It
was only a matter of a few weeks ago
that I reviewed Příhoda’s magnificent
1943 Polydor recording of the Dvořák
Violin Concerto currently on Symposium
(see
that review for some biographical
material). Now what should land on my
astonished doormat but this long hoped
for but seldom-expected collection of
the violinist’s post War Italian recordings.
These were made for Cetra between 1956
and 1957, a scant few years before his
early death in 1960. The German company
Podium Legend has for the last few years
been issuing a large number of his off-air
broadcast material – some fascinating
things there – but apart from their
initial and one ancillary release on
a licensed LP label the late Cetras
have never been re-released in any form,
to the best of my knowledge. These commercial
discs, including a significant amount
of literature that the violinist had
previously not recorded, not least the
Mozart Concertos, had relatively limited
circulation outside Italy where Příhoda
was then living – and I for one send
Warner Fonit congratulations on rescuing
these sides from the vaults.
Příhoda’s
Mozart is fascinating – brittle, nervous,
highly-strung, on edge in Allegros and
constantly inflected with finger position
changes and bowing idiosyncrasies. Imagine
the patrician figures of Szymon Goldberg
and Arthur Grumiaux in this repertoire
and they are everything the Czech player
is not – should one wish to analyse
Příhoda’s playing negatively in
that way. His legato phrasing is constantly
dipping and swooping as if on ever-quivering
currents of air, his intonation flattens
for optimum expressive potential, his
slides in the G major are quick and
rather slick, his characterful persona
always audible, his own cadenzas personalised
and occasionally questionable in terms
of thematic incident. One listens to
the rapt intensity of the opening of
that Concerto’s slow movement with its
dampened dynamics and withdrawn delicacy.
One also admires the generosity of feeling
while noting that his tone, never very
opulent even in his prime, has rather
coarsened, that the cadenza is massively
misconceived and that in the end his
Mozart playing lacks a sense of involving
repose in slow movements. He is so tactile
and quicksilver a player that real simplicity
is just beyond him, the masculine and
feminine elements in Mozart playing
too decisively in his case weighted
toward the masculine. Parts of the Rondo
finale are splendidly executed with
some contrastive material slyly slow
and an interpolated mini cadenza. A
later one illustrates his virtuoso mentality.
The
support from the Orchestra Sinfonica
di Torino della RAI under Ennio Gerelli
is really only adequate, a fact that
is perhaps more marked in the companion
D major Concerto. The winds’ tuning
is not always spot-on and the strings,
like the soloist, can incline to shrillness,
a fact emphasised by the relatively
unwarm recording acoustic. Some of his
phrasing here can be a bit sticky and,
rather remarkably, his bowing comes
under pressure early on, leading to
a momentary but mildly awful intonational
slippage (from 2.28 to 2.34 after the
trill). Either confidence in the generality
of the music making, indifference or
time considerations meant that it wasn’t
patched. But whatever reservations there
are to be made about this kind of playing
and the nineteenth century grandiose
cadenzas of his own devising (the one
in this movement is especially sinuous,
pleading and monstrous) at least this
is playing of character and drama and
not the anaemic whitewash that some
current practitioners like to peddle.
In the Andante – quite slow, speeds
up, slows down – Příhoda utilises
all the devices of a romanticised approach
to vest colour and pathos into the solo
line. He makes much of the timbral contrasts
here, though it’s noticeable how the
lower two strings never quite sound
as do the upper two. He makes smooth
portamenti – attractive playing but
certainly not in the league of someone
like Szigeti in this Concerto. In the
finale he is guilty of some gulped articulation
and some rather leading phrasing, with
plenty of wilful bowing and direction.
He takes full advantage of the tempo
contrasts to lavish his superfine playing
on it but there are moments when things
are mildly chaotic and architecturally
unsound. Still, as I said, fascinating
to hear.
The
second disc is given over to three staples
and an unusual example of Viotti’s creativity.
For the Vitali he uses the Respighi
transcription, which means a string
orchestra behind him. As with the finale
of the Mozart D minor he responds eagerly
to the contrastive potential of the
fractured Chaconne in echt Romantic
style – intensely coiled diminuendi,
elastic legato, sumptuously quick portamenti
and so on – for maximal emotive effect.
This is a lushly romanticised effort,
with some long bowing and the orchestral
counter-themes brought out with magnificent
explosivity at the end. The earlier
Polydor recording with Seidler-Winkler
used the standard Charlier edition and
saw his accompanist on the organ rather
than his accustomed piano. The Bach
Double Concerto is the only such extant
commercial example and he’s joined by
his Italian pupil Franco Novello. In
his autobiography William Primrose mentioned
a concert in London he’d been to in
which he saw the weird double bill of
Příhoda and Casals, each playing
one half of the concert. The Czech violinist
had come on with his finger busters
and after the interval Casals played
solo Bach. As Primrose put it, thinking
of Příhoda’s gymnastics – “So what?”
Well, here is some Bach; poised, attractive,
unexceptional, rather heavy in the slow
movement and unyielding, ultimately
unmoving. As with the Vitali, so with
the Tartini – his earlier 78 recording
with Otto Graef was his own arrangement
of the Devil’s Trill but this one is
Vieuxtemps’s, with a string trio to
boot to accompany (they’re not named
in the booklet but were Lughi, Francalanci
and cellist Ferrari). This is recognisable
Příhoda territory – pensive and
slow start, delicate and withdrawn,
a romantic not a classicist approach
(vide the older Albert Spalding) with
occasional intentional intonational
buckles. The string trio doesn’t in
truth add much, certainly not any sense
of authenticity. They often double the
line or accentuate the harmony - and
yes, for Příhoda watchers he does
speed outrageously, as ever, just where
you feel he should hold the tempo steadier.
The Viotti again features Novello and
is a most worthwhile piece, rich in
melodious import, full of registral
contrasts for the two violin soloists,
passages of unison bowing and catch-and-chase
sequences and overlapping games. There
are some minor moments of queasiness
but overall the colouration is attractive
and the slow movement nicely moulded.
The finale has some incessant quasi-operatic
incidents, chewy articulation from the
soloists and a powerfully executed cadenza.
The
final disc of three is given over to
favourites. Here we can enjoy his lyrical
drive and fearsome command of pizzicati
in the Nel cor più variations,
a work he could probably play in his
sleep (he’d already recorded it twice
over on 78s), and the solo Sonatina
with its left hand pizzicatos, dizzying
harmonics and prodigious feats of bowing.
Similarly the Hubay – his only recording
I believe – with its whistling harmonics,
digital cleanliness, electric trill,
sentiments and sliding. His Rosenkavalier
Waltzes are here in all their saucy
glory – he’d already recorded them for
Polydor and was never bashful about
playing them. He still played them marvellously,
even toward the end of his life. His
own pieces are attractive even though
the Dvořák modelled Slawische Melodie
does rather outstay its welcome whilst
the master’s Slavonic Dance has style
and lashings of rubato, digital mechanics
and real lyrical feeling.
So
there it is – there is a useful introduction
in English and Italian by Angelo Scottini
and some attractive photographs. I’ve
not heard the original LPs so can only
make a reasoned assumption that the
remastering is as good as it sounds
– no residual hiss or grit and no seeming
treble suppression. Admirers of this
exceptional violinist have good reason
to snap up this set without any delay.
Jonathan
Woolf
Váša Příhoda (violin)