Karel Ancerl's incomparable recording of Janácek's resplendently barbaric Sinfonietta remains not only the finest available version of the work, but also is the best recorded, particularly in this incredibly vivid new transfer. Although it was captured as long ago as 1961, no other version so effectively conveys the panoramic splendor of the trumpet-led opening across the stereo spectrum, no other offers such clarity in passages such as the finale's hair-raising wind writing, and no other balances the orchestra against the massed brass of the closing pages so naturally and cleanly. Technically it's quite an achievement, and Martinu's Parables sound equally fine--only The Frescoes of Piero della Francesca show their age in comparison, though the sound is still quite good.


As to the performances--well, what is there to say? They are simply the last word in excitement, accuracy, passion, color, and expressive immediacy. The Sinfonietta erupts form the speakers like a primal force. What other performance propels the second-movement ostinatos so forcefully, or builds the third movement's central climax with such explosive energy? Who else observes the various tempo changes in the brief fourth movement so effectively, wringing every drop of variety from its many repetitions of its opening trumpet tune? And who else drives the finale to positively expressionistic extremes of tension, making the return of the opening fanfares a moment of apocalyptic grandeur? Much as I love this work, and enjoy other performances (including Kubelik, Neumann, Jilek, and Mackerras), this is one of those rare occasions where you really can point your finger to a single version and say, "This is the best."


The same holds true for the two Martinu works, though of course they have been less frequently recorded and so comparisons are less thick on the field. As noted above, the sound in The Parables, one of Martinu's late masterpieces that easily could pass for one of his symphonies, is no less splendid than the Janácek, and the work itself is a shimmering, sensuous delight. The opening of the third movement, with its buzzing strings and flecks of xylophone, is quite unforgettable. Ancerl conducts both this piece and The Frescoes (dedicated to Kubelik, who recorded the work for EMI) with the same authority as the Janácek, and although all three of these performances have been kicking around in various couplings for some time, the sonic improvement certainly warrants acquiring this new edition. The playing will simply have you sitting on the edge of your seat. Stunning!
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

This simply stunning disc contains the finest available recording of Les Noces, a performance that combines textural clarity with Slavic soul in a way unmatched by any other. Combine this with Ancerl's habitual rhythmic accuracy, toss in amazingly lifelike sonics (superbly remastered here), and you can practically copy the score down just by listening. More importantly, the work's 23 minutes prove so engrossing that the time flies by in what subjectively seems like a few mesmerizing moments. The soloists, particularly soprano Libuse Domanínská and tenor Ivo Zidek, are marvelous--but then everyone, including pianists, chorus, and percussion play with a crispness that paradoxically produces just the impression Stravinsky was after: that of improvisatory, multi-layered freedom.


The remainder of the program is no less distinguished. In the beautifully neo-classical Cantata, Ancerl has tenor Gerald English and soprano Barbara Robotham as his idiomatic soloists, while both here and in the Mass the Prague Philharmonic Choir once again demonstrates that in the 1960s it was one of the world's great vocal ensembles. It goes without saying that the playing of the Czech Philharmonic, winds especially (the Mass is scored for voices and double wind quintet), could hardly be bettered. Ancerl was, of course, a very great conductor, but even in his distinguished discography his Stravinsky recordings stand out as special. Take this one along with his coupling of the Symphony of Psalms and Oedipus Rex, and you simply can't do any better. [11/13/2004]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Shortly after Josef Myslivecek left Prague for Italy in 1763, he earned important standing there and soon was enjoying the first great successes of his operas. However, opera was far from his only area of interest. In Padua in the late 1760s, Myslivecek was still able to become familiar with the music of the violin virtuoso Giuseppe Tartini, and it was probably under its influence that Myslivecek successively produced six violin concertos of his own. There are certain unmistakable archaic elements in Myslivecek’s concertos that show Tartini’s influence. The period when they were composed overlaps with the period of Myslivecek’s intensive contacts with the young Mozart, and many aspects of Mozart’s violin concertos were clearly influenced by the music of his elder friend.

The recording by Shizuka Ishikawa, a laureate of the prestigious Queen Elisabeth Competition in Brussels (1976) and of the Fritz Kreisler Competition in Vienna (1979), apparently represents the only complete set of Josef Myslivecek’s violin concertos. The young Japanese virtuoso recorded them for Supraphon in 1983 and 1986 in the Dvorák Hall of Prague’s Rudolfinum, and her artistic partner was none other than the conductor Libor Pešek. “Il Boemo” and his violin concertos – released for the first time as a complete set.

The 11 works Ludwig van Beethoven (1770–1827) created for piano trio make up a group of pieces equally remarkable as his 16 string quartets. With over half of them written before 1800, prior to the composer’s turning 30, they clearly reveal his creative flights and struggles, first and foremost serving to attest to the grand formation of Beethoven’s compositional principles and the attainment of his apex.

The present 4-album set features the Suk Trio, who soon after their establishment in 1951 gained international renown and recognition. The recordings of Beethoven’s piano trios for Japan’s Nippon Columbia, completed within a short timeframe, from June 1983 to April 1984, were made by the mature ensemble when it included the violinist Josef Suk, the cellist Josef Chuchro and the pianist Josef Hála, who in 1980 had replaced Jan Panenka. Their sound was predominated by the strings, primarily the violin of Suk, who defined the interpretation principles. The singularity of the trio and their recordings alike rests in infallible technique, sonic refinement, admirable interplay and profound musicality devoid of any showboating.

REVIEWS:

The Suk Trio had a very long run of 39 years, beginning in 1951 and ending in 1990. The ensemble underwent some personnel changes in its early years, but from 1960 to 1979, the group remained quite stable with members Josef Suk, violin; Josef Chuchro, cello; and Jan Panenka, piano. In 1979, Panenka withdrew from the ensemble and suspended his career due to hand problems. His replacement was Josef Hála, the pianist heard in the present recordings.

The sound and style of the Suk Trio didn’t change much with the arrival of Hála. The ensemble doesn’t sound particularly tired in its third decade of a busy concert and recording schedule, but there is a certain relaxed or laid-back quality to the playing. I wouldn’t describe it as slackness but more like a kind of homogenized smoothness, not much different really from the way the group sounded in the 1960s and again in the 1970s. Tempos may be a wee bit on the slow side compared to what we’ve become accustomed to, and some of the more energetic movements, such as the finale to the Trio in E♭, op. 70/2, a wee bit underplayed. But overall, I have to say that I like these performances, quite a lot actually. There’s no attempt on the part of the players to call attention to themselves or stamp their readings with some high-profile statement. They play the scores as written, repeats included, and what comes across are feelings of warmth and wisdom, which, together, project a sense of humaneness.

-- Fanfare

The combination of the Czech engineers' expertise in the Rudolfinum recording venue and the Suk Trio's cultivated dynamics, tonal congruity, and sense of intimacy gives this set a profound sense of selflessness and radiates a sheer love of the music.

-- MusicWeb International

In the first third of the 18th-century, Prague was a major music centre, with Italian operas and concertos, French suites, Italian and German oratorios being performed in the city, and the local churches striving to acquire the latest and most virtuosic compositions. Šimon Brixi was one of the most distinguished composers who drew inspiration from this thriving culture, while creating highly inventive music of his own. He mainly wrote liturgical pieces, yet few of them have survived. Brixi gained great acclaim for his musicae navales for the popular Saint John of Nepomuk Festivities in May on the river Vltava. Although he did not publish his scores, Brixi was a renowned composer and his music was frequently performed. Copies of his works were possessed by, among others, Jan Dismas Zelenka. Brixi mastered all the styles and techniques of his time, ranging from rigorous counterpoint to elements of the nascent Galant style. The works are arranged on the album in a one-day liturgical arch, with the morning mass followed by litanies and the canticle Magnificat from vespers, which owing to it's style and high technical requirements may bring to mind Zelenka's music. Made up of superlative soloists, Hipocondria Ensemble bring back to life Šimon Brixi's overlooked works. Their recording of the Magnificat is the first made on historical instruments. / Šimon Brixi - a composer whose music deserves a second life after three centuries.

During the Baroque era, taking music and art lessons was an integral part of education of children in royal families. Anne, Princess of Orange (1709-1759), the eldest daughter of King George II of Great Britain, was fortunate in having excellent teachers. At the age of five, she moved from her native city of Hanover to London, where for eleven years her musical talent was cultivated by G. F. Handel, a celebrated composer and keyboard virtuoso. Handel dedicated a number of his works to the Princess (among them the wedding serenade Parnasso in festa), while other, highly popular, pieces of his were arranged, including by the virtuoso flautist Michel Blavet. Following her wedding and departure from London, Anne no longer took harpsichord lessons, yet at the court in The Hague, her new home, she remained faithful to the Muses and surrounded herself with excellent artists. For a few years, the court employed the superb violinist and Kapellmeister Jean-Marie Leclair, who dedicated to Anne his fourth book of solo sonatas. In the case of some of them, he mentioned – to the delight of all flautists – the possibility of their being performed by “flûte allemande” as an alternative instrument. As a soloist, the flautist Jana Semeradova has worked with distinguished early music specialists (S. Azzolini, A. Bernardini, E. Onofri, etc.) and has performed at major festivals (Utrecht, Leipzig, Halle, Versailles, Sable, Regensburg, etc.). Erich Traxler is an outstanding soloist and chamber player, who has appeared at the most renowned concert venues worldwide. Princess Anne’s remarkable musical story is the intersection of the stories of the two exceptional musicians.

For four decades, Marie Podvalová (1909–1992) was one of the most popular and sought-after opera singers of the National Theatre in Prague, where she was engaged from 1937 to 1978. She dazzled in the part of Bedrich Smetana’s Libuše, which she created in 1938 under the guidance of the conductor Václav Talich, as well as in the roles of Milada in Dalibor and Anežka in Two Widows. She also appeared in Dvorák operas, performing to acclaim Armida, the Foreign Princess in Rusalka and Julie in The Jacobin, and in Janácek works, primarily excelling as Kostelnicka in Jenufa.

Supraphon is for the first time releasing the complete studio recordings Marie Podvalová made between 1939 and 1950. The set encompasses three songs from the collection Venec ze zpevu vlasteneckých (A Garland of Patriotic Songs, 1835–1844), which she performs accompanied on the piano by J. B. Foerster. It contains Marie Podvalová’s final, previously unreleased, studio recording, with the soprano singing Beatrice in a scene from Zdenek Fibich’s opera The Bride of Messina. The album also captures the voices of Jan Konstantin, Jindrich Blažícek, Marta Krásová, Ivo Žídek, Jaroslav Gleich, Zdenek Otava, Štepánka Jelínková, Jaroslav Jaroš, Josef Otakar Masák, Maria Tauberová, Ludek Mandaus, Stanislav Muž, and other singers. The Prague Symphony Orchestra and the National Theatre Orchestra are conducted by Rudolf Vašata, Zdenek Chalabala, Jaroslav Krombholc, František Škvor, Zdenek Folprecht, Otakar Jeremiáš and Karel Nedbal. The release marks the 30th anniversary of the legendary artist’s death.

In every way, a superior Brahms chamber release.

Their recording of the American Quartet and String Quartet No. 13, Op. 106 (Gramophone Award – Recording of the Year), elevated the Pavel Haas Quartet among the finest performers of Antonín Dvorák’s music. This position was subsequently confirmed by a recording of the composer’s quintets, made with the violist Pavel Nikl, a founding member of the ensemble, and the pianist Boris Giltburg, winner of the Queen Elisabeth Competition. The album received the most coveted classical music accolades (Gramophone Chamber Award, BBC Radio 3 Record Review Discs of the Year, Diapason d'Or, etc.). While recording the Dvorák quintets, the logical idea of a Brahms album was born. And now it has come to fruition.

Dvorák was encouraged by and ultimately attained global fame owing to the kind support and friendship of his older colleague Brahms, who in his twenties had been just as generously aided by Clara and Robert Schumann. Brahms' relationship with Clara is probably also behind the Piano Quintet in F minor, Op. 34. Originally conceived as a string quintet, in the spring of 1864 Brahms transformed it into a sonata for two pianos, yet Clara voiced her doubts about this version’s sound too. The desired contrast and richness of color was ultimately achieved by combining the strings and the piano. Clara Schumann performed the piano part at the private premiere of the quintet, which she referred to as having “symphonic” proportions. This aspect is clearly foregrounded on the present Pavel Haas Quartet recording. Brahms allegedly intended the String Quintet in G major, Op. 111, to be his last piece of music. In this light, it may come across as a reflection of the music he had cherished during his life – from Beethoven, Schubert, the Viennese waltz, his contemporary Wagner, to his beloved Hungarian dance motifs. From Dvorák to Brahms. A spellbinding “symphonic” chamber music sound.

REVIEW:

The group gets big sonorities, propelled but not overwhelmed by the piano in Op. 34 and by the cello that opens the Op. 111 quintet. The group really shines in the turbulent F minor piano quintet, as dark and intense as anything else Brahms ever wrote, and a work that went through several versions before the composer was satisfied with it. One feature of this ensemble is the variety of timbres offered by the individual players, with the rich tone of violist Luosha Fang an ideal foil for the edgier violinists. The players are aided by superb, almost tactile sound from Prague's Domovina Studio. In every way, a superior Brahms chamber release.

-- AllMusicGuide.com (James Manheim)

One of the oldest musical instruments we know of, the pan flute was played in many antique civilizations. The sophisticated type used in Romanian folk music is the most familiar to a contemporary audience. The virtuosos who brought fame to the pan flute in the second half of the 20th century include the Romanian musicians Damian Luca, Radu Simion, Nicolae Pîrvu, Gheorghe Zamfir and Simion Stanciu. Liselotte Rokyta studied with four of the “Big Five” and also gained authentic pan flute skills from folk players during a number of visits to Romania. The present album documents that the pan flute also occupies an indispensable position in classical music. The pieces by Bartók and Porumbescu are arrangements of Romanian folk dances, in which the pan flute is commonly employed. Debussy composed his Syrinx for the transverse flute, to which the pan flute (or syrinx) would seem to be an equal variant. The other arrangements are based on 19th- and 20th-century French composers’ works for the flute, as well as the piano and organ. You may have been hard pressed to imagine pieces by Varèse, Honegger or Messiaen played on the pan flute, yet you will certainly be engrossed by Liselotte Rokyta’s performance. The respective composers would undoubtedly have written music for the pan flute too had they had available a musician of her quality. The enchanting voice of the nymph Syrinx in the realm of classical music.

Robert Schumann, a versatile, well-educated young artist destined for great things, a man whose music has always amazed with its extent and profundity ... and also a person of delicate psyche, which many a time led him to the very border between life and death.

He composed the Piano Quartet in C minor, his first piece of this ilk, at the age of 18, and although, notwithstanding his original intention, he would never remake it into a symphony, he still had it on his mind some 20 years later: “I vividly recollect a passage in one of my works (1828), which I thought was romantic, with a spirit different to that of old music that appeared to me as though opening up a new poetic life.”

The Piano Quartet in E flat major, Op. 47, already attests to Schumann’s compositional mastery, with its idiom inspired by Bach and Beethoven yet speaking in a clearly singular language. The 1853 Märchenerzählungen (Fairy Tale Narrations), was one of the composer’s last happy creative upswings, written shortly before he attempted suicide by jumping from a bridge into the river Rhine with the aim to put an end to his unbearable mental torment. The Dvorák Piano Quartet’s album spans the entire arch of Schumann’s work: the beginning, the peak and the end. Just like all his music, it shows how immense beauty is often close to pain and suffering. Immense beauty and anguish of the soul in Schumann’s chamber music.

Paths – crossing and diverging, those we choose ourselves and those that are predestined and inevitable: through this prism the violinist Josef Špacek and the cellist Tomáš Jamník view the music of four Czech composers written within a mere 35 years of the 20th century. Janácek, enraptured by the idea of Pan-Slavism, was led by desire to Russia, a country where he found inspiration for his string quartet (here in an ambitious arrangement for two instruments), in a novella by Tolstoy. Ervín Schulhoff, an admirer and friend of Janácek’s (to whom he dedicated the duo featured on the present album), invested his hopes in Soviet Russia, yet this did not save him from death in a Nazi concentration camp. A similar fate (incarceration in Theresienstadt and Fürstengrube) befell Gideon Klein, another gifted and promising composer, who was murdered by the Nazis at the age of 25. Just two incomplete movements of his remarkable Duo for Violin and Cello have survived. The paths pursued by Bohuslav Martinu – first driven by thirst for knowledge and then forced to flee the Nazis – led from Prague through Paris to the USA, before returning to Europe; yet circumstances did not allow him to see his beloved country again. Martinu wrote his Duo for Violin and Cello No. 2 towards the very end of his life – and it also concludes the album by two brilliant artists. A virtuoso, profound and forcible recording indeed. Virtuosity, vivid joy and deep sorrow – the stories of four composers as reflected in their music.

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)

At 80 years young, Charles Mackerras remains one of the great conductors of our era, not to mention one of the most unheralded. His unfailing musicality, intelligence, and sheer joy in performing communicates vividly in these two glorious performances, beautifully recorded live in September, 2005. They are the kind of interpretations that make you listen as if for the first time to music you probably know well. This isn't just because Mackerras opts for the Urtext editions of both scores, most noticeable in the finale of the Eighth Symphony, where after the central climax he has the cellos play the variant of the main theme contained in Dvorák's autograph (Harnoncourt and a few others do similarly). What really distinguishes these performances is their sheer excitement and vital sense of flow, a function of rhythmically characterful phrasing allied to ideally transparent textures.


This is as true of the bucolic first two movements of the Eighth Symphony, where the woodwinds are especially delightful, as it is in the tremendously physical and passionate initial allegro of the Ninth. Has this movement's coda ever sounded more stormily agitated? And notice how marvellously Mackerras judges the tempo of the ensuing Largo, perfectly poised between rapt contemplation and easeful forward motion. Rhythmic acuity is the hallmark of both scherzos: a deliciously pointed waltz in the Eighth, and a swiftly vivacious Slavonic dance in the Ninth.


In the two finales, so often turned into stop-and-start affairs by less adept conductors, Mackerras creates an irresistible feeling of culmination, choosing rousing initial tempos and then for the most part sticking to them. The Eighth's concluding variations seldom have come across more cogently, particularly the lazy last three, which never bog down in excessive Romantic reverie. The Prague Symphony Orchestra responds to Mackerras' direction with amazing gusto, as if it doesn't already know the music backwards and forwards, and the audience is admirably silent. There are other wonderful performances of this music out there, but this truly is as good as it gets.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

All tracks have been digitally mastered using 24-bit technology.