Martinů’s
Bergerettes comes from
that edgy period as Europe stood on
the brink of war, but the mood of the
work is fairly typical of this composer’s
idiom. There are a few whiffs of that
Parisian jazz feel, but one has more
the feeling of a composer flexing his
powers through well-trodden though by
no means exhausted paths, revelling
in writing for instruments with which
he was most familiar, or for which he
had some of the greatest affection.
Punchy rhythms characterise many of
the five movements, and the tempo only
drops below a variant on Allegro
in two, with an eloquent Andantino
standing central and expressing
the deepest emotions in the piece, and
the final Moderato feeling like
a slowed-down allegro in its own right,
with upward ‘tango’ violin sweeps in
the opening and driving repetitions
from the piano forming a large part
of the material. I am a huge fan of
this composer, and this is top drawer
Martinů. The young Puella Trio
play it as if they were born for this
kind of music.
Alfred Schnittke re-arranged
his 1985 String Trio for the version
here in 1992, and the Puella Trio are
credited with giving the Czech premiere
recording of this version of the work.
Angular dissonances juxtaposed with
references to Russian Orthodox chant
make this a work which somehow has a
foot in several camps – most certainly
in that of a modernist stretching of
conventional boundaries of sonority,
structure and melodic shape, but also
in a that of a timeless world where
music is part of a continuous line of
history, with plenty of romanticism
laid on for good measure. These means
of expression are given two movements,
a more gritty first Moderato,
and the second Adagio, which
is laden with almost unbearable melancholy.
The Puella Trio does very well in this
music, even if I get the feeling that
they are marginally less comfortable
with it than with the Bergerettes.
There is also a funny feeling about
the opening, where the piano seems to
have drifted away from the microphones
and gone a little out of tune when compared
with the
Martinů. This is only a minor blemish
however, and things soon fall into place,
even if the piano is a bit twangy in
the upper registers throughout. Collectors
who know and love the string-only version
of this piece will want this later addition
to the Schnittke catalogue, even
though the work’s impact is altered
rather than genuinely enhanced by the
arrangement.
Shostakovich’s Piano
Trio No.1 Op.8 is in a late romantic
idiom, being one of the pieces the composer
wrote while still a student. In fact,
Shostakovich never even finished the
work, and it was left to Boris Tischenko,
one of his students, to put in the last
16 bars. The character is sometimes
close to the slow movement of the Symphony
No.1 which is only two opus numbers
later, so this is hardly surprising.
The piece is in fact something of a
patchwork, with several sections running
on through its single movement – as
such it is a fascinating glimpse into
the young Shostakovich’s formative probing
into serious composition – an eclectic
mix of borrowed styles and genres, and
the occasional flash of the unique voice
which was to emerge all too soon.
Recordings
of Martinů’s Bergerettes
are surprisingly thin on the ground,
as are those – somewhat less surprisingly
– of Shostakovich’s youthfully green
Op.8. I hunted through my entire collection,
but regret to inform readers that I
could find no comparison recordings
– not even being able to offer alternatives
by trawling through the current Supraphon
catalogue. The Schnittke is fairly well
represented, but with more choices in
the earlier version for string trio
as far as I can tell. The booklet notes
are informative but a bit florid here
and there, with some breathtakingly
long sentences and a few charming typos,
such as mention of Shostakovich’s ‘Fist
Symphony’. All things considered, this
is pretty much essential listening for
fans of 20th century chamber
music, and with energetic and first
rate performances and recording this
has to be a winner.
Dominy Clements