Review: Lieder - Fatma Said, Soprano

Over the last few years, I have had occasion to hear Fatma Said on Jakub Józef Orliński’s ‘Anima Aeterna’ (review) and in Gluck’s Orfeo & Euridice (review, both on Warner Classics), as well as Fabio Luisi’s performance of Nielsen’s third symphony (review, DG). Impressed by each hearing, I was keen to hear this new recital.

Lieder

Fatma Said

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This new album, entitled ‘Lieder,’ is not focused on a particular subject, nor does it seek to create a narrative thread. It is simply music Said enjoys, music that holds deep meaning for her – and that certainly comes across in these wonderful performances. She has also invited a small cadre of friends and colleagues – three pianists, a string quartet, a small men’s choral ensemble, as well as a clarinet and harp – to join her, and that sense of collaborative, communal music making only adds to the album’s success.

Said produces a wide range of colors and exhibits special sensitivity to phrasing, articulation and dynamics, always intended to highlight the emotions of the music. This is readily apparent in the opening set of Schubert songs: “Leise flehen meine Lieder” makes the text’s longing tangible, followed by an especially engaging “Der Hirt auf dem Felsen,” featuring brilliant playing by clarinetist Sabine Meyer. The playful banter Said establishes with the Männergesangsverein in “Ständchen (Notturno)” left me smiling at the end of its performance.

The four songs by Felix Mendelssohn include a compelling Hexenlied (made more vivid by Said’s almost percussive text delivery), and a honey-combed duet “Ich wollt’ meine Lieb’ ergösse,” with baritone Huw Montague Rendall. Fanny Mendelssohn’s “Suleika und Hatem” follows, a love song that is by turns ardent and chaste.

The decision to accompany four Brahms songs with the harp (played with Anneleen Lenaerts, Principal Harpist of the Vienna Philharmonic) is wholly convincing. The songs share a sense of resignation, the acceptance of love lost and impending death.

The harp brings out a more delicate approach from Said, her timbre more pastel, less saturated, which makes the readings particularly touching. Brahms never gave the five Ophelia Lieder an opus number, nor were they published until after his death, suggesting the composer might not have considered them worthy work. As heard here, with a string quartet accompaniment arranged by Aribert Reimann, one really gets a true sense of Ophelia’s descent in madness.

Fatma Said (image: Simon Fowler)

The program ends with five Schumann songs, and even in the most oft recorded repertoire, such as “Widmung,” sound newly minted. Said’s rubato and use of tempo changes makes the song feel more substantial, like a miniature tone poem. In short, every interpretation shows careful thought and consideration of the meaning and mood of the words.

Said’s thoughtful program notes discuss what this repertoire means to her, and make clear just how much she values making music with others. The sense of joy in music making is readily apparent, and her collaborators are just as skilled and sensitive as Said herself. Full texts and translations are provided. This is Said’s third solo album: the first two, El Nour (review, 2020) and Kaleidoscope (2022) have already found their way to my play list. Enthusiastically recommended.