Listen to the opening of Symphony no.
1, with its pastoral wind, its inviting
horn-calls and its sense of forward
movement and tell me if this is not
lovelorn romantic symphonic writing
par excellence. There is an ardently
sung second subject just over two minutes
in and the movement, beautifully crafted,
maintains its promise, not least thanks
to the poetry and vitality with which
Karel Šejna handles it. By and large
the whole symphony makes a satisfying
whole though the actual thematic material,
sumptuously and masterfully handled
as it is, becomes more rudimentary later.
Fibich’s
was the music of infatuation, literally
so in the last ten years of his life,
which were dominated by his relationship
with and adoration for his pupil Anežka
Schulzová, a relationship
documented almost daily in his extensive
series of piano miniatures "Moods,
Impressions and Reminiscences".
These would seem to show that he remained
locked in that exalted state of first
infatuation which normally either matures
into something deeper or, more often
than not, fades into nothing, and the
pieces themselves became storehouses
of thematic material which he developed
in his larger works, including the Second
and Third Symphonies.
Infatuation and obsession
are closely related and I now ask the
reader to hear my second sample, the
opening of Symphony no. 2 . There is
the same sense of symphonic movement
as before, paragraphs are masterfully
constructed, the sound-world is sumptuous.
But this little theme, based on two
notes, has to bear the weight of a virtually
monothematic first movement and then,
since this was the first Czech cyclical
symphony, pervades the remaining movements
as well. Is it strong enough to do so,
or does it express only too well the
lack of objectivity which obsession/infatuation
can induce? Much of the remaining material
amounts to arpeggios and scales and
so I cannot agree with the booklet-note
writer that this is Fibich’s finest
symphony. Some commentators have found
an Elgarian tone in the slow movement;
maybe, but Elgar’s best themes can usually
be remembered afterwards. All the same,
I found subsequent hearings tended to
increase my liking for the work rather
than the reverse. Once again, Šejna’s
ardour and commitment are infectious.
But now listen to the
opening of the Third Symphony. Lovers
of Sibelius will note that Fibich here
achieves (quite independently, in view
of the date) a similar sense of a steady
journey across a variegated landscape.
The music is always in motion, thanks
to ostinato accompanying figures which
start up in one section of the orchestra
just as they are dying down in another,
and it is always growing. This movement
seems to me a quite remarkable achievement.
The next begins with what we evidently
have to accept as a Fibich characteristic:
a rather stereotyped baroque-based figure,
albeit richly harmonised. But this soon
gives way to a gloriously sung Adagio.
The remaining movements have plenty
of dash even when the themes themselves
are sometimes rudimentary but all things
considered this third symphony makes
a very satisfying whole, Fibich’s sense
of forward movement and orchestral colour
more than outweighing any thematic weaknesses.
"At
Twilight” was another Anežka-inspired
piece, recalling the composer’s walks
with Anežka and her father on Žofin
Island. It is a remarkable expression
of first infatuation. Although Fibich’s
music is not generally so recognisably
Czech as that of Smetana
or Dvořák, the latter’s Water Goblin
and Wild Dove both seem to be present
on the island. However, these are anticipations,
not echoes. Those whose only knowledge
of Fibich is restricted to his Počme
for violin and piano should be pleased
to encounter it in its original form
– the violinist Jan Kubelík was
responsible for its extrapolation as
a separate piece. The idea was that
a single violinist could bring a more
personal expression to it than massed
violins, but perhaps he reckoned without
the unanimity
and expressive nuance of this orchestra
of Kubelíks and Ševčíks and Josef
Suks under Šejna’s inspired direction.
The set is completed by an earlier choral
piece whose legendary tone looks forward
to Sibelius’s choral writing.
At the time of many
of these
recordings Karel Šejna (1896-1982) was
briefly conductor of the Czech Philharmonic
(1949-1950), following Kubelík’s departure
on account of his anti-communist sympathies
and prior to the appointment of Karel
Ančerl. Perhaps one day the full
story of the political-musical
machinations of those times will one
day be told, including as they do the
slander campaign against the great Vacláv
Talich. And, without disrespect for
Ančerl, one wonders why such a
fine conductor as Šejna was allowed
so brief a tenure. However, his
particular sympathy for Fibich must
have been recognised, since he was called
back in 1961 to complete the cycle.
The 1950/1 recordings, despite a certain
amount of distortion, are full-blooded
and enjoyable while the Third Symphony
gets a stereo recording that sounds
pretty good for its date. Later Czech
recordings of this music have been few
and not very highly rated; if you want
modern digital sound the three symphonies
are available from Chandos by the Detroit
Symphony Orchestra under Neeme Järvi.
Nos. 1 and 2 have also been recorded
for Naxos by Andrew Mongrelia. Personally
I find that the captivating sound of
the Czech Philharmonic of the day, with
its rustic winds, thrilling brass and
soaring strings, together with Šejna’s
special insights, more than compensate
for any shortcomings in the sound. I
must point out, though, that the Second
Symphony plays about a quarter of a
tone above pitch. I am aware that in
Eastern European countries of those
days a higher tuning pitch was sometimes
used, but on the other hand the First
Symphony was recorded at about the same
time and here the pitch is right.
The set is enthusiastically
recommended to lovers of romantic symphonies
and is available at superbudget price..
Christopher Howell