilas’ (from 1913) featured a flexible, supple line yet with an underlying passion that finally rose to the surface. ‘Trois jours de vendange’, an 1891 (when Hahn was 17) setting of Alphonse Daudet (bast known for his play, L’Arlésienne). Here we had delightfully characterful storytelling, as the lightness of the first verse turned serious and then haunted. ‘Néère’ from the 1900 Etudes latines featured a rather affecting, throbbing piano yet with a cool, neoclassical vocal line unfolding over it to striking effect. ‘Séraphine’ paired a warmly flowing piano with a confiding vocal line, simple but oh so effective.

Saint-Saëns’ ‘Désir de l’orient’ (1871) was self-consciously exotic with Gens’ vocal line floating delightfully over the piano, however when the poet considered the ‘leaden skies’ of home in the final verse the music turned far less poetic, the exotic East only finally returning at the end. Ravel’s ‘Là-bas, vers l’église’ from 5 mélodies populaires grecques (1904-1906) took an entirely different approach to the exotic. Here the Greek folk-melody was taken entirely more seriously, with Gens making the song haunting yet seductive.

Joseph Guy Ropartz studied Massenet and Franck, becoming a close friend of Georges Enesco and with a style influenced by Debussy and Franck. His ‘Ceux qui, parmi les morts d’amour’ from 4 poèmes de l’intermezzo (1899) was new to me. This was a low-key setting, and the performance was all about subtle inflections of language and supple phasing. Henri Duparc’s Chanson triste (1868) had a similar subtlety about it. There were few moments of climax, the expression was all in the way Gens coloured words to alter the intensity.

The first half ended with a group of early songs by Debussy. ‘Fleur des blés’ (1881) was light and urgent, the text chattering away over an eager piano. ‘La belle au bois dormant’ from 1890 was almost as chattery, with a sense of eager storytelling aligned with a flexible vocal line. ‘Nuit d’étoiles’ from 1880 (when Debussy was 18) was the composer’s first published song. Perhaps not Debussy’s best song, but Gens and Baillieu made it a little piece of magic with a calm, supple vocal line over the magical piano textures.

The four of Canteloube’s Songs of the Auvergne which opened the second half all dated from the 1920s and showcased the composer’s mix of folk interest and nostalgia for the past. In the piano versions, the vocal line is no longer surrounded by the romantic haze of Canteloube’s orchestrations, but the overall impression is one of a land of lost content, despite the sometimes gloomy subject matter. 

Gens made the shepherdess in ‘La pastoura als camps’ urgent and engaging with a lovely catch in the voice and some vivid story-telling. Equally vivid and engaging was the rather chattering ‘Obal din lou Limouzi’, whereas the melancholy ‘La delaïssádo’ began with a substantial and rather intense piano introduction, complement the haunted melancholy of the song. ‘L’aïo dè rotso’ brought things to an engagingly perky conclusion.

We then moved into French chanson territory. First with Louiguy’s La vie en rose, with words by Piaf (from 1945). Gens sang the song, though on the edge of the voice, and brought an emotional intensity that belied her low-key approach. Marguerite Monnot’s ‘Hymne à l’amour’ from 1949 also had words by Piaf. Gens approach was similar to the previous song, but for all the hackneyed phrases she made you realise it really did matter.

The move to musical theatre in New York in the 1940s should not have been that much of a stretch especially given Kurt Weill’s European background (including a brief spell in Paris). In ‘The Saga of Jenny’ from Lady in the Dark (1940), Gens took a very chanson-esque approach, keeping it light and without any of the bump and grind that Gertrude Lawrence (for whom it was written) brought to the song and you felt that the English language formed something of a barrier. Her approach worked better in ‘Speak Low’ from One Touch of Venus (from 1943) where the lyrical centre of the song resonated to Gens rather chanson-like treatment. 

Jerome Kern’s ‘All the things you are’ from Very Warm for May (1939) was sung on just a thread and really did seem to recapture some of the magic we had experienced in the earlier, French-texted songs.  And there was a similar approach in ‘Till there was you’ from Meredith Willson’s 1957 show The Music Man.

We had an encore, returning to French texts for a completely magical account of Poulenc’s Chemins de l’amour.