Sir Charles Mackerras: Life with Czech Music = Works of DVORAK & SMETANA – Czech Philharmonic Orch./Sir Charles Mackerras – Supraphone (6 CDs)

by | Mar 2, 2011 | Classical Reissue Reviews | 0 comments

Sir Charles Mackerras: Life with Czech Music = DVORAK: Slavonic Dances, Opp. 46 and 72; Symphonic Variations, Op. 78; Symphony No. 6 in D Major, Op. 60; Symphony No. 8 in G Major, Op. 88; Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95 “From the New World”; Legends, Op. 59; Scherzo capriccioso, Op. 66; In Nature’s Realm , Op. 91; The Water Goblin, Op. 107; The Golden Spinning Wheel, Op. 109; The Noonday Witch, Op. 108; The Wild Dove, Op. 110; SMETANA: Ma Vlast – Czech Philharmonic Orchestra/Prague Symphony Orchestra (Op. 91; Op. 88; Op. 95)/ Sir Charles Mackerras – Supraphon SU 4041-2 (6 CDs box set) TT: 7:21:08 [Distr. by Qualiton] *****:
This massive set pays tribute to the dedication Australian musician Sir Charles Mackerras (1925-2010) brought to the Czech repertory, here, the work of Dvorak and Smetana. Partially as a result of his 1947-1948 studies with Czech maestro Vaclav Talich (1883-1961), Mackerras developed a lifelong devotion to the music of Janacek and the city of Prague, an affinity Sir Charles shared with Mozart.
I began my audition survey with the 17-25 March 2001 set of 1881 Legends, Op. 59, whose scale remains slightly more modest than the collections of Slavonic Dances but just as rhythmically genial and engrossing. The third in G Minor used to be a Beecham staple. Mackerras makes much of the No. 4 in C Major, which under his suave leadership assumes something of a small tone-poem’s effect. Given the response and color of the Czech Philharmonic, it is not hard to imagine this reading as a fair substitute for the one Talich never supplied. The No. 5 in A-flat Major proves equally delicious, and its middle section offers a rare transparency of sound. The dark C-sharp Minor No. 6 flows in the manner of a serenade until its trio section, then it employs haunted materials from the early Symphony No. 3. No. 8 offers some fine French horn work, taking us for a moment fox hunting. Delicate echo effects open No. 9 in D Major, but the hues darken with touches of Wagner harmony.
Mackerras follows the sweet harmony of the Andante No. 10 with the ever-exciting 1883 Scherzo capriccioso and its swirl of through-composed colors of winds, brass, battery, and harp. Inventive, jaunty, and exquisitely colorful, the piece achieves a marvelous momentum in the course of Mackerras’ ministrations. From 10-13 September 2005 we hear In Nature’s Realm with the Prague Symphony Orchestra that literally lifts the ducks off the water, and a series of secondary themes in aerial pastels. My intuitions about this disc obviously proved good, since the booklet contains Sir Charles having received the Midem Cannes Classical Award for the combination of Legends and Symphonic Variations (rec. 7-8 October 2001). With that same Prague Symphony ensemble, we receive a splendid version (10-13 September 2005) of the Symphony No. 8 in G Major, bright, lushly realized, athletic, immaculately refreshed in vibrant colors. The seamless writing gains incomparable momentum under a galvanized Mackerras, who urges the periods along without missing a beat.  A wonderfully atmospheric Adagio ensues, slow to yield its dire haunted melancholy to the inevitable lure of Nature. The ghostly waltz, Allegretto grazioso, wends its way transparently, without effort, the strings, winds, and tympani in perfect accord. The rapid trumpet call and echoed tympanic beats invoke a soft litany from the strings, and so Mackerras renders a tender and then rousing finale. Excellent flute work marks the movement’s entire conception, a happy thrilling ride.
The 7-8 October 2001 reading of Dvorak’s 1877 Symphonic Variations reminds me that Beecham–and later Kertesz–first introduced me to its many charms, but that inscription from CBS has not returned to CD format. Mackerras unfolds its various beauties in lovely colors that take their sound-model from the Haydn Variations of Johannes Brahms. Dvorak had taken the third of his Moravian duets “The Fiddler” as the basis for this virtuosic set of orchestral studies, a 20-measure tune in C Major and 27 variants. Since the tune falls into irregular measures of sixes and seven, the metric possibilities for Dvorak prove limitless, ending with a tour-de-force fugue worthy of the German masters–especially Brahms–whom Dvorak revered. The D Major Symphony of 1880–Dvorak’s real transition as a symphonist into Germanic form, following the Brahms D Major Symphony as its model–enjoys a relaxed but expansive vision from Mackerras (17-18 October 2002, live), its ¾ opening movement genially moving into B Minor/B Major modalities that incur some pesante coloring in homophonic fanfares that show off the winds and brass of the CPO. This work has had sympathetic treatment on records as far back as Erich Leinsdorf’s version years ago in Cleveland, when the score bore the moniker “Symphony No. 1.”  Mackerras realizes the B-flat Major Adagio as a lovely nocturne cross-fertilized by a passionate episode or intermezzo in B-flat Minor. The principal horn work alone warrants the price of admission. I always anticipate the D Minor Furiant with a decided excitement, its constant shifting of ¾ against 2/4 a real challenge for the ensemble, whose piccolo must sail over the trio intricacies without strain. The persistent upward fourth interval that Dvorak favors permeates the last movement, Mackerras imparting heft and gracious lucidity to the reading of its D Major-A Major development, the themes often an echo of the first movement motifs. Lofty “rustic chivalry” I call it.
Mackerras turned to the 1896 cycle of symphonic poems based on “The Bouquet of Poems” by Karel Jaromir Erben 11-12 December 2008 (Goblin and Noon Witch), 14 June 2001 (The Golden Spinning Wheel), and 9-10 September 2009 (Wood Dove). Talich serves as his model in all of these, the emphases on orchestral definition and clarity of line in pursuit of a program narrative. With an amazing simplicity of means–often employing four-bar phrases in sequences–Dvorak imparts the fairytale elements, poetic and horrific, that illuminate the often grisly moral tales, each ending with the musical equivalent of “and so my children. . .”  Sir Charles himself put it this way: “It is good that unlike other cosmopolitan orchestras, [the CPO’s] national character has yet to vanish.” The writhing strings of the CPO in collusion with the bass clarinet wonderfully convey the Noon Witch motif. Cello triplets contribute to the galloping and spinning of the alternately heraldic and gruesome Op. 109, a piece Josef Suk cut to “tighten” the score, but Mackerras–like Beecham and Kertesz–restores the score to its generous length. The bass clarinet figures as a symbol of doom again in the last of the series, The Wood Dove, reminding the treacherous widow of her murder and instilling in her conscience a desire for self destruction.
The two sets of Dvorak’s most popular orchestral works, his Slavonic Dances (8-11 April 1999), with the Czech Philharmonic bear all the earmarks of the Talich influence: brilliant articulation, interior clarity, high energy, stylistic authority, and a distinctive sonic gloss provided by engineer Jaroslav Rybar. A few inflections of phrase and dynamic shadings prevent the set from having become a mere clone of Talich’s, such as the accelerandi in the E Minor Dumka, Op. 46, No. 2. The natural fluency of the Polka in A-flat Major, Op. 46, No. 3 warrants our admiration. An autumnal beauty marks the martial F Major Sousedska, Op. 46, No. 4, the solo viola a standout. The appoggiaturas of the D Major Mazurka, Op. 46, No. 6 receive loving care from Mackerras, and the cumulative energy of the piece proves irresistible. After a lilting, skipping C Minor Scocna, the G Minor Furiant bursts forth with a splendid vengeance, a dazzling conclusion to the 1878 set that announced Dvorak’s musical “program” to an eager public.
The wonderfully familiar Starodavny in E Minor, Op. 72, No. 2 (1886) elicits the warmth of the CPO in haunted antiphons from the diviso strings and woodwinds, song and chorale mixed in rare harmony. The potential epic stature of these pieces emerges again in the Op. 72, No. 4, D-flat Major–another Talich specialty–a Dumka of extraordinary bucolic, evocative power. A lovely trio section in the B-flat Minor Slavonic Dance makes it memorable, along with its unusually pesante chords near the coda. The C Major Kolo, Op. 72, No. 7 has Sir Charles’ blood pumping and our feet tapping in throes of joy and national spirits. Finally, the A-flat Major Sousedska offers an extended meditation on national sensibilities that even invokes a kind of waltzing cuckoo call.
Mackerras conducted Dvorak’s New World Symphony on the occasion of his 80th birthday, “live” in Prague 10-13 September 2005.   Studied phrasing marks the Mackerras conception, imparting enough by way of resonance, tonal opulence, and inner voicing to impel the Prague Symphony players to admit they had “rediscovered something new in a score so thoroughly familiar to them.” Having taken the first movement repeat, Mackerras manages to squeeze fine and frothy juice from the Allegro molto, a reading not so tragic as that of Fricsay but neither as sunnily optimistic as that of Talich. The D-flat Major Largo receives an elastic carefully molded vocal treatment, perhaps an intimate invocation of sunset amidst the Great Plains. Bright electric energy permeates the E Minor Scherzo, a kind of Indian-Bohemian war-whoop after the Scherzo in Beethoven’s Ninth. The assertiveness so long pent up rushes forth for the Mackerras’ finale, a riveting procession whose transition from a tragic E Minor to a triumphant E Major resounds in our souls long after the last note decays. Bravo!
Disc 6 devotes itself to a complete Ma Vlast (1872-1897), which Mackerras had given at the Prague Spring Festival in May, 1989 and here again, for the opening of the 54th Prague Spring 12 May 1999.  From the two harps’s opening incantation of Lumir, the Czech bard, the entire cycle bespeaks a gentle kindred spirit in Mackerras’ sensitivity to the thrilling pageant of landscape–physical, mythical, and ethical–evolving in colorful panorama before us. Perhaps more than any specific detail of the cycle, we feel the tremendous pride and sense of historical obligation these musicians maintain to this heraldic score–just the three inscriptions from Talich and one from a dying Rafael Kubelik provide some indication–in the face of Czechoslovakia’s fierce determination to survive every political onslaught and disruption of her national sovereignty. The unabashed huzzas from the Czech audience bespeak a world of appreciation for Sir Charles Mackerras.
— Gary Lemco
 

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