Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

C. STAMITZ Viola Concerto in D, op. 1. J. V. STAMIC Viola Concerto in G. A. STAMITZ Viola Concerto in B? • Jan P?ruška (va); Ji?í B?lohlávek, cond; Prague Philharmonia • SUPRAPHON 3929 (57:51)


Jan P?ruška’s survey of the Stamitz (Stamic is the Czech spelling) family’s works for viola and orchestra sandwiches Jan Václav Stamic’s Concerto between two by his sons, Carl and Anton. If viola jokes circulated as widely in the composers’ era as they do today, they didn’t inhibit the composition of brilliant solo works for an instrument that seems at least subsequently to have acquired the reputation of being played by failed violinists (the difference between an onion and a viola being that nobody cries when you cut a viola, and so on). Carl’s Concerto features imposing tuttis and brilliant passagework (some of it almost Baroque in its dogged reliance on bariolages and arpeggios) built on ingratiating thematic material and strutting its fashionable style in textures that set the virtuosic solo in high relief, especially in the final movement. P?ruška plays warmly in the slow movement and commandingly in the outer ones, roughing up his tone only in the very highest registers; in his hands, the viola seems even at this date fully worthy of the Concerto that Walton later wrote for it. The engineers place his viola center stage in very clear and lifelike recorded sound. And even if the Concerto can’t quite maintain musical interest throughout, the textures and gestures almost suffice—after all, works in a new genre (think of early color or wide-screen movies) often depend for their effect more than later critics might prefer on the medium rather than on the message. And in this case, the medium still makes a striking impression.


Jan’s Concerto sounds older, and in the context of the other works, arguably stodgier, than Carl’s, though it still cuts a dashing figure. The strings don’t back off so far during the tuttis, and the solo part, fighting for attention, doesn’t sound generally so brilliant as it does in the concertos of Stamitz fils ; but the prominent continuo by itself isn’t a sign of age: even Haydn employed a sort of figured bass.


Anton’s Concerto, like his brother’s, comes from an era farther removed stylistically than chronologically than that of his father. It’s more restrained in the brilliance of its display, however, than Carl’s Concerto, perhaps because, as in his father’s works, the strings don’t provide such a springboard from which the soloist can vault—or perhaps because of the more subdued key in which it’s written.


Collectively these pieces, played with such aplomb by both soloist and orchestra and so brightly recorded, make a very appealing showcase for the solo viola. They make a case that violists and lovers of string instruments might wish had been decided more favorably by succeeding musical judges. But, as the recording proves, it’s not too late. Strongly recommended.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

Includes work(s) by Carl Stamitz. Ensemble: Czech Philharmonic Collegium. Conductor: Ondrej Vrabec. Soloist: Gabriela Demeterová.

Classical Music

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

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.

Classical Music

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

Classical Music

Classical Music