Tilia’s 
                group photo – nine young musicians in jeans and white t-shirts, 
                full of navel exposure and daringly open to the waist (chaps only) 
                – gives a new slant to their musical ethos. Though some might 
                call it folk music the producer and sleeve note writer Jiří 
                Štilec prefers it to be seen in the contemporary continuum of 
                World Music. Well I won’t argue with him and I’d be the first 
                to complain if these talented musicians were corseted in Moravian 
                finery and buckle but the fact remains that if you begin an album 
                with Nepi, Jano you summon up the spirit of Bohemian and 
                Moravian folk music in no uncertain terms, the better, one supposes, 
                to enrich and enlarge it in the tracks that follow. All of them, 
                I have to say, congenial, imaginative and deliciously engaging. 
                 
              
Tilia 
                are essentially a classically oriented folk string quintet with 
                an augmentation of wind and percussion; the singer is mezzo Marta 
                Dunová. They enliven the repertoire through acute choice 
                of subject material and imaginative orchestration and colours. 
                So Smrtí tanec has its fare share of medieval inflexions, 
                martial percussion and lusty recorders whilst Na kopečku 
                stojí borovička (as with many of these numbers the arrangement 
                is by conductor and bass player Petr Vyroubal) is an old style 
                song enlivened by counterpoint and variation of instrumentation. 
                Marta Dunová certainly has a big voice, though she can 
                scale it down charmingly, as in the next song. Vyroubal’s Valachian 
                dances are laced with humour and he draws out a Renaissance feel 
                in Osud lidský (they’re notably successful in suggesting 
                links and correlations between music of different times). Their 
                evocation of these seventeenth century tunes is vibrant and lusty 
                but also clear and technically adroit. Jaroslav Krček’s Three 
                Dances in the Old Style date from the 1980s and were partly inspired 
                by Dürer’s The Ship of Fools. They are crisp and 
                perky and delightfully shaped, laced with drone fiddle and sparky 
                first violin line; the third grows in restrained fervour, over 
                a plinking percussion, with its folk drive rooted deep in historicity. 
                Otmar Mácha contributes the Songs of Horňácka, 
                ebullient and reflective arrangements. For lovers of fun and 
                charm try the fluty airiness of them or the quirky finality of 
                the last, Zahraj ně, hudečku!   
              
Excellently 
                produced and recorded (in the Domovina Studios, no less) this 
                is a really enjoyable and imaginative disc. Whatever you want 
                to call it, wherever you expect to find it in the record racks, 
                you’ll have a lot of fun with Tilia.  
              
Jonathan 
                Woolf