BEDRICH SMETANA 200 (1824-1884)

The most complete collection available of music by the father of Czech nationalism in music. Ma Vlast, The Bartered Bride and the String Quartet ‘From My Life’: all written within a decade of each other, all so fundamental in their different genres in forming a Czech national identity in music that it can seem incredible they were the work of a single composer.

This extensive collection contains the complete orchestral works, the two passionate and highly personal string quartets, the dramatic Piano Trio, a generous selection of piano music, including the complete Czech Dances, and the opera The Bartered Bride, sung in German.

Performers include the Janacek Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Theodore Kuchar (Classics Today writes: “Performance: 9. Theodore Kuchar and his forces tackle Ma Vlast with plenty of enthusiasm and vigor; indeed, from Sarka onward this is one of the best versions available.”), the Czech Stamic Quartet, Czech pianist Antonin Kubalek, Roberto Plano, and the Staatskapelle Dresden/Otmar Suitner.

The performances here all won enthusiastic reviews on their original release; gathered together here, they make an ideal introduction to Smetana’s world.

‘One of the most dramatic sets of the tone-poems that I have ever encountered.’ Rob Cowan, Gramophone, September 2019

‘Wonderful conducting and playing of both familiar and unfamiliar Smetana.’ Fanfare, November 2008 (Orchestral works)

‘The Stamitz Quartet are one of the most impressive [Czech quartets]… Their performance of the E minor is on the grandest scale.’ Gramophone, March 2005

SMETANA The Two Widows • Jaroslav Krombholc, cond; Maria Tauberová ( Karolina ); Drahomira Tikalová ( Anežka ); Ivo Židek ( Ladislav ); Eduard Haken ( Mumlal ); Antonin Zlesák ( Toník ); Miloslava Fidlerová ( Lidunka ); Prague Natl Theatre O & Ch • SUPRAPHON 3926 (2 CDs: 124:45 Text and Translation)


Of the eight completed operas of Smetana, The Two Widows (or, in the original Czech, Dv? vdovy ) was finished fifth. It was the fourth to be performed, however, ahead of the historical pageant Libu?e , in its original and revised versions. Both versions, too, were considerable successes at their respective debuts, and especially valuable to a composer whose work was almost always under attack for political and musical reasons by powerful interests preferring a more Germanic style.


The original version of The Two Widows debuted within less than three months of its completion, in 1874. The story, drawn from a comedy by Pierre-Félicien Mallefille, concerned a pair of sisters who treat their mutual widowhood very differently. One, Karolina, relishes ruling her broad estates benignly, and contemplates entering politics. The other, Anežka, dresses in black and keeps the memory of her husband sacrosanct, avoiding a young man of leisure whom she once cared for while still married. When that young man turns up on Karolina’s lands while Anežka is visiting—pretending to poach the wildlife, and missing constantly—it’s time for a little scheming intervention. Low comedy was provided by the buffoonish bass role of Mumlal, Karolina’s gamekeeper.


Like the original Bartered Bride , this first version of The Two Widows was a comedy with dialogue. Smetana himself conducted that premiere, and wrote in his diary, “I received numerous wreaths and flowers, also a beautiful ornamented silver baton and silver wreath. . . . I was called out repeatedly after each act. Perfect success of the opera.” But the composer ultimately judged otherwise, for the second version made a few important changes clearly designed to give The Two Widows , well, legs. Smetana and his well-wishers wanted to see his operatic works performed abroad. As in the case of Carmen , which saw its debut a year later, the best way they saw to boost the international chances of an opera-with-spoken-word was to make it all music, all the time.


The recitative Smetana created in place of spoken text for his revision was fluent and varied in character, freely phrased and capable of moving between different levels of speech-song and concerted pieces. An example occurs in act II, scene 4, from recitative to parlando, and smoothly into an excellent trio (“Tob?, vdovo truchlivá”). Richard Strauss is said to have admired the way Smetana used recitative informally in The Two Widows , and saw it repeatedly while writing Der Rosenkavalier . Perhaps he was doing more than just thinking of this very scene, with its simple but beguiling waltz tune that starts midway through, with its sideslips into the relative minor.


The revision also involved the creation of what some might charitably call a secondary plot: a tiresome bit of wheezy humor, with interfering Mumlal sticking his head between two otherwise anonymous lovers, getting kissed, doing it again, and getting his nose boxed in stereo. It has the same rustic quality as Va?ek’s circus misadventures in The Bartered Bride , save that there, the incidents were truly woven into the story. Here, they simply pad the second act. Musically, it is another matter. Mumlal’s act II aria isn’t very interesting, but I find the trio scene for Mumlal, Toník, and Lidunka a delight.


Indeed, the opera displays a relatively high level of lyrical inspiration and craftsmanship throughout. While act I is slow—in part because it bore the larger amount of converted dialogue, in part because Mallefille’s original one-acter wasn’t really ideal for conversion into two acts—it has some choice content, including a short but delightful overture, a proud aria by Karolina (“Tot je jiná”), a hauntingly beautiful song for Ladislav (“Aj, vizte lovce tam”), and a wonderful concertato for all four main characters. Act II is almost pure gold: an attractive prelude, a heartwarming aria for Ladislav (“Když zavitá máj”), and a sparkling duet for Karolina and Anežka in which the latter quotes her sister’s earlier musical paean to non-marital freedom and tosses it astutely back. There’s a wonderful and lengthy scene for Ladislav and Anežka, where he reads a letter he’s written her, over music. (The liner notes claim this melodrama as unique, but as anybody familiar with opera should know, the ploy of reading a letter over powerful music was made very popular years earlier, with its best known example being a similar letter-reading scene in Verdi’s La traviata .) There is also a magnificent scene for Anežka, who finally regrets her behavior to Ladislav, addresses her husband beyond the grave, and lets go of what she has perceived as faithfulness, seeking the joys of living, instead. Not to be missed either are a series of concerted numbers for several voices, and, of course, one excellent polka.


There isn’t any available competition for this album. The 1970s recording for Supraphon is currently out of print and unattainable on most Web sites. (I just found a used version selling for over $360, but that’s ridiculous.) František Jilek led a spirited reading with a well-rounded but never outstanding cast. Its best feature is, frankly, the sound. It is far better than what Supraphon could accomplish in 1956, and that’s the date of this boxy reissue under Krombholc. Digital re-mastering hasn’t done a thing to rebalance the neglected midrange frequencies, or to deal with the constriction of the original tapes. But Krombholc, a fine conductor in his own right, has the advantage of a superior Karolina—almost Marschallin-like in her brightness, ease of phrasing, and coloratura—and a richer, slightly darker, more lyrical Anežka, who does full justice to her act II scene. Ivo Židek is slightly off his best, bright but occasionally pinched at the top, sometimes sliding in an unconvincing fashion. But he has a good, lyric voice, fine enunciation, and an ardent approach to this music that requires more than heft and vocal perfection. My only real disappointment in the cast was Eduard Haken, whose dark bass occasionally wobbles, and who goes disastrously askew when asked to do any figurations. Otherwise, he’s more than satisfactory, as are Zlesák and Fidlerová in their minor parts. All the performers sound thoroughly at home in their parts, and have that sense of rightness in scenes together that only comes from working in close proximity for a length of time.


A less appealing reading would still get a recommendation on the strength of the score, though the deficiencies would be noted. Here, the reservations are few. Definitely recommended.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal

Bedrich Smetana Prague National Theater Chorus and Orchestra, Jaroslav Krombholc, Jarmil Burghauser The Secret - A Comic Opera in Three Acts

The symphonic poems Smetana wrote during his stay in Sweden were composed during a pivotal time in his life. Financial prospects at first seemed better in Gothenberg than in his native country, while the dual influences of Berlioz and Liszt were informing the direction of his music. Richard III is not a programmatic drama, but focuses instead on the haunting scene before the Battle of Bosworth in Shakespeare’s play. Wallenstein’s Camp is symphonically structured, while Hakon Jarl dramatizes the life of the tyrannical Viking warrior with memorable flair. The Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra was established in 1949 by the esteemed conductors Vaclav Talich and L’udovit Rajter. Since then, the orchestra has performed under the batons of some of the world’s greatest conductors. The Slovak Philharmonic has made numerous recordings and has toured extensively throughout the world.

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REVIEW:

Aside from Ma Vlast, these are the best of Smetana’s orchestral pieces (though you might also want to toss the Festive Overture in there as well). Svárovsky is a fine conductor who works hard to shape and pace the music his own way; for those who like a more elegant line, he is clearly a good choice.


– Art Music Lounge

Smetana: String Quartets Nos. 1 and 2

With God's help and favour, I will one day be a Liszt in technique, a Mozart in composing, so wrote Smetana in his diary in January 1843. This sentence reflects the sheer determination and confidence in his own talent that compelled the 19-year-old composer - in defiance of his parents - to leave for Prague so as to continue his studies and eventually become one of the best-known Czech music creators. The beginning of his journey was fraught with tough, uncertain material conditions, and the young Smetana had to be tenacious indeed. Jitka Cechov�'s new recording features early pieces written in 1845 and 1846, years of intensive study and the outset of Smetana's independent artistic career. Many of them are being released on CD for the very first time; some of them were used by the composer in his later works or revised. The pianist Jitka Cechov� has completed the seventh instalment of the currently most comprehensive recording of Bedrich Smetana's piano works. Owing to her zest and faultless interpretation, we now have the opportunity to savour this remarkable and still underestimated layer of Smetana's oeuvre within the context of the greatest 19th-century composers of piano music.

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The triumph of truth and hope is one way to describe that special moment experienced by the orchestra and the public (including President Václav Havel) in sold-out Smetana Hall at the Municipal House in Prague on the evening of 12 May 1990. It was the opening concert of the first Prague Spring Festival to be held in freedom after 42 years of Communist totalitarianism. Rafael Kubelík led the Czech Philharmonic in a performance of Smetana’s My Country in order to celebrate the renewal of freedom in his Czechoslovakia. Maestro Kubelík had refused to return to his homeland after the Communist putsch in February 1948, and his answer to repeated invitations was always: “No, not as long as the country is not free”. He became a world-famous conductor, but he ended his active career in 1985 because of illness. Five years later, however, he could no longer refuse the invitation, and – with the expenditure of great effort – got himself back into shape and returned to the conductor’s podium. The moment of joy from his return home and from the country’s liberation was clearly worth it. Thanks to the Supraphon recording team, the thousands of listeners who have succumbed to the magic of this legendary recording can still relive this unique moment.

BEDRICH SMETANA - MA VLAST PRAGUE PHILHARMONIAJAKUB HRUSA - CONDUCTOR BEDRICH SMETANA - MA VLASTVYSEHRADÂ?Â?Â?VITAVASARKAFROM BOHEMIAN FIELDS AND GROVESTABORBLANIK

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Recorded in: Orchestra Hall, Detroit 28-29 January 1993, 26-27 March 1994 & 23 May 1994 Producer(s) Brian Couzens Charles Greenwell Leslie B. Dunner Sound Engineer(s) Dan Dene Robert Shafer

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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

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