Composed over 1915-1916, the 12 pieces of Paysages et Marines for piano belong to the period of the string quartets, Les Heures persanes, also for piano, and sonatas for flute, viola, cello, bassoon, oboe, horn, and two for clarinet, in which he hit his stride, staking out in them a polytonal harmonic language and a melodic geste resembling Gregorian chant—supple, irregular, extended. In these works he is thinking abstractly, rather than in terms of specific timbres, while the thought itself grows to symphonic proportions in the piano parts of the sonatas, which can be quite daunting in wholly novel ways. Their sprawl often seems to call for two pianists. The Chopin/Liszt manner has been quietly discarded. It is to this tradition that Koechlin animadverts in a 1939 article "L'Évolution de l'écriture pianistique"—"As regards difficulty and virtuosity, I shall add that 'a great number of notes in a very short time' is not an end, but a means, and not even a mandatory means at that. There is nothing dishonourable about writing in a simple style...I concede that complicated writing is sometimes called for if the desired chords and counterpoint can be achieved in no other way. But one would do well not to seek out difficulty; rather, whenever he can, the composer should write music that is as playable as possible." Here we encounter the devil in the pulpit: Koechlin's melodies of chords—open, floating, wide—with frequent stretches of a thirteenth, require enormous hands, rendering them unplayable to all but anatomical anomalies, while the constant passing of parts between the hands, and his compound meters and pullulations of simultaneous musical happenings—requiring a variety of touch to articulate—can be at least as challenging for the listener as for the player. Koechlin's expositor, Robert Orledge, suggested that the relative simplification of the Paysages et Marines, vis-à-vis the piano writing of the sonatas, owed to Koechlin's realization that he himself would have to perform them. Similarly, they are more likely to be heard in their arrangement for piano, flute, clarinet, and string quartet, made at the same time (Op. 63bis), adding an element of color to some of Koechlin's most direct and moving evocations—of morning calm and summer evening, anxiety and blossoming apple trees, and the bucolic Virgilian landscapes he loved. Wilfrid Mellers, in 1942, wrote of them, "Familiarity has gradually convinced me that they are among the few outstanding piano works of our time."

© Adrian Corleonis, All Music Guide