George Sand is like the epitome of Parisian intellectualism: a writer, feminist, socialite, and revolutionary whose ideals resonate with compassion and societal optimism that made her an aspirational figure to the progressively oriented middle-class. Her legacy is manifold, and her alliance with spearhead musicians, including Chopin and Pauline Viardot, has greatly influenced her esteem among like-minded posterity.

Sonya Yoncheva, for instance, pays homage with her new album. “George” – as the title reads – is published on Yoncheva’s very own label and Naive, and in a slightly eclectic twist, sets out to resurrect the Romanticist mindscape of French literature’s grande dame. The goal: to “awaken people to the arts as if you were taking care of a small child” (attributed, in the booklet, to Sand).

Liebestraum, And December Night

This didacticism noticeably departs from the operatic program of previous recitals. Unfortunately, its variegated mix of songs, piano pieces, and prose musically forms a less than cohesive ensemble, though thematically, of course, they all tie to the title-giving persona of George Sand.

I am therefore hesitant to debate whether Leoncavallo’s “Nuit de décembre” justifiably has its place next to the magisterial “Casta diva in E major” by Chopin. Famously, in matters of taste, there can be no dispute; yet it is a self-evident truth that in a 45-minute recital, peripheral associations alone might not be enough to convey a sense of homogeneity. “Nuit de décembre,” for example, is based on an excerpt from Alfred de Musset’s poem of the same name. Musset had a notoriously passionate relationship with Sand; but musically, touchpoints between Sand’s entourage and Leoncavallo are tenuous at best. Much the same applies to Tosti’s “Ninon” which, if nothing else, is like a sentimental complement to the songs of Pauline Viardot.

On the flipside, the presence of Liszt is fully motivated. His “Liebestraum” echoes the Romantic tints of Chopin, distilled by the sensitive touch of Ukrainian pianist Olga Zado. Yoncheva gives her the opening track, and Zado floats the lyricism of “Casta diva” most delicately. Her affinity with the repertory stands out, and while she is just as subtle an accompanist, it is surprising perhaps that “George” stays clear of Berlioz and the sophistication of his shamefully overlooked Lieder. They certainly would have fit the album’s scope.

Vicissitudes of Interpretation

Without an orchestra, Yoncheva requires a very malleable vocal palette that adapts to chamber pieces and is easily scaled down to intimacy. This goes against her signature expanse, and the soprano at times lacks three-dimensionality of interpretation. For example, “Les filles de Cadix” wants some cheekiness and coquetry. It is a folkloric song whose jumping rhythms betray playfulness and juvenile insouciance. Yet Yoncheva remains strangely indifferent, and the want of rubato singing deprives her of any real effects. It starts with how little the pitches on “fillettes” are being dragged out.

“Ninon,” though sentimentally charged, is another example. The phrasing rarely cuts beyond the surface, and despite the dynamic variation, Yoncheva appears to follow the piano a tad too closely. The broadly spaced melody of “Nuit de décembre” serves her better. The text stays contemplative in nature, but its style and musical progression are akin to the operatic writing of Yoncheva’s mainstay repertoire. There, her riches can unfold, unhampered by the need to psychologize in typical Lied fashion.

Two Bohémiennes

Pauline Viardot’s compositions fall into a different category. “Madrid” echoes the Spanish flavor of the “Habanera,” while “Faible coeur” has a hybrid theatricality, recognizant of both the speech-like delivery of recitatives and the buildup of melody as in an aria. Yoncheva is very good at either, though the grand vocal gesture of finely sustained mezza voces – or, a darkly hued coloratura – fits her profile closest. When pushed, her voice acquires a metallic ring that gets obfuscated, in slow passages, by the reverberations of sadly suboptimal acoustics. It is the album’s main drawback, from a technical point of view.

“George” closes with Viardot’s “Les bohémiennes,” one of only two duets in which the soprano is joined by Marina Viotti. The blend of their respective timbre is formidable, as they find endless color variation in their flourishes. They also capitalize on rhythmic syncopations and the subtleties of harmonic shifts, making “Les bohémiennes” the undeniable pièce de résistance among the songs present. In itself, it conveys more nuance than the prose to which Yoncheva dedicates three tracks. But unfortunately, “George” does not uniformly achieve similar levels of inspiration, and if awakening there is, it stays reluctantly drowsed.