By Aaron Keebaugh

It’s a rare treat to hear these three Francis Poulenc sonatas on a single program.

Flutist Lorna McGhee and pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet perform Poulenc’s Sonata for Flute and Piano. Photo: Robert Torres

Though reared in the very center of modernism, French composer Francis Poulenc remained dedicated to the simple pleasures of classical form and balance. He rarely experimented with the futuristic devices explored by his associates and, in so doing, stuck close to what was familiar. Chamber music was where Poulenc poured some of his deepest emotions. The turbulent ’40s witnessed him composing sonatas for violin and cello. But it was in his last years that he produced his most earnestly felt music in sonatas for flute, oboe, and clarinet.

It’s a rare treat to hear the last three pieces together on a single program. And Sunday’s performances by members of the Boston Symphony Chamber Players revealed why these works are fit to stand among the greats.

The wind sonatas are worthy of that honor because of their veiled sense of angst and sorrow. On the surface, these scores resemble typical neoclassical efforts. Each is cast in three movements that contrast widely with the other. Poulenc’s writing is nimble and athletic throughout, calling upon each soloist to push their technical abilities to the limit.

Yet the most lasting artistry of these works lies in how performers dramatize the omnipresent emotional turbulence. The oboe and clarinet sonatas, for example, lament the deaths of fellow composers Sergei Prokofiev and Arthur Honegger, each piece in its own way an expression of loss and grief. The Chamber Players realized those elegiac concerns with quiet desperation.

Tying all of the performers together was guest pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet, whose sensitive accompaniment conveyed grandeur as often as it did lamentation. Flutist Lorna McGhee and Thibaudet shaped the figures of the Flute Sonata into plush sonorities. The pianist’s generous rubato and pedal made his harmonies blur against McGhee’s velvety tone. The segments of humor in the music flowed naturally, and the finale teemed with impish delights.

Pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet and clarinetist William R. Hudgins perform Poulenc’s Sonata for Clarinet and Piano. Photo: Robert Torres

Critics have described Poulenc’s Oboe Sonata as an adept mix of mournfulness, suavity, and cleverness. But oboist John Ferrillo and Thibaudet emphasized the piece’s gravitas by imbuing the music with the warmth of a fond memory. They carried that effect through to the finale, leaving the tension of remembrance unresolved. Along the way, Ferrillo and Thibaudet also honed on Poulenc’s sardonic wit: the sprightly second movement tittered to beguiling effect.

Even Poulenc’s Clarinet Sonata, typically enjoyed for its zest and vitality, was interpreted to convey fervent grieving. Thibaudet and clarinetist William R. Hudgins made every keening gesture feel immediate. They tore through the opening barrage of dissonance. Clarinet shrieks ripped through the otherwise somber Romanza like sudden bursts of sorrow. The finale’s percolating tempos invite bold virtuosity, but Hudgins and Thibaudet made the composition sing as much as dance.

The second half of the program was dedicated to music by Betsy Jolas and Jean Françaix.

Steven Ansell, Richard Svoboda, and Blaise Déjardin perform Betsy Jolas’s Music for here. Photo: Robert Torres

Jolas’s Music for here is a concerto in miniature. Solo bassoon calls out from a web of pizzicatos and ear-stinging harmonies woven by viola and cello. In the course of only five minutes, the music stutters, jolts, and pulses its way forward. Any sense of lyricism is fleeting. When lines emerge, they do so as if through a scrim of memory: faint and distant. Bassoonist Richard Svoboda, violist Steven Ansell, and cellist Blaise Déjardin leaned into the piece’s dark ambiance, playing with a gentle but palpable urgency.

The larger ensemble did the same with Françaix’s Dixtuor for winds and strings. Composed in 1986, this sparkling score keeps its eye firmly on music of the French past. Françaix particularly admired the piano music and songs of Ravel, and his lines express a light-footed zeal that doesn’t probe beyond a lively surface.

The Chamber Players delved into Françaix’s music with assured frenzy. If the performance didn’t quite provide the polish of the group’s 2011 recording, Sunday’s effort still evoked the requisite rambunctiousness. The Scherzando frolicked gleefully; the finale guffawed with a wit worthy of Prokofiev. Chamber music may be the art of friendly conversation, but the Chamber Players made these exchanges as fun and fiery as an unruly weekend afternoon party.

Aaron Keebaugh has been a classical music critic in Boston since 2012. His work has been featured in the Musical Times, Corymbus, Boston Classical Review, Early Music America, and BBC Radio 3. A musicologist, he teaches at North Shore Community College in both Danvers and Lynn.