Excellent stuff 
                    for admirers of the Czech muse. Foerster was born a subject 
                    of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and spent an unusually long 
                    period in Vienna. His accent is far nearer to the Viennese-Bohemian 
                    than the Bohemian-Viennese. For many years we have existed 
                    on the 1968 Prague Symphony/Smetáček Fourth Symphony 
                    which specialists have augmented with the 1948 Czech Philharmonic/Kubelik 
                    (both Supraphon) and the occasional broadcast performance. 
                    So it’s excellent news that this new Slovak performance of 
                    the Symphony has been newly issued augmented by two previously 
                    unrecorded works.
                  Let’s start there. 
                    The Festive Overture dates from 1907. It starts big 
                    and carries on thus; “flair and elegance” Friedel’s notes 
                    advise us and he’s not wrong. The dance rhythms, the waltz 
                    so evocatively Viennese, are untroubled, the Mahlerian echoes 
                    perhaps rather undigested, and there’s a rather unexpected 
                    coda just when one expects an injection of even more unbridled 
                    adrenalin. 
                  Meine Jugend 
                    is a slightly earlier work though it isn’t precisely dated 
                    in the notes so far as I can see – something that applies 
                    to the symphony as well and which I’ve added. There’s a heavingly 
                    romantic second subject, strong reverie and nostalgia (as 
                    one would expect) interrupted by chirruping winds. The influences 
                    are Dvořák especially in the wind writing – strong reminiscences 
                    of Act I of Rusalka – and Smetana; Vltava is evoked 
                    more than once, not least in the trumpet climax. There’s a 
                    jokey cod-academic fugato and plenty of fun. It’s not as reflective 
                    and as personal a work as one might have imagined from its 
                    title. 
                  The Symphony is the work by which Foerster 
                    is perhaps best known. From its opening Mahlerian march, with 
                    its allusions to the First Symphony (Mahler’s Bohemianism 
                    is another link) we meet a sombrely unfolding opening Molto 
                    sostenuto. In this performance it’s not as intense or 
                    fleet as the Smetáček and the Slovak strings are not 
                    as nutty and woody as their much earlier Prague counterparts. 
                    Kubelik, in a recording that hasn’t come up well in the last 
                    transfer, is very slow in comparison, mired in grief, inward 
                    and intense. It’s a most remarkable reading, in which both 
                    outer movements are big symphonic statements in their own 
                    right but unfortunately in dim and very congested 1948 sound. 
                    I recommend it for the Foerster admirer but in this context 
                    the competition is the 1968 traversal.
                  The Brucknerian brass climax at around 
                    8.30 in this movement shows another powerful influence on 
                    Foerster’s emotive-symphonic thinking. Listen to the straighter 
                    Slovak winds here; the 1968 Prague winds had a touch more 
                    character to them, albeit idiosyncratic character at times. 
                  
                  If I have quibbles with this new reading 
                    they centre mainly on the rather po-faced scherzo. Next to 
                    Smetáček’s enviable rhythmic wit and pointing Friedel 
                    sounds rather tame and rather too heavy as well. The slow 
                    movement is a glorious one and here Friedel really expands 
                    and wrings every drop of emotion. The orchestral balance here 
                    is especially judicious – we can catch the solo violin/two 
                    bassoon writing – and this suits the inward and reflective 
                    music making. The Slovak performance bathes more lingeringly 
                    whilst Smetáček’s approach is that much more bracing 
                    and lithe. He is more outgoingly lyrical and the Brucknerian 
                    build up in this movement is more eruptive, and intense, in 
                    his hands. 
                  The Mahlerian gloom that pervades the finale’s 
                    opening is pitched faster and more tensely in the older recording. 
                    Friedel is good with dynamics and sensitively shapes this 
                    movement but Smetáček, alert to those moments of weakness 
                    in its structure, is careful to push on to mitigate them. 
                    Again, the very pungent Prague Symphony winds make a strong 
                    contrast to the more homogenised - doubtless Beecham would 
                    have said pasteurised - Slovak Radio players. 
                  The Naxos performance is characterised 
                    by fine balances and care; it’s a warmly sympathetic reading. 
                    I prefer the older one under Smetáček for all sorts of 
                    reasons but it was recorded nearly forty years ago. So newcomers 
                    will revel in Foerster’s splendid Symphony and will enjoy 
                    the crisp and affectionate direction of the Naxos and at bargain 
                    price. They might additionally want to know Foerster’s movement 
                    indications, ones Naxos have omitted, will be found on other 
                    discs and in biographical works on the composer, and they 
                    explain the symphony’s Easter Eve title in greater 
                    detail – The Road to Calvary, A Child’s Good Friday, 
                    The Charm of Solitude and Holy Saturday Victorious.
                  Jonathan Woolf
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