That a conductor is considered historically important does not
automatically render all his recordings equally deserving of immortality:
even the discographies of Toscanini and Furtwängler document a number of
their respective off days. So, too, with Václav Talich: he's rightly
invoked, among Czechs, as one of the twentieth century's greats -- it
is he who trained Charles Mackerras, among others, in the Czech style and
traditions -- but the recordings on this disc, made in London during a Czech
Philharmonic tour, leave a distinctly mixed impression.
Of the two composers represented here, it's Josef Suk who comes off
better. Granted, his
Sokol March, placed first on the disc, is
hardly a major interpretive test: it's hearty, incorporating some
quirky harmonic turns, and Talich projects it well. The Serenade, however,
is not so easy a piece, and here it is nicely turned. The opening, with the
players "singing through" the quarter-notes, feels slightly
deliberate, its mien at once affectionate and severe. The waltzlike second
movement is
grazioso in both senses of the term: graceful and
gracious, moving seamlessly into the
Trio. The slow
movement's concentrated textures open out nicely into the contrasting
theme at 3:59; duetting violin trills inject a Bohemian pastoral note into
the coda. The players bounce through the finale, an energetic
moto
perpetuo, with relish. The relaxation into the episode 4:23 is deftly
accomplished, though the ensuing return to tempo is a bit stiff.
Parts of the Dvořák symphony, however, may raise an eyebrow. Talich begins
in a leisurely manner, phrasing the theme expansively, swelling into the
melodic peaks; but the melodic elements and the accompanying syncopations
have trouble staying lined up. Once past this start - reflecting, perhaps, a
different order of musical priorities from today's - there's
plenty to savour: the tender transitional phrases at 1:48; the graceful yet
full-bodied rendering of the second theme; the delicacy of the lighter
textures; and the mystery and unease in the development.
The
Adagio's broad opening theme unfolds spaciously, and
the divided strings intone its return at 4:37 with real warmth.
Unfortunately, the sonorities thicken and ooze as they expand - rendering
the minor-key episode, for example, soggy rather than ominous - and wind
attacks are frequently uncertain. In the
Scherzo, Talich shrewdly
leans on and separates the two-note figures, producing both weight and
propulsion; the high violins sing serenely in the
Trio, and its
minore episode is mournful. The conductor can't make the
finale's first theme any less square, but at least he keeps it
flowing, and the woodwinds point the second theme delightfully. There are a
few awkward moments, and a scrambled attack or two, on the way to the
celebratory coda.
Mark Obert-Thorn's restorations get eminently listenable results
from the venerable source materials; I don't imagine anyone curious
about this recording would be deterred by the mild background hiss. The
brass in the Suk march suffers some breakup, though the basic sound is clear
enough. In the symphony, the violins sound dry at peak moments, and some of
the climaxes harden rather than expand. The serenade, involving just
strings, comes off best, though it, too, has its dry- and hard-sounding
moments.
These performances would be worth downloading to study their performance
style. As a permanent library acquisition, however, you'll want
something more modern. From the analogue-stereo era, I'd favour
Rowicki (Philips) or Ančerl (Supraphon) in the symphony - good luck tracking
down either of them - and Münchinger's unexpectedly glowing account
of the serenade (Decca Eloquence). I see the march boasts several modern
Supraphon performances, available on discs or, on Amazon, as inexpensive
downloads.
Stephen Francis Vasta
Stephen Francis Vasta is a New York-based conductor, coach, and
journalist.
Previous reviews:
Jonathan Woolf and
Brian Reinhart
