Laszlo LAJTHA (1892-1963)
Suite pour orchestra, Op.19 [21:38]
In Memoriam, Op.35 [20:32]
Symphony No. 1, Op.24 [19:53]
Pécs Symphony Orchestra/Nicolás Pasquet
rec. Ferenc Liszt Concert Hall, Pécs, Hungary, May 1996
NAXOS 8.573643 [60:02]
Lajtha was a Hungarian composer born in the decade or so after
Bartok, Kodaly and Dohnanyi and like his own contemporary, Leo Weiner, he
was very much overshadowed by them. He studied in Budapest, Leipzig, Geneva
and Paris and it is the French influence on his musical language (he was a
pupil of d’Indy) that was probably decisive in determining his accessible
style. I only became aware of his existence after buying an old Hungaroton
recording of his Fourth and Ninth Symphonies (still available) whilst a student,
although the music didn’t strike me as particularly memorable at the
time. I subsequently found myself working alongside a colleague with the same
surname as the composer and asked if he was related. He turned out to be the
composer’s grandson and, given the general neglect of his grandfather’s
music, he was astonished that any of his own contemporaries would even be
aware of the composer’s existence. Not much has changed in that respect
in almost a couple of generations, but Naxos has now re-issued all of the
Marco Polo recordings of Lajtha’s nine symphonies (he was probably Hungary’s
foremost symphonist) so, at least, the music remains out there and it is actually
worth making its acquaintance.
Starting with the Symphony No 1 of 1936, which is placed last on the disc,
I found myself struggling to find a way of describing the music in terms of
similar styles. The booklet notes that, as with several of Lajtha’s
more famous contemporaries, the composer collected folk music but, in the
few examples of his works I have been able to hear, the folk influence does
not seem to be overt. It is certainly not obvious here. The first movement
(Allegro) has a mysterious and atmospheric opening that hints at
early Brian and – possibly – Tubin but this is an individual rather
than an eclectic voice. The atmosphere is maintained, despite some slightly
bombastic moments with timpani and cymbals, and the music doesn’t outstay
its welcome. The second movement (Andante) starts with an eerie clarinet
melody against a single line of strings and timpani pulsing in the background.
There is plenty of textural variety – with flute and harp weaving in
and out – and the movement is memorable more for atmosphere than melody.
The third movement (Allegro Molto) is largely dominated by the strings
but sliced through with brass fanfares. There are hints here of a somewhat
jollier side of Sibelius – or even Moeran – and bombast returns
in the coda.
The performance is good – certainly good enough to enjoy the music,
although one is aware that the orchestra is not of the front rank. I suppose
this is the 1990s equivalent of an outfit older readers will remember - the
Louisville Orchestra - and the string sound occasionally has moments of suspect
security. The recording is clear if slightly cavernous (like viewing an Albert
Hall prom concert from the gallery) which actually works to the music’s
advantage here but not quite so much in the Suite, which is placed first on
the disc.
Lajtha wrote three ballets and the Suite is drawn from his initial effort,
Lysistrata. There are four movements, of which the first is ‘Prelude
et Hymne’. This starts with a busy toccata-like string theme (with shades
of Roussel and Honegger) that eventually gives way to an atmospheric slower
section, dominated by the woodwind, which reminded me of Kodaly. When it finished
I was somewhat surprised to see that we had only just arrived at the second
track. The following ‘Marche burleske’ develops a heavy tread
and this is followed by a slow waltz-like movement (‘Valse lente’).
Finally, of all things, there is a ‘Can-Can’. This strikes me
as more of a burlesque than the second movement and it feels very out of place
in a ballet based on a play by Aristophanes, concerning the struggle between
Athens and Sparta and the efforts of warriors’ wives on both sides to
end the conflict. Strange!
In Memoriam has a sub-title: ‘Piece Symphonique pour Orchestre’
and is described in the booklet as an “eloquent protest against war”.
As a young man the composer had served as an artillery officer and had first-hand
experience of the horrors of armed conflict. The first half of the piece has
an ominous march-like tread on timpani and may depict a procession of victims
and the agony of mourners. Occasionally the music suggests cries followed
by a shocked silence before the music returns to the slow march. I have heard
more vivid musical depictions of war and – despite some affinities with
Shostakovich in the second half - this is not too harrowing. The work was
dedicated to the BBC. It strikes me that, at 20 minutes, it is rather longer
than it needs to be if it is to be performed more than once in a blue moon.
Not great music then, but mostly interesting and a fairly individual voice,
given reliable and generally satisfactory performances and recordings. At
bargain price this is certainly worth exploring.
Bob Stevenson
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