This new release presents the complete piano trios of Bohuslav Martinu (1890-1959). The piano trios span two decades of Martinu’s life, and his compositional evolution can be seen as the pieces progress. The Smetana Trio, which consists of pianist Jitka Cechova, violinist Jiri Vodicka, and cellist Jan Palenicek, performs these works brilliantly.

Tomáš Netopil, winner of the Sir Georg Solti International Conducting Competition and a regular guest of leading orchestras and prestigious opera stages worldwide, has materialized his singular vision of Janáček’s symphonic music in this recording with the splendid Czech Radio Symphony Orchestra.

Franz Xaver Richter’s origins are associated with Moravia, but his working life was anything but parochial. Skills acquired in Vienna and Italy raised his employability and saw him engaged in several palaces in Germany in the 1730s and 1740s. He is known to have travelled widely before becoming Kapellmeister of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Strasbourg, dying just before the French Revolution saw the abolition of those ancient institutions in which he had worked for decades.

The mixture of styles in Richter’s work can be heard throughout this programme, from the Pergolesi-like opening of the Synfonia and use of orchestral sonorities from Mannheim to the operatic virtuosity of his vocal writing. Superb playing from the Czech Ensemble Baroque delivers a purity of sound which is pretty much the ideal for our idea of how this music should have sounded in the 18th century – it would certainly he hard to imagine the composer having much to complain about.

The Synfonia con fuga is assumed to come from Richter’s time in Mannheim, and as a ‘church sinfonia’ in everything but name its inclusion here suits very well indeed. The work is more than just a filler, with its vibrant inventiveness and colourful sequences it goes beyond galant frippery while stopping short of C.P.E. Bach’s striking waywardness.

Both De Profundis and the Messa de Requiem are from Richter’s 20-year tenure in Strasbourg, and both works are highly representative of the opulence possible during one of the most significant periods in the cities history. His church ensemble was at that time the second largest in France, and the richness in sound from these works is very fine indeed. Psalm 129, De Profundis clamavi was commissioned for funeral masses, and the symbolism of its C minor key of mourning, resolving finally into a more hopeful C major in the final Requiem aeternam are just two elements in an impressive and often highly expressive work.

The Messa de Requiem was reportedly composed for the composer’s own funeral, and the booklet notes open with a quote from Christian Friedrich Schubart, describing how Richter passed away with the score in his hand. This may or may not be true, but we can hardly disagree with the claim that it “encapsulates the quintessence of his legacy.” With added trumpets and timpani this is the kind of larger scale requiem which it is not hard to imagine in a line leading towards the grand examples by the likes of Verdi. Set pieces such as the operatic soprano solo Quid sum miser and dramatic Confutatis maledictis of the Dies irae are innovative sounding in this context, and the work’s transitional feel is heightened by their contrast with more antique contrapuntal music which Richter took from Johann Joseph Fux much earlier in his career and held onto throughout.

This is a substantial Requiem, and within its high-Classical idiom has plenty of heartfelt and beautifully poignant moments. The power of the work is rendered with the utmost refinement and musicality by all concerned, with all soloists very strong, and soprano Lenka Cafourková ?uricová deserving of mention as the topping to a very unified and superbly balanced musical cake. Supraphon has made this into nicely presented release, the booklet containing all Latin texts and translations into English, German, French and Czech. If seeking beyond the more familiar choral music of Haydn and Mozart results in unearthing these kinds of glories I for one would welcome digging ever deeper into the archives of the obscure and unpublished.

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

Zuzana Růžičková’s supreme musicality makes these recordings more than a document; her accounts allow this precious music to dazzle in fine shades of colour and light. These sublime recordings are being released on CD for the very first time.

These performances still sound as fresh and lively as any available. The first movement of the Eighth in particular has striking vitality, and Talich's characterful treatment of the finale, which waits until the coda before really taking off, continues to serve as a model of how the music can be played most effectively. The New World Symphony has similar passion and fire, and a Largo to die for, though in this work there's very strong competition from Ancerl on this same label, in very good stereo. Throughout both performances the playing of the Czech Philharmonic is, as expected, magnificently idiomatic, and the early 1950s mono recordings sound perfectly fine in these latest transfers, perhaps a bit brighter than in their previous incarnation. If for some reason you don't know these performances, then by all means get this latest release, and treasure it.

--David Hurwitz

The very first complete recording of Viktor Kalabis’s piano works, as well as the album of his three sonatas have come to fruition upon the initiative and owing to the relentless enthusiasm of the world-renowned harpsichordist Zuzana Ružicková, the composer’s wife and a keen promoter of his oeuvre. Of major importance was the selection of the pianist – one possessing superlative technical skills and having a profound understanding of the structure of Kalabis’s music. As Ivo Kahánek put it: “Kalabis was one of the composers who don’t restrict their ideas by the traditional laws of the piano technique, hence his music is now and then extremely difficult to perform.” Even though Kalabis drew inspiration from the music of other 20th-century masters, he soon arrived at his own, singular and unique musical idiom, which is already palpable in his early opuses. The album maps more than half a century of Kalabis’s work, from the post-war Sonata No. 1 to the masterful miniatures dating from the very end of the millennium. Following the critically acclaimed recordings of his symphonic and concert pieces, and of the three sonatas, the present album opens yet another window into Viktor Kalabis’s fascinating musical world.

Monumental music of great beauty. Kniplová in the title role is magnificent.

Libuše isn’t a traditional opera, rather a large-scale cantata, composed for the coronation of a Czech king. The work was completed in 1872, but it soon turned out that the coronation would not take place and it wasn’t until nine years later that Libuše was premiered to celebrate the wedding of the crown prince and to mark the opening of the National Theatre in Prague. By then Smetana was deaf and wasn’t able to hear a note of this, his most monumental work. The story draws upon an ancient myth about the origination of the Premyslid dynasty of princes and kings, who ruled the country for eleven hundred years.

The opera is divided into three acts. The first is entitled ‘Libuše’s Judgement’ and deals with the conflict between the brothers Chrudoš and Stáhlav; the second is ‘Libuše’s Marriage’ and the third is called ‘The Prophecy’ and concludes with six historical pictures, narrated by Libuše.

For those who only know the opera composer Smetana through The Bartered Bride, the light-hearted and folk-music inspired rural comedy, Libuše may come as a shock – or a revelation. I labelled it ‘monumental’ in the first paragraph of this review and that’s exactly what it is: monumental, solemn and grandiose. When I bought the present recording on four LPs almost forty years ago I only knew Moldau and The Bartered Bride. Since I knew nothing about the work – and was silly enough to start listening without reading the very extensive introductory notes in the booklet, far more comprehensive than the short essay in the CD inlay – the fanfare that opens the overture had me sit up and once the surprise was over I wallowed in the monumental flood of glorious music that streamed out of my loudspeakers. Fanfares, processions and powerful choruses are recurrent in the work, brass instruments naturally dominate much of the proceedings and Wagnerian Leitmotifs are part of the parcel. There is even a beautiful quartet of harvesters in the second act; they seem to be Smetana’s equivalent of Wagner’s Rhine Maidens.

Grand and majestic the music often is, but it is also permeated with warmth and surging melodies. The long prelude to act III is noble and memorable. And there are some hard-hitting dramatic scenes as well. For the Czech people this work has a special significance, not least through Smetana’s ambition to create declamation that emanates from the Czech language. In that respect he is a fore-runner of Janácek.

Recorded more than forty years ago the sound is still much more than acceptable and the singing and playing of the forces from the Prague National Theatre is totally idiomatic. The lack of libretto is however a drawback and even though there is a rather detailed synopsis in the booklet I was glad that I had access to the original book from the LP set.

Monumental music needs monumental solo voices as well and by and large the singers on this recording meet that requirement. Most crucial is the title role and Nadežda Kniplová is admirable throughout. Hers is a grand dramatic soprano, very expansive and with the thrilling ringing top notes needed to ride the orchestra without problems. But she also sings with great restraint and feeling for the more intimate nuances. The recording sessions were spread over seven days and I suppose Ms Kniplová was able to record her part in smaller doses. In the theatre this role must be a tremendous challenge, not least to have to sing the six concluding pictures after so long and strenuous an evening. But even if she was able to record smaller portions in the studio this is a glorious achievement.

As Krasava, Milada Šubrtová is splendid, more lyrical than Libuše but still with glorious ring, and Vera Soukupová’s rounded contralto makes her an excellent Radmila.

The male singers are more of a mixed bag. Karel Berman’s sonorous and dark bass is imposing throughout and Zdenek Kroupa, lighter and brighter, is intensely dramatic, but not free from strain. This is even more of a nuisance in the case of Ivo Zidek. Basically he has a fine tenor voice but he seems several numbers too small for this role and has to push for volume – the result is far from successful. Václav Bednár, a lyric baritone, sings rather beautifully, but not without some strain and unsteadiness. Jindrich Jindrák is worn and wobbly, though dramatically he is well inside the role.

As for alternative recordings there are, or have been, at least three others. Alois Klima conducted Prague Radio forces back in 1949 with the legendary Beno Blachut as Stahlav. Zdenek Kosler, like Krombholc with Prague National Theatre, set down his version in 1983, Gabriela Benackova singing the title role (1983) and in 1995 Oliver Dohnanyi, with the same forces and Eva Urbanova as the best known soloist, recorded it once again. I haven’t heard any of the rival versions but having known the present version for so long I can honestly say that it is easy to overlook the deficiencies and enjoy the work at large and the many fine contributions from many of the singers, in particular Nadežda Kniplová. In this new incarnation, at an affordable price and squeezed onto only two CDs, it is competitive. But what has the cover picture of a modern teenage girl have to do with mythology from the eighth century?

-- Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

MUSIC FROM 18TH-CENTURY PRAGUE • Jana Semerádová (fl, cond); Sergio Azzolini (bsn); Lenka Torgersen (vn); Helena Zemanova (vn); Collegium Marianum (period instruments) • SUPRAPHON 4112 (2 CDs: 112:31)


REICHENAUER Quartet in g for Violin, Cello, Bassoon, and Continuo, Rk 18. Trio Sonata in B? for Violin, Cello, and Continuo, Rk 20. FASCH Quartet in D for Flute, Violin, Bassoon, and Continuo, WV N:D1. Concerto in C for Flute, Violin, Bassoon, and Continuo, WV L:C3. Concerto in D for 2 Flutes, Strings, and Continuo, WV L:D9. JIRÁNEK Trio Sonata in B? for 2 Violins and Continuo, Jk 27. POSTEL Trio Sonata in A for 2 Violins and Continuo. ORSCHLER Trio in f for Two Violins and Continuo. VIVALDI Trio in g for Violin, Lute, and Continuo, RV 85. T?MA Partita in C for Flute and Continuo. CALDARA Sonata in A for Violin and Continuo


Let me begin with what usually comes at the end of a review, the recommendation. Without reservation, this is enthusiastically recommended to all lovers of music from the very late Baroque and very early Classical periods. Now you can skip the rest and run right to your computer to order this set.


I wanted to get that out of the way first before dealing with some of the inconsistencies in the titling of these works. But first let me credit the album booklet’s credits page for naming every member of the Collegium Marianum ensemble and cross-referencing each player with each work in which he or she is a participant.Next, let it be noted that of the 11 works on these two CDs, six are world premiere recordings, the two by Reinchenauer and those by Jiránek, Postel, Orschler, and T?ma.


Now for the inconsistencies. To begin with, the inclusion of works by Vivaldi and Caldara on a disc titled “18th-Century Music from Prague” is a bit of a stretch. Their music may have been known in the Bohemian capital, but it’s speculation on the part of note author Václav Kapsa as to whether either composer ever set foot in Prague; and even if they did, the works by which they’re represented on these discs were certainly not written there, nor, to my knowledge, does either of them have Czech ancestry in his blood. But who cares? Vivaldi and Caldara are always welcome guests.


The other inconsistencies have to do with the formal nomenclature used to classify some of these works. There’s no problem with the pieces designated “trio sonata” by Reichenauer, Jiránek, Postel, Orschler, and Vivaldi, all of which feature two melody instruments plus continuo. This was the common configuration for trio sonatas in the 18th century, and in what was fairly standard, if not de riguer baroque practice, a fourth low bass bowed string or plucked instrument was used to reinforce the keyboard’s bass line.


The current performances present us with an interesting and satisfying approach to this practice. In the Jiránek and Reichenauer trios, the keyboard instrument used is a harpsichord and, appropriately, it’s reinforced by a theorbo in one case and a baroque guitar in another. In the Postel trio, the keyboard instrument is an organ, for which reinforcement is probably not necessary, and so none is added. But in the Orschler trio, in which the organ is also used, a baroque guitar is added. Finally, in the Vivaldi trio for violin and lute, no keyboard instrument is used at all; instead, the theorbo alone fulfills the continuo function. So, in each of these pieces, the sound of the continuo is varied by the use of a different keyboard instrument (or no keyboard instrument in the case of the Vivaldi) in combination with a different reinforcing bass instrument (or none in the case of the Postel). Not only does this add an extra element of color, but it also suggests a connection with baroque performance practice, for I suspect that musicians came together to play these pieces with whatever instruments were available at the moment.


Figuring out the formal classifications of some of these other pieces is trickier. For example, we have two works designated “quartet” in which there are now three main melody instruments plus continuo. We don’t usually think of a quartet as being a piece like a trio sonata where a keyboard or low bass plucked instrument plays a continuo role, yet that’s what we have in Reicnenauer’s Quartet in G Minor for Violin, Cello, Bassoon, and Continuo and in Fasch’s Quartet in D Major for Flute, Violin, Bassoon, and Continuo. In both cases, the continuo instrument used is theorbo or baroque guitar.


Even more unusual to us in its terminology is Fasch’s Concerto in C for Flute, Violin, Bassoon, and Continuo. We know, of course, that baroque concertos almost invariably relied on a keyboard instrument to underpin the ensemble, but at the heart of the concerto concept was a single soloist or a small group of soloists contrasted against a larger instrumental body. Here we have a work called a concerto, but essentially it’s no different from the quartets discussed above. The answer to this head-scratcher is provided by the same composer whose above-cited concerto on disc 1 raised the question, for Fasch provides us on disc 2 with his Concerto in D Major for Two Flutes, Strings, and Continuo, which, with its body of multiple strings, comports more closely with what we think of as a true concerto.


The simple fact is that all of these pieces date from around the midway point in the 18th century at a time when the Baroque was transitioning to the Classical, when composers were experimenting with various instrumental combinations, and when terms used for musical forms were in a state of flux. It’s entirely reasonable to assume that works designated “quartet” by Reichenauer and Fasch sowed the seeds for what would shortly become a formalized quartet—i.e., four instruments unsupported by continuo.


Vivaldi, of course, but even Fasch, Caldara, and Reichenauer are names familiar to most listeners with more than a superficial exposure to music of the Baroque period, and they all flourished around the same time as Bach and Handel. But Franti?ek Jiránek (1698–1778), Christian Gottlieb Postel (1697–1730), Johann Georg Orschler (1697–1767/70), and Franti?ek Ignác Antonin T?ma (1704–1774) are apt to be less known or not known at all, and in two cases, Jiránek and T?ma, they lived well into the full flowering of the Classical period. There’s nothing in the music of these two later composers, however—at least in what there is of it on these CDs—to suggest that either of them had encountered Haydn. In terms of style, Jiránek’s trio sonata sounds the most modern, suggesting that he had some knowledge of C. P. E. Bach. But you would rightly identify the rest of the pieces in this collection as examples of late-Baroque style, influenced, it sounds to me, mainly by the Dresden school of Johann Georg Pisendel.


The above is not a criticism, it’s merely an observation based on my hearing of these pieces. The performances by this Prague-based ensemble are riveting. Composed of what appears to be 16 players, the Collegium Marianum is one of the best period-instrument groups I’ve recently encountered. Jana Semerádová has honed the ensemble to a high degree of technical perfection, and she both plays in and leads spirited, communicative, and moving performances in a program of music that will keep you listening and captivated for the almost two hours of this very strongly recommended two-disc set.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins