In his writing, Samuel Dorf argues that Satie’s Socrate is a vivid expression of sapphonics, a term Wood used to describe the erotic quality of the feminine voice to listeners in an expression of a feminine sexuality or lesbianism. Dorf substantiates his claims by highlighting the close relationship between Satie and the Princesse de Polignac during the inception of Socrate. The piece was commissioned by the Princesse Edmond de Polignac to be performed alongside the reading of Greek texts in her salon.
According to Dorf, Greek was a language primarily gate-kept by male intellectuals at the time, so the very act of women learning and speaking (let alone singing) was entirely transgressive (Dorf, 97). Ancient Greek culture was heralded as an elite, exotic and yet familiar “white” culture that French could use (90). The homonormativity of ancient Greece presented another compelling element for the piece to build off of, especially given the context of its patron and composer, and their sexual proclivities. The Greek texts in question also have distinctly sexual elements, althoughthe more erotic texts were cut, perhaps to reduce the lesbian connotations that could be heard by listeners (96). Nevertheless, Dorf’s argument that the Greek cultural setting provides a strong context of lesbian homo-eroticism is convincing, even without considering musical orchestrations.
The four feminine voices that bring Socrate to life intertwine and suspend the text in a fluid range, highlighting the passionate, unnatural qualities of the “fourth voice.” The instrumental orchestration is sparse and does not guide the voices, allowing them to elevate the texts independently in a form reminiscent of recitative. The melodic line moves mostly stepwise, emphasizing the modern aesthetic values of simplicity and clarity which Satie hoped to achieve in the piece (89). Although one can draw connections between the prioritized simplistic vocal and musical styles and the idea of sapphonics, they are not particularly strong connections and the evidence seems relatively weak compared with the clear connection to Greek cultural elements.
Moore provides compelling evidence for connections between Poulenc’s homosexuality and his compositions of Aubade and Les Biches. Moore argues that Poulenc’s music can be interpreted through the lens of his position on the fringe of traditional heteronormative society, suggesting Poulenc’s music fits in as “camp” and “amphibious” (Moore, 322).
The Rag-Mazurka of Les Biches is a particularly relevant example of Poulenc’s ironic musical and theatrical juxtapositions. The title itself combines two distinct musical styles and the music fuses the two into an unrecognizable hybrid with mixed time signatures, establishing the musical elements of the Woman in Blue’s (and as Moore argues, the composer’s) ambiguous sexuality (315).
Moore suggests that the characters of the Woman in Blue in Les Biches and Diane in Aubade both symbolize Poulenc’s deviant sexuality that was suppressed in French society (319-320). In both cases, Moore’s argument is well-supported with his use of primary sources directly from Poulenc and his inner circle. Poulenc’s reference to his “serious secret” as well as his vivid, emotional descriptions of both pieces suggests the subversive intentionality Moore is arguing for.
However, Moore’s many allusions to Poulenc’s musical straddling of multiple fields presents a weaker argument for Poulenc’s deviant intentions. Although his careful juxtapositions and consolidations of styles create ambiguity, I struggle to find a persuasive connection between the enigma of Poulenc’s music and his queer motives, but perhaps that is the point exactly (319). Poulenc carefully created Les Biches and Aubade to be both innocent and erotic depending on the audience’s perceptions, ensuring the safety of his “big secret” to untrained ears.