Naxos has already issued its transfers of, amongst other things,
Talich’s pre-War recordings of the Seventh and Eighth
Symphonies and Slavonic Dances (see
review). Now comes the Sixth, which exists in only this
traversal, as he wasn’t asked to record it in the studios
in the 1950s and no surviving broadcast is known. The Czech
Philharmonic was on tour in Britain at the time, and decamped
to Abbey Road to set down a portfolio of discs.
For lissom and curvaceous allure, for a protean unravelling
of the work’s more folkloric hues, and for interpretative
insight, it still takes some beating. The arresting peaks of
the first movement are securely anchored by a firmly nourished
bass line and one listens to the wind principals for their raptly
individualist contributions. Vladimír Říha,
the great clarinettist, is prominent here, but so too are the
strings, led with malleable expressivity and springing rhythm
by Alexander Plocek - who made on 78s one of the greatest recordings
of the Janáček Sonata - and alongside him his colleague
Egon Ledeč. The tender string line of the slow movement
and the subsequent folkloric episodes are all delineated and
characterised with great affection. Listen out for the cantabile
from around 4:30 with its warmth and yearning. Listen out as
well for oboist Josef Deda, first flute Karel Hanzl and for
the sheer allure and unforced richness of the individual and
corporate sonority of an orchestra in prime form. In the scherzo
one can hear Karel Bidlo’s bassoon chuckling and chattering
away, but he is just one amidst a phalanx of tone colourists
supreme. The noble textures of the finale, the quizzical flurry
of wind writing, and the splendid race to the finish conclude
a reading of total dedication, assurance, technical eloquence
and interpretative richness. Talich is the fulcrum, the animating
spirit that releases this buoyant musicality.
The sessions also gave us Suk’s Serenade which Talich
returned to in 1951. This has rather more obvious portamenti
than the symphony, attesting to its more sentimental side. Diminuendi
are marvellously calibrated and there is a full complement of
grazioso in the second movement. The slow movement is
played with huge affection and warmth and tonal beauty. The
pirouetting two-violin figure toward the end (Plocek and Ledeč)
was actually suggested by Talich to Suk, who incorporated this
delightful idea. The final work is the Sokol March (Into
a New Life) which has apparently, according to Mark Obert-Thorn’s
note and to my amazement, never been reissued since on LP or
CD. It’s Talich’s only recording of it, and for
all that it’s a zesty, optimistic affair written in the
wake of the establishment of Czechoslovakia as a democratic
entity, it also reveals hugely well-drilled corporate responses.
Finally let me note the high number of first takes selected
for issue at the time. Only two sides of the Symphony utilised
a second take.
The Sixth has recently appeared on Opus Kura, but I’ve
not had access to it for comparative purposes. Obert-Thorn’s
transfers for Naxos however prove accomplished, and Tully Potter’s
sleeve-note is one of his best.
I know some people are put off by recordings of this vintage
but really, let’s be frank, they’re ill. This disc
would speedily bring them back to sanity, and to reinvigorated
life.
Jonathan Woolf
see also review by Brian
Reinhart
Czech Philharmonic Orchestra/Václav Talich 
