Review: De Profundis - Chalres Owen Plays Liszt and Franck

Charles Owen’s new album, De Profundis, explores works by Franz Liszt and César Franck—two composers whose music can trace a spiritual path from anguish and desolation to something more consoling.

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First is a Liszt group that includes Deux Légendes, S. 175. Owen’s familiarity with both pieces is clear in the ease with which he projects their narrative. In St. Francis of Assisi Preaching to the Birds (track 1), the trills and chirps are vividly drawn, balancing realism with imagination. The bird calls have a touch of whimsy, but the real distinction is the pianist’s gossamer tone, which holds the ear throughout. St. Paul Walking on the Waves (track 2) turns to a more declamatory manner, maintaining presence without tipping into empty bravura—though the latter half could accommodate a bit more flourish. Particularly impressive is Owen’s finger legato, which keeps the melodic line intact even as the accompaniment swirls restlessly beneath it.

The Variations on J.S. Bach’s Cantata (track 3) represent the darker side of the album’s trajectory. While this is not quite Liszt at his most harmonically adventurous, the chromaticism and dissonance already suggest a searching spirit. Owen shapes the language effectively, sustaining a mood of unease and yearning. The most telling moments are not the loudest ones, but the monophonic passages, where a single line suggests solitude and ambiguity. The selection from Années de pèlerinage that follows (track 4) lightens the atmosphere. Owen uses Liszt’s textures not only to evoke the spray of water but also to add sparkle and playfulness.

Franck’s Prélude, Choral et Fugue is a natural fit for the album’s theme, expressing anguish in two contrasting modes: one passionate and outward, the other inward and reflective. Owen distinguishes these strands convincingly and, at his best, shows how they interact. The Prélude (track 5) is on the more emotive side—especially next to Richter’s more sober, finely shaded reading—yet Owen’s approach still communicates Franck’s tension between yearning and brooding. His tempo flexibility can be noticeable, but the shaping usually feels organic, with an ebb and flow that recalls gently moving water—an apt, if very different, echo of the Liszt heard earlier.

Structurally, the Choral can be heard in three sections, each intensifying in weight and volume. That trajectory also requires a sense of reserve early on, and this is where Owen is slightly less persuasive. The opening is already quite charged, and a more held-back first statement would better clarify the long line. The tempo also feels a touch slow, and it can come at the expense of forward motion, despite some beautiful phrasing.

Chalres Owen (image: ©️ Viktor Erik Emanuel)

In the Fugue, Owen leans into the thickness of Franck’s textures, emphasizing their organ-like resonance through octave doublings and firmly asserted climaxes. The grandeur is unmistakable, though the opening pages, which benefit from a more inward character, can feel heavy here—particularly in the short two-note figures. In Tanguy de Williencourt’s recording on Mirare (reviewed on these pages), a lighter touch and clearer conversational flow make the build-up feel more inevitable. Owen’s approach suggests determination, but it can also turn a little stodgy. The return of the Choral material, however, is beautifully managed: the arpeggios are lithe and buoyant, gathering momentum toward a rousing conclusion.

Overall, Owen is at his strongest in the Liszt selections, though his Franck also has many rewards. A few stylistic reservations aside, this is a thoughtfully planned program, and the performances offer plenty to admire.