There are few more visceral choral works in the repertoire 
                  than this, the mass setting overlaid with music of pagan pulse 
                  and passion. The many fine CD versions include those by Rafael 
                  Kubelik (DG) and Simon Rattle (EMI) but none are so compelling 
                  as Karel Ančerl’s Czech Philharmonic recording, re-mastered 
                  and reissued as part of Supraphon’s Gold Edition. Earlier this 
                  year I watched Vaclav Neumann’s live performance with the same 
                  orchestra – review 
                  – but found it uninspired. Rather more successful is Sir Charles 
                  Mackerras’s Supraphon DVD of the original version, although 
                  I must confess his Chandos CD doesn’t persuade me of its virtues. 
                  
                  
                  The Glagolitic Mass is a cruel piece, exposing orchestral 
                  sluggishness and reticent or insecure soloists, while taxing 
                  the chorus with its punishing tessitura. Oh, and the organ needs 
                  to play its part as well; without its powerful presence – witness 
                  the backward balance on the Neumann DVD – the elemental thrill 
                  of this great piece is lost. As for the soloists, this is one 
                  time where Slavic singers are most welcome, their distinctive 
                  singing style well-suited to this most febrile work. On this 
                  new recording only Ewa Marciniec and Timothy Bentch are familiar 
                  from Antoni Wit’s Mahler 8 – review 
                  – which narrowly missed my list of picks for 2011 because of 
                  concerns about the multi-channel mix. 
                  
                  But why bother with the BD-Audio version when there’s a cheaper 
                  CD as well? Much better sound and a multi-channel option, is 
                  the simple answer. A random A/B comparison of that Mahler 8 
                  in both stereo formats demonstrates the extra power and punch 
                  of the high-res PCM recording, which also resolves detail and 
                  timbres in a way that the standard RBCD simply can’t match. 
                  The downside, if there is one, is that these Blu-rays can only 
                  be played on BD players or drives, and potential sonic advantages 
                  will be lost if the playback chain isn’t up to the mark. That 
                  said, superior sound is not a given here, despite some labels’ 
                  rather vague assertion that performances are derived from ‘HD 
                  sources’. The latter claim is demonstrably untrue in some Blu-ray 
                  videos I’ve heard. 
                  
                  So much for the preamble, what about the performances? Well, 
                  the Introduction to the mass is more measured than I’d expected, 
                  the acoustic warm and spacious. I suppose one might even characterise 
                  the presentation as soft-grained, which is not at all what I’m 
                  used to in this piece. The Kyrie is somewhat subdued as well, 
                  soprano Christiane Libor pleasing if unmemorable. String and 
                  brass detail is nicely etched, but the bass is poorly focused. 
                  That said, those rocking figures in the Gloria are superbly 
                  articulated, timbres especially well caught. The pulse quickens 
                  a little – but only a little – with those cascading ‘Amens’, 
                  so ecstatically done elsewhere. 
                  
                  And if this sounds like damning with faint praise, that’s because 
                  it is. Wit, so purposeful and dynamic in the Mahler 8 and Penderecki’s 
                  Hymne an den Heiligen Daniel – review 
                  – is unaccountably dull here; even the chorus, set back in the 
                  soundstage, is less fervent than it should be. But that’s the 
                  problem; this is much too civilised, too safe, qualities that 
                  are misplaced in a work as raw and fervid as this. Indeed, this 
                  reminds me of Charles Dutoit’s rather polite Decca recording 
                  of the mass, which also fails to animate and impress. 
                  
                  There’s more urgency in the Credo, and again I was struck by 
                  the sheer beauty and detail of Janáček’s score. Indeed, 
                  there’s a rare translucency to the upper and lower strings, 
                  the woodwinds wonderfully rounded, but that simply isn’t enough. 
                  The bass, Wojciech Gierlach, is steady but unremarkable, the 
                  spiritual and emotional core of the mass – ‘I believe’ 
                  – lacking all conviction. It’s not helped by Wit’s sluggish 
                  pacing and that cavernous bottom end, both of which blunt the 
                  music’s edge. As for the Sanctus, it flows less naturally than 
                  usual. Wit opts for an overparted style here and in the Agnus 
                  Dei that almost brings the music to its knees, not in prayer 
                  but in defeat. The soloists aren’t particularly tidy or involved, 
                  either. 
                  
                  Jaroslaw Malanowicz’s organ solo ought to be arresting, but 
                  thanks to compromised lower frequencies the pedals are simply 
                  swamped. For sheer heft and excitement Jane Parker-Smith on 
                  EMI is hard to beat. Indeed, dipping into Rattle’s and Ančerl’s 
                  recordings is like an assault on the senses; suddenly we’re 
                  thrust into the midst of a wild, pantheistic rite, an orgy of 
                  commotion and colour, that excites and enervates. There’s absolutely 
                  nothing of that energy in Wit’s risk-averse reading. Otto Klemperer 
                  once dismissed Bruno Walter’s Mahler as too Jewish; perhaps 
                  Wit’s Janáček, sober and strangely cloistered, is just 
                  too Catholic. 
                  
                  The Sinfonietta, recorded six months earlier, is much 
                  more successful. The Warsaw brass sound splendid, the trombones 
                  in the Moderato wonderfully rich and sonorous. It’s still too 
                  controlled for my tastes, but at least there’s a hint – a smidgeon 
                  – of the febrile, ear-ringing Janáček in the first and 
                  last movements. For the full experience just sample Claudio 
                  Abbado (DG) and Mackerras (Decca), both of which are in another 
                  league entirely. And that sums up this Glagolitic Mass 
                  as well; it doesn’t begin to challenge the best in the catalogue. 
                  
                  
                  Some sonic virtues; its musical ones are much harder to find. 
                  
                  
                  Dan Morgan 
                  
                  http://twitter.com/mahlerei