Though the booklet
speaks of "concertos" this
is more strictly a concertante disc,
best exemplified by Feld's 2005 Musique
concertante. The performances were
recorded in September 2006 and bring
us the work of three senior Czech composers,
though Kalabis alas died toward the
end of that month; his Tristium,
itself a lament for a departed friend,
takes on added significance in this
context.
Feld's Musique concertante
arose through a friendship between the composer and the
Luxembourg Ambassador to Prague - hence the Luxembourg crest
on the booklet cover. This is not simply
its first recording it's the first performance as well - the first public performance
is planned for the Rudolfinum in March
2007. It's written for the well-established
and excellent trio of flautist Carlo
Jans, violist Jitka Hosprová
and harpist Kateřina
Englichová. Cast in three traditional
movements this is a propulsive and textually
aerated work, with finely distributed
writing for the three players and finely
balanced against the string orchestra.
Feld moves from mild abrasion to Martinů-like
moments. The slow movement is perhaps the most intriguing. The
eerie and lulling sonorities - like a nocturnal phantasmagoria - are replete with little running patterns.
They lead on to a quotation from Machaut
(his name unfortunately misspelled in
the booklet) - his Ma chiere dame,
a vous mon cuer envoy, though the
annotators prefer the modern French
spelling "coeur" to the correct
"cuer". Its appearance at
2:38 is not entirely dissimilar to Britten's
use of Dowland in Lachrymae,
though it appears here stated in full
and is then subject to some working
out before the orchestra returns to
its balm. The finale is a percussive
dance with plenty of excitement and
virtuosity.
The other Feld piece is the Sonata for flute
and string orchestra - originally written for flute and piano
in 1957 but heard here in the 1965 expansion.
Here the influences are broadly Franco-Prokofiev.
There's the witty detachment of the former and the rather
unsettled lyricism of the latter and both are held together in
fine balance. The geniality of the opening is matched by an
unsettled slow movement - a compelling structure, and
played with real understanding by the
duo. The finale is a playful release
with touches perhaps of Poulenc along
the way.
Luká's Music
for Harp and Strings is undated though
certainly written before 1984, the year
quoted for an archival radio performance.
As ever Luká proves a master
of folkloric integration and heartfelt
lyricism. Rather than give his three
movements conventional names he prefers
the bald time
signatures. The work sounds at times
like an extemporised harp solo in a
Dvořák opera, albeit one tinged
with modern harmonies. It has a resonant
ballad beauty that proved utterly impossible
for this reviewer to resist. The finale
is a gorgeous thing, its motoric
moments sounding briefly but disconcertingly,
and I'm sure entirely coincidentally,
like a Bohemian John Adams.
Kalabis was Luká's
teacher so it's fitting that we have
Tristium, his twelve-minute tribute strongly modelled on
Hindemith's Trauermusik. It owes
its genesis to the illness and death of a friend and alternatives
tempi and emotive conditions strongly mirroring the feelings of
hope and resignation - despair and faith as the composer notes
them - experienced by the patient,
Dr.Z.F. This gripping and melancholy
work was first performed by Lubomír
Malý with the Slovak Chamber
Orchestra conducted by Bohdan Warchal
in 1986. Kalabis died after the booklet
was printed, fittingly perhaps on the
Feast Day of St. Wenceslas. We salute
the memory of a brave, steadfast and
noble man.
The booklet picture shows three austere wind
turbines slowly revolving in darkening skies. I can't say I'm a
great admirer of wind farms - they only work when the wind blows
and look appalling - but if they're somehow emblematically meant
to represent these three Czech composers then don't let that put
you off. Austerity and bogus productivity are the last things one
should expect of Feld, Kalabis and Lukáš - three composers of humanity,
facility and depth.
Jonathan Woolf