Peter BREINER (b. 1957)
Slovak dances, naughty and sad (2015)
Stanislav Palúch (violin), Boris Lenko (accordion), Marian Friedl (whistles, bells, fujara, jew’s harp), Albert Hrubovčák (trombone solo), Robert Vizváry (double bass solo)
Slovak Philharmonic/Peter Breiner
rec. 10-13 September 2018, Concert Hall of the Slovak Philharmonic, Bratislava
NAXOS 8.574184-85 [49:35 + 49:31]
Let’s begin with something of a mystery. Virtually identical biographical sketches of Peter Breiner, posted on both his own and Naxos’s websites – state that: “Premiered live in July 2013 was the music for… Slovak Dances, Nasty and Nice. This project is based on Peter’s own 100 minute orchestral suite of dances which was recorded by Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra with the composer conducting in September 2018”.
The work referred to in those biographies would, at first glance, appear not to be the same one that’s featured on this new release. Most obviously, it seems to have a different title, referring to the dances as “nasty and nice” (hereafter abbreviated to NN) rather than “naughty and sad” (NS) – two pairs of words with meanings completely at variance with each other. Moreover, the biographical text refers to NN’s premiere having taken place in 2013, whereas the Naxos cover states that NS dates from 2015. So far, then, we might justifiably conclude that in the past decade Mr Breiner has, in fact, written two different sets of Slovak dances, NN and NS.
The waters quickly become rather more muddied, however, for reference to the two websites and to the CD’s own cover details and booklet quickly turns up at least four indications that NN and NS are, to the contrary, quite possibly the same piece of music. (1) The aforementioned biographical text informs us that NN was recorded by the Slovak Philharmonic in September 2018 – which is exactly when the Naxos disc’s rear cover states that the same orchestra recorded NS (though, of course, it is perfectly possible that, on that occasion, the musicians actually did record both NN and NS and that they really are two entirely different suites). (2) Mr Breiner’s own website informs us that NN was released on the Naxos label in September 2020 – which, oddly enough, was the same month that NS was actually put on the market. (3) While both websites ascribe a (rounded up?) duration of 100 minutes to NN, the NS recording on the new release comes in at a virtually identical time of 99:06. (4) Even though those same potted website biographies refer at some length to NN, they make not a single mention of a distinct NS – when you might imagine that Naxos, at least, would be keen to promote the latter as a new release!
Amid all that mind-boggling mystery and speculation, I confess it is something of a relief to get to the music itself – regardless of whether it turns out to be nasty-and-nice or naughty-and-sad. You might think that there’s a clue as to what to expect in the disc’s rear cover text which claims that the music draws on “traditions established by Brahms and Dvořák”, but it is important not to be misled by those words. While it is true that both those composers took folk music idioms and even themes as the basis of their Hungarian dances and Slavonic dances, they did so very much within the conventions and restraints of late 19th century Romanticism, creating, in the neat words of Naxos booklet essayist Vladimír Godár, “individualised variation[s] of the universal language”.
Breiner is attempting something rather different. His sequence of 16 so-called symphonic fantasias, described by Naxos as “an exuberant and kaleidoscopic monument rooted in Slovak musical folklore”, encompasses a far wider range of musical influences than could ever have been conceived by his 19th century predecessors. As Mr Godár admiringly puts it, Breiner “avoid[s] the associations joined with traditional mandatory domestic adoration of the Slovak folklore… [and is] inspired by the endeavours of the world music movement”, even though (somewhat paradoxically, you’d think, if his intention is to look beyond Slovakia’s musical confines) “the top instrumentalists of the domestic ethno-tradition [have been invited] to participate in the realisation of his vision”. Those soloists, including violinist Stanislav Palúch, accordionist Boris Lenko and multi-talented Marian Friedl who gamely takes on whistles, bells, a fujara and a jew’s harp, certainly make distinctive contributions to no fewer than 14 of the 16 tracks.
The basis of Breiner’s suite – or, as Mr Godár puts it, the “inspiration for his symphonic images” - is native folksong and one might easily suppose, therefore, that its themes might be catchy and easily remembered. Slovak listeners, certainly, will be humming happily along as they recognise such traditional ditties as My father is but one big headache, My mother told me not to sit in the dark, I must have been crazy and Oh, mother dear, it itches (Slovakian peasant life was clearly no bed of roses).
Anyone born west of Bratislava or east of Humenné is, however, unlikely to be familiar with the original melodies and, bereft of that anchor, may well find that the dances come and go without making that much of a memorable impression. Moreover, I’d imagine that the composer’s distinctly contemporary musical palette risks disconcerting or even alienating a few tradionally-minded listeners who prefer their music delivered in an orchestration more characteristic of the late 19th century.
In spite of any such potential issues, the suite certainly offers plenty of pleasurable moments. Many of them occur, as already suggested, during the dances featuring the “domestic ethno-traditional” solo instrumentalists whose contributions deliver frequent titillation to ears unfamiliar with the sound of fujaras or jew’s harps. Thus, no. 3, the jaunty You enchanting girl, you…, is marked by effective and attractive contributions from the violinist, the accordionist and Ms Friedl’s whistles, as too is no. 9 My little whistle – ititi, ititi. Meanwhile, no. 11 I must have been crazy exhibits an engaging and sinuously oriental atmosphere that perhaps reflects the influence of intermittent Mongol and Ottoman invasions of Slovakia over the centuries. The final dance You little gate with bars is the shortest of the whole set but brings the suite to a close with an appropriate burst of vitality.
While Breiner’s Slovak dances are very well played by the Slovak Philharmonic and also recorded in exemplary sound, I confess to having my doubts as to whether they will ultimately enjoy the status and popularity of their senior siblings by Brahms and Dvořák. Perhaps a complete set of 16 dances is simply too long? After all, while orchestrations of Brahms’s four sets of Hungarian dances may be cumulatively heard in a brisk 50 minutes or so (review) and Dvorak’s two sets of Slavonic dances in about 70 review), Breiner’s uninterrupted suite clocks in at almost 100 minutes in length. I suspect, therefore, that any encounter with it at some future date will most likely take the form of individual dances performed as stand-alone pieces in a mixed concert or even as encores.
Thus, I conclude by commending this release primarily to those who will, I suspect, have already placed their orders – enthusiastic fans of Slovak folksong, wholehearted devotees of “domestic ethno-traditional” instruments and the many admirers of Peter Breiner’s other successful recordings.
Rob Maynard
