Dvorák: Ten Legends; Leos Janácek: Sinfonietta

Review-capsulated

The character of the Bamberg Symphony is far better suited to Dvorak than Janacek. The 10 Legends - charming everyday sketches of country-folk - plainly thrive on warm woody woodwinds and mellowed brass; on honest homespun strings for whom these notes are of course second nature. Each seize their moments here: expansive clarinets and bassoons filling out a reflective page or two in the middle section of No. 2, the gracefully articulated horn solo at the close of dreamy No. 8, the ambling rusticity of No. 6 with its subtle and captivating modulations. The native color is most beguiling throughout and Jarvi, is at his most relaxed - as witness, the gentle free-flowing phrasing of No. 10.

Sadly, those same woodwinds and strings don't always come through with the requisite cut and thrust when Dvorak's blended colors must yield to the coarser and sparer lines of the Janacek. I particularly miss here an uncouthness in the rhythm, a rosiny edge in the strings, not least in the heavy and hyperactive bass lines. The second movement demands it - as does the critical middle section of the finale where wild ostinatos and rowdy high woodwinds, like an over-excited crowd, prepare the way for that momentous return of the opening fanfares. I say momentous but somewhere along the line here Jarvi or his orchestra, or both, have loosened their grip, and in consequence the returning fanfares take a while to quicken the senses. The closing paean is good and resolute with decent bass trumpets and timpani. There are other moments too, the best of them in repose - the tender 'far-away' close of the third movement, for instance. But even so, and despite the incentive of the Dvorak, this isn't a competitive Sinfonietta - not with Abbado (DG) and Mackerras (Decca) - the latter still in a class of his own - there to shadow it.

We have been spoiled forever, I fear, not only by Mackerras' stunning VPO account of the Sinfonietta but also Tarus Bulba: by comparison, the modest Slovak Philharmonic offerings on Opus sound primitive indeed. Yet there, in a sense, lies the attraction: it's always good to be reminded of the 'old' Czech sound in this music: the fiery gipsy-fiddler strings, the characterful homespun winds with their warm vibratos, the craggy trumpets and trombones. Indian-born Daniel Nazareth - one time assistant to Leonard Bernstein at Tanglewood - clearly thinks so too, accentuating here all those earthy primary colors, and never for a moment compromising Janacek's unique and sometimes bizzarre scoring: the still spare opening of Taras Bulba, beginning almost as if in mid-sentence with plaintive cor anglais over rocking strings; the strange disembodied lament for organ which keeps interceding; or the hypnotic harp ostinato against sustained flutes and clarinets which opens the second movement, and then, of course, the brassy pagan hue of the Sinfonietta and its clamorous fanfares. The playing here may be unglamorous, indeed decidedly rough and ready at times (I do especially miss the burnished splendor of Mackerras' VPO brass), but its spirit is irresistible, not least in the many yearning woodwind plaints (cor anglais and oboe gorgeous in the third movement of the Sinfonietta) and those moments where the music really hitches up its skirts and dances: the boisterous second movement of the Sinfonietta, for instance, and the middle movement of Taras Bulba where uninhibited strings, trombones and later E flat clarinet make something suitably raucous of the closing pages (from 4'07). Despite all the rough ends then, and a disconcertingly boxy, erratically balanced recording (harp and trombones absurdly favored), I rather enjoyed myself. I repeat, though, if you don't yet have the Mackerras, it's about time you did.

-Gramophone

Read About This Recording

Antonin Dvorak (1841-1904) is Czech music personified. He took the Czech nationalist movement founded by his mentor Smetana and, from its newly stirring pulse, created a huge body of work that is at once unmistakably Czech and universal. He excelled in all musical forms - chamber music, symphony, concerto, opera, liturgical music, and symphonic poem. He is the bridge between Smetana and the twentieth century. Janacek and Martinu drank deeply from the well of his inspiration.

If things had taken their natural course, Dvorak would have become a butcher and an innkeeper like his father. As it happened, things went awry - certain human influences appeared at key moments - and Dvorak became, instead, one of the musical giants of his age. He showed early talent as a violinist, and at first his father saw to his musical education. Dvorak pere, unfortunately, suffered financial reversals, forcing a cessation of his son's studies. A kindly uncle intervened, and Dvorak was permitted to resume his education.

Dvorak attended the Organ School in Prague, became a violist in the Czech National Theater Orchestra under Smetana, and thus, for sixteen years, lived the life of a bohemian, both literally and figuratively. He composed ceaselessly - chamber music, songs, and three symphonies, among other works. In winter he often kept himself warm by burning his iunworthyi compositions (he was extremely self-critical). Musically he was in fine shape; financially, near disaster.

The turning point came in 1875, when he submitted his Third Symphony to the Austrian State Commission for the State Music Prize. The two judges were Eduard Hanslick and Johannes Brahms. Both were quite taken by the symphony and awarded its composer the prize of 400 gold florins. Most important, Brahms became his life-long mentor and champion - helping him financially, getting his works performed in Vienna, and putting him in touch with his publisher, Simrock. Simrock suggested that Dvorak write a set of popular dances on the order of Brahms's Hungarian Dances. The first set of Slavonic Dances was composed in 1878, and it effectively launched his career.

In 1891, Dvorak was offered the directorship of the newly founded National Conservatory of Music in New York. Implicit in his contract was that he would (he was by then a known expert in composing art music from folk roots) through his ethnomusicological studies and original compositions, define and nurture a purely American musical voice. In the course of his American sojourn, he enthusiastically absorbed the spiritual along with the music of Native Americans. Some of his most beloved works were the result - the American Quartet, the 'Cello Concerto, and the Ninth Symphony.

The lovely Ten Legends were composed around the time of his Sixth Symphony. Less well known than his Slavonic Dances, they are imbued with equal freshness and charm. Each is a miniature tone poem - the longest is about five and a half minutes in length; the shortest, less than three minutes. They present Dvorak at his most gentle and intimate, and show Neeme Jarvi and his Bamberg forces at their level best. In the words of Gramophone, The native colour is most beguiling throughout and Jarvi is at his most relaxed.

Leos Janacek (1854-1926) was a controversial composer of opera and instrumental music who struggled most of his life to gain a niche in the Czech musical world. By the time he entered his seventh decade, he was, by all accounts, an abject failure. In 1917 he met and fell in love with Kamila Stosslova, a married woman 38 years his junior. She became his muse, and he composed, at white-hot speed, the works that assured his musical immortality. Foremost among them is the Sinfonietta (1926). It grew from a commission to compose a series of fanfares for a gymnastic festival in Prague. Janacek later recast his material into an orchestral work of coruscating brilliance. It is unprecedented, utterly unique, and one of the landmarks of twentieth-century music.

-William Zagorski

Contents

Also, Janacek: Sinfonietta (1926).

Bamberg Symphony Orchestra; Neeme Jarvi, Conductor.