Anne Warthmann, Ninon Hannecart-Ségal - La Voix (2026) [Hi-Res]

Tracklist

01. La Voix
02. Hugoliennes No. 1, Jeunes gens
03. Hugoliennes No. 2, Oh ! Quand je dors
04. Hugoliennes No. 3, Le pont
05. Hugoliennes No. 4, Rosemonde
06. Hugoliennes No. 5, Mors
07. Hugoliennes No. 6, Les bigarreaux
08. Priere
09. Cyrano dans la lune No. 1, Six moyens
10. Cyrano dans la lune No. 2, La rosee
11. Cyrano dans la lune No. 3, Le vent
12. Cyrano dans la lune No. 4, La sauterelle
13. Cyrano dans la lune No. 5, La fumee
14. Cyrano dans la lune No. 6, Ph?be
15. Cyrano dans la lune No. 7, L'aimant
16. Cyrano dans la lune No. 8, Le septieme
17. Cyrano dans la lune No. 9, La maree
18. Cyrano dans la lune No. 10, Le quart-d'heure
19. La lune blanche
20. Rilke Lieder No. 1, Abend
21. Rilke Lieder No. 2, Lauschende Wolke
22. Rilke Lieder No. 3, Vogelschrei
23. Le spectre de la rose
24. Yuki Daruma
25. Barcarolle
26. Sonnet pointu



La voix (The voice) — the title of this album is not only a reference to the first melody heard, but a broader tribute to the voice that Patrick Burgan has so magnificently honored throughout his works, as well as to the now-silent voices of the great writers who inspired them.

In a recital of art songs, the voice is often alone. Yet it can also find a counterpart, as with the violin here, which takes a brief moment to converse with its soprano sister in a short duet. But there is one voice that occupies a significant space—so much so that we tend to forget its own particular vocality: that of the piano!

What better introduction to a disc dedicated to the voice than this long and gentle pianistic melopée that provokes the singer’s awed question: “Who is singing there?” The poetry of Philippe Jaccottet, in its apparent simplicity, opens vast horizons on the world, its appearances, and its hidden reality. The voice in his poem is intangible, unreachable. It is like the “invisible bird.” One must be patient and listen to the intimacy of silence. The voice spoken of here is not one we hear; the piano itself is merely a distorted mirror of it. Only silence allows us to sense it. And “only the heart can hear it…”

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