The characters and mainly their inner life was so autonomous and convincing that it made his final work timeless. He transformed the medieval subject matter of love at first sight into a hymn about defiance and freedom. He equipped the opera with well-arranged leitmotifs and made his characters musically vivid far beyond what the text had offered.

A MusicWeb International Recording of the Month!

For those who love Czech music, this is a highly valuable disc. For those, like me, passionate about Martin?, it is indispensable.

Martin? is one of those twentieth-century composers, like Prokofiev of Malcolm Arnold, who are sometimes taken less than seriously because they composed so prolifically, and with such apparent ease. Facility seems, to some at least, at odds with the knotty, hard-won efforts of pure genius (especially if Beethoven, or, in painting, Van Gogh, is taken as an archetype). Yet we make no such charges against eighteenth-century composers. Genius has many forms, and we should perhaps look to the prolific type as a source of unending treasures.

Bouquet of Flowers is a very attractive piece, with depths that become more apparent with each hearing. It was composed to a commission from Czech Radio and premiered in April 1938. The music is in Martin?’s most accessible idiom, based on Moravian folk songs, with a prominent part for two orchestral pianos and harmonium. Martin? had a gift – sometimes overlooked – for word-setting, and in the five songs which make up the cycle (plus an overture, and two interludes) he is able to demonstrate enormous emotional variety. The purely orchestral third movement, ‘Idyll’, has gentleness and great lyricism, yet also, in its accompaniment, rhythmic solidity. It is a charming and immediately enjoyable piece. The succeeding ‘Kravarky’ is a song about a little girl cowherd preparing to meet her young man. It has an interesting sobriety despite the apparent lightness of the theme. The last three songs have darker themes – the imprisoned young man (though he is helped to escape by his fair maid), ‘Koleda’ (‘A Carol’) about the consequences of Original Sin, and a final meditation on death before a concluding orchestral section. This is an important work, and a very satisfying one.

The three dances by Jan Novák are a valuable filler. By the way, he should not be confused with the better known Vít?zslav Novák (1870-1949). Jan Novák was a friend of Martin? and, in later years, an émigré, following the Soviet invasion of 1968. He had also been forced to work in Germany during the Second World War. Martin?’s influence on his idiom is evident, yet he has a distinctive voice. The three Philharmonic Dances are extended showpieces, readily accessible, and together they form an attractive suite. This is their first recording.

Performances throughout are excellent. Recordings are clear, and Netopil is emerging as a formidable musician. I have been impressed by previous recordings, and the Czech musical tradition seems very safe under his direction.

– MusicWeb International (Michael Wilkinson)

Within a short time, early music enthusiasts had to say their farewells to two personalities who, for half a century, influenced the development of what we call the authentic interpretation of early music: Gustav Leonhardt and Nicolaus Harnoncourt. In 1950 Supraphon made a complete recording of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos performed by a chamber ensemble led by a musician of Czech origin, Josef Mertin (1904–1998). A scholar and organ builder as well, he relentlessly “dusted” the works of composers from the previous centuries (including Guillaume de Machaut), stubbornly seeking the way to give their music its authentic sound. The names of his pupils who took up his legacy make an impressive list that includes Claudio Abbado, Mariss Jansons and Zubin Mehta. Mertin has managed to win a number of students for the interpretation of early music on period instruments, among them musicians without whom we can hardly imagine the field nowadays. The Brandenburg Concertos were performed by an ensemble whose members were the 22-year-old cembalist Gustav Leonhardt (playing the solo in Concerto No. 5), a rising violin star Eduard Melkus and a year younger violoncellist Nicolaus Harnoncourt. It was the first time that a chamber size of the ensemble and period instruments were used. Hopefully, listening to the recording will convince you that it is more than just a historical document. As far as Mertin and Harnoncourt are concerned, this unique recording is also a proud reminder of their Czech roots.

As a composer, he was evidently inspired by Vivaldi’s concertos, which he was thoroughly familiar with. Yet Benda’s concertos are singular works in their own right, abounding in invention, naturally flowing and extremely forcible melody.

Ten famous composers are represented on this fantastic 10-CD set, with each disc focusing on some of the best-known music from each conductor. You’ll hear some of the most celebrated compositions from Johann Sebastian Bach, Ludwig van Beethoven, Frederic Chopin, Antonin Dvořák, Leos Janacek, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Bedrich Smetana, Johann Strauss, Pyotr Il’yich Tchaikovsky and Antonio Vivaldi. Selections include the wistful Largo from Dvořák’s New World Symphony, the solemn entrance of the piano in Tchaikovsky’s Concerto in B flat minor, the festive Ode to Joy from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, the sweet bird song and summer storm from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, and an inexhaustible amount of other musical treasures. This box set is truly a “Best of ” the best—the perfect present for you and your nearest and dearest, who like beautiful music in top quality.

BACH Cello Suites Nos. 1–6 • Mstislav Rostropovich (vc) • SUPRAPHON 4044-2, mono (2 CDs: 123:52) Live: Prague 5/26–27/1955


Although this set was released over two years ago, it only came to my attention more recently (and via a pirate clone on the Documents label at that). I then held off on writing a review, hoping that one of my Fanfare colleagues with expertise in string instruments would take the task in hand instead. As that has not occurred, I will now venture in where angels fear to tread. While Rostropovich did of course record the set of cello suites near the end of his career, for EMI in 1995 (issued on both CD and DVD; see the review of the former by David K. Nelson in 19:1), the release of another cycle from 40 years before, from the dawn of his career in 1955, is a major event that demands attention.


This recording was made at the annual Prague Spring Festival, when the cellist was but 28 years old. (It is also a notable occasion in that Rostropovich there met his wife, the famed soprano Galina Vishnevskaya, and proposed to her after a whirlwind 10-day courtship!) The monaural sound is quite clear, if a bit hard-edged and closely miked; the audience is very quiet, though now and then an occasional soft cough is barely audible in the background. While quite acceptable on its own terms, the audio quality of course does not compete with the velvety sound of EMI’s digital set. A similar disadvantageous comparison can be made about the quality of the cellos used; Rostropovich had not yet acquired his famed Duport Stradivarius, and the unidentified instrument used in Prague, while again good enough in and of itself, cannot compare with the ravishing, burnished tone quality of the Duport. For an instant revelation of the difference, listen to the opening of the Prelude to the Fifth Suite, where the sheer depth and opulence of the Duport in the EMI set is positively dumbfounding. There is also the occasional note in Prague that is not quite dead in tune—clearly due in part to the far less rich overtones of the instrument rather than any shortcoming on the part of Rostropovich. If the sound of the instrument itself is a decisive desideratum here—and for many people it justifiably is—then this Supraphon release will likely not be much more than a curiosity.


However, in addition to instrumental sound there is the issue of differences in interpretation over the intervening span of four decades, and that is where this set comes into its own. The first thing to note is that overall, with the major exceptions of the preludes to the First, Third, and Fourth suites, the Gigue in the First Suite, and the Sarabande in the Fifth Suite, the earlier performances are noticeably swifter. (The total timing of the EMI set is 137:54, compared to 123:52 here). That said, comparisons of some individual movements can be misleading, as in the 1955 performances Rostropovich omits repeats in some movements—e.g., the allemandes in the Third and Sixth suites, the bourées in the Fourth Suite, the Courante in the Sixth Suite—though even in some of those instances the 1955 versions would still be swifter if the repeats were observed. (The cuts in Prague doubtless stem from Rostropovich’s early training; in the booklet notes to the EMI set, the cellist recounts that his teacher, Semyon Kozolupov, strictly forbade pupils to play repeats of the second half of movements written in binary form, allowing repeats only in the first half.) If observance of all the repeats is a major criterion for evaluating a set of the suites, then again this set will not be competitive with the EMI studio recording.


What, then, does this Supraphon set have that commends it as a supplement or alternative to the EMI studio version? In a word (actually two words), that elusive and almost intangible quality I would call “narrative intensity.” Despite my unreserved adoration of Rostropovich as the greatest cellist in recorded history (and is there any lover of cello music who does not so venerate him?), I had always found the EMI set of these suites somehow lacking, and this new release has finally made clear why. As tonally gorgeous and technically immaculate as those sets are, and despite the programmatic titles and descriptions that Rostropovich gives to each suite in that set, it is live in Prague and not in the studio that the cellist finds and articulates fully sustained interpretive profiles. Listen for example to the Sarabande in the Second Suite, dubbed “Sorrow and intensity” by Rostropovich in the 1995 EMI set. While that studio recording is very beautiful, it lacks meditative profundity; whereas in Prague there is a rapt sense of total inward intensity—what the Germans call Innigkeit —that transforms the movement into one bearing comparison with the symphonic Adagio s of Bruckner. Likewise, while still too slow for my taste, the gavottes and Gigue in the Sixth Suite in Prague have some forward momentum, unlike the suffocatingly leaden versions in the EMI set.


Another notable difference is that in Prague Rostropovich is metrically much more exact, whereas on the EMI set he is rather free (or “rhapsodic,” to borrow his description of Pablo Casals). This is particularly true in the in the concluding dance movements (the menuets, bourées, gavottes, and gigues), with the last two movements of the Second Suite again offering particularly striking instances. While I suppose that some might characterize the earlier recordings as comparatively stiff, I do not find them so, and indeed prefer the more strict approach as better articulating the structure of the music. On the other hand, I much prefer the brisker tempos taken in the EMI set to the preludes of the First, Third, and Fourth Suites, the Allemande in the Third Suite, and the Courante in the Sixth Suite, as imparting a necessary greater degree of energy to those movements.


While my overall interpretive preference is therefore with the Prague versions, I cannot simply recommend that set in preference to the EMI one for those desiring a recording of Rostropovich in this repertoire. The two sets are strikingly different, and each has its considerable merits in manifesting the cellist’s extraordinary musical genius. (Indeed, the Prague set caused me to appreciate virtues of the EMI set that had not registered with me before.) For fans of Rostropovich, it goes without saying that this is a mandatory acquisition; but to lovers of cello music in general and the Bach suites in particular, I would say much the same thing, despite its occasional limitations. Had this not come to my attention too late to qualify, it surely would have been a major Want List contender; urgently recommended.


FANFARE: James A. Altena

Czech roots and international careers are the connecting link between the creators of all the three featured concertos. Antonín Kraft, first cellist in Prince Esterházy’s orchestra, was according to Haydn, who initiated him into the art of composition, “one of the most superb masters of this instrument”.