After the death of the stupendously talented Hector Berlioz in 1869, only one Frenchman remained to challenge the somewhat frivolous national taste. A Belgian-born Parisian, César Franck became the Pied Piper for serious-minded composers who sought to ennoble French music; of his followers, Ernest Chausson was as ardent as any.

Chausson was a rare breed of musician—the independently wealthy kind. This circumstance allowed him to change his life’s course, so after studying law, he came late to music, and to Professor Franck at age 26. In this dedicated, humble organist-teacher-composer, the younger man found a kindred artistic soul, and in Franck’s mystic, introspective, earnest music, a style with which he could identify. Such a work as the present one did not fall far from the master’s apple tree; from the core to the juices it is a thoroughly Franckian fruit. That is to say, the harmonic texture is heavily chromatic, the lyrical expressiveness rhapsodic and expansive, and the dramatics naively bombastic. The piece is also most unusual, in that, as its title of concerto readily suggests, it is frankly showy in a way that chamber music rarely is.

Chausson treated the piece in a concerto grosso fashion with the violin and piano as de facto soloists and the string quartet taking an orchestral role. Bravura, particularly for the thoroughly concerto-like piano part, is hardly ever held in check. Even when the keyboard seems to accompany, its line is intricate and demanding. With all the brilliance of the writing, Chausson managed to maintain a chamber music framework in regard to textures and to the give-and-take between the two soloists and the quartet.

The first movement opens with a slow introduction that has the piano declaiming a three-note motif that becomes the basis for the main theme. The first statement of the main theme, made by the violin with piano in busy attendance and then vice versa, is one of the countless duo passages throughout the work.

The quartet finally makes its grand entrance on the main theme, with low piano octaves lending sonorous support and high trills adding brilliance, and it is this kind of ensemble procedure that continues in various permutations throughout the entire work. The materials, which include a lyric second theme and a third idea, are developed extensively and brilliantly, but calmness brings the movement to a close.

The brief Sicilienne that follows is the kind of music that we find in Debussy’s early piano pieces—piquant, charming, and possessed of a hauteur that is uniquely French.

In contrast, the third movement delves into melancholy, beginning with a dirge-like violin-piano duo. Only faint rays of sunshine pierce through this aggressively morose music.

The energetic finale is, expectedly, elaborately virtuosic and brilliant, realizing the work’s title to the ultimate degree. —Notes from the LA Phil’s archive