Indefatigable Slovak pianist Marian Lapsansky, whose
epic Fibich cycle was so justly admired, is now teaching at the Bratislava
Conservatoire. He continues to explore his native repertoire on disc
with insight and acumen and his choices are never self-serving. As this
disc shows quite clearly Lapsansky is not above programming otherwise
intractable material, all the more valuable for being otherwise under
explored areas of the Czech repertoire – though undoubtedly the highly
politicised Janacek would have insisted on the geographical niceties
of distinctive Moravian folk inspirations being observed. It’s nevertheless
an unusual recital inasmuch as it embodies pianistic reflectiveness
without any great commensurate depth. Novak’s Songs of Winter Nights
was composed during 1903 and first performed by legendary Czech pianist
Jan Herman (who never recorded it though he did record Novak’s 1894
Op 6, Amoroso, from the Memories cycle). In terms of the composer’s
compositional chronology it dates from the first great flowering of
Novak’s early thirties after a period of depression that had plagued
him just before the turn of the century. In rapid succession he produced
In the Tatra Mountains (1902), the Slovak Suite (1903), Eternal Longing
(1903-5). It also postdates the remarkable Sonata Eroica of 1900, perhaps
Novak’s first great work. The Novak Catalogue notes Songs of Winter
Nights as lasting c15½ minutes; Lapsansky takes seventeen. Competitors
have included Frantisek Rauch and Otakar Vondrovic as well as the more
accessible Radoslav Kvapil on ASV – I’m not sure if these remain in
the catalogues. The becalmed and ravishing opening, a Moonlit Night,
portends the pictorial felicities to come – the fractious and glittering
Stormy Night, the rapt simplicity of a Christmas Night, the Third Movement,
which lightens and brightens before returning to its initial traceries.
With its hints of Mussoursgky the final movement, A Carnival Night,
is a skittish Pierrot of a piece from hammered bass to percussive right
hand and a delightful end to a light-hearted work. I suspect Herman
would have taken A Christmas Night at a jauntier pace than does Lapsansky
but there can be few complaints about the Slovak pianist’s eventful
pianism.
Foerster’s Dreaming was composed in Hamburg in 1898
and though he was nearing forty is a youthful and pleasurably lyrical
suite of five movements. There is delicacy, lyricism and late Romantic
intimacy in the opening movement, marked Sostenuto molto, redolent of
Schumann and played with verdant simplicity. The central Andante con
moto is wistful and reflective, rather insistent in its repetitions
whilst the fourth movement is all charm and the final Allegro a triumphantly
bright conclusion. Fibich is represented by two frankly unrepresentative
little Scherzi – student works and Op 4, written in Leipzig, the second
of which however has an embryonic Fibichian seriousness and nobility
recognisable to all who so admire, say, the slow movements of the Symphonies.
It’s certainly not Molto vivace in Lapsansky’s hands however qualified
that might be by the indication con umore – shouldn’t that be
amore? Janacek’s two folk cycles are infectious and brief; most
of the dances last less then a minute; only one lasts two. Wistfulness
and lustful vigour co-exist with drama and attack – the Rondo of Intimate
Sketches is like the whiff of cordite, whilst the following Souvenir
seems to possess a strange interiority, an undisclosed schema all its
own. If you want romantic limpidity listen to the delicious To My
Olga; if you prefer stately formality try the Lullaby. Rustic vivacity
will seize you in the Little Axe dance of the Moravian Dances;
don’t be taken in by the initial refinement of the dance known as The
Fur Jacket; whatever it is you won’t sit down for a week. The acme
of Janacek’s slyness is the Little Deer dance; as befits this
shy creature it vanishes before you knew it was there – it lasts eleven
seconds.
Much of this material is uncontested discographically;
in a mellow acoustic, with such lively and understanding playing this
disc adds materially to Lapsansky’s reputation as a connoisseur exponent
of his native literature.
Jonathan Woolf
Marian Lapsansky, piano