It was something
of a shock to see these performances on Hyperion. I’m not privy
to the matter but Matoušek and Hogwood have already made excellent
recordings of the First Violin Concerto and Suite Concertante
(premiere recording) for Supraphon [SU36532]. What intensifies
the matter is that these new recordings, issued as volume one
in a set of the complete music for violin and orchestra, are not
exactly hot off the press. Has Supraphon declined to take on further
volumes – and will the earlier disc reappear in this new Hyperion
series?
While we ponder
those questions we can reflect on the fact that Hyperion Volume
One has started with works that even seasoned admirers of the
composer may not have encountered. The Concerto for flute, violin
and orchestra for instance was written in 1936, commissioned by
Marcel Moyse for himself and his daughter-in-law Blanche Honegger
Moyse to play. It’s written in his best neo-classical style,
richly textured, with a piano to add variety. The flute’s writing
is energetic and virile but almost immediately the violin introduces
a second subject of ravishing beauty. The piano’s slightly off-kilter
contribution is most audible in the central movement but what
most impresses is the level of expressive continuity generated
throughout – and also the gutty violin cadenza – and those moments
when the two instruments entwine longingly; he composed it at
around the time he wrote Julietta. Francophile dreamscapes
fleck the finale, which alternates between perky drama and reflective
stillness.
The following year
Martinů wrote his Duo concertante and it was premiered in
1938 by the Desarzens brothers with the Suisse Romande and Ansermet.
Readers will know that Victor Desarzens later became a conductor.
This is a concerto grosso, strongly predicated on the alternation
of soli and tutti and once again there’s a strong colouristic
and rhythmic profile for the piano. The focus is the slow movement
which rises to a considerable pitch of feeling led by the brass
before the solo violins embrace gracious pirouetting and anticipate
the cadential passage. The finale rather reprises the opening’s
slightly pawky profile but Martinů constantly builds up and
releases the tension with characteristic assurance. It’s a less
distinctive work than the earlier concerto but fully characteristic.
In
1950 he wrote the Concerto in D major for two violins and orchestra.
Once again he found violinistic brothers to play it – Gerald
and Wilfred Beal, in Dallas in January 1951. But this is a work
apart. The pre-war works cleaved to neo-classicism but this
one embraces romanticism. The writing is verdant and vibrant
but never becomes cloying. The “Juliette theme” reappears in
the slow movement – always a good sign with Martinů -
and this central movement courses with dance rhythms and youthful
fire, as does the finale.
This
is a propitious start in what looks like being a must-have series
for the Martinů adherent. The engineering has placed the
soloists – all highly, indeed admirably characterful – in close-up
which means that some orchestral detail is occasionally obscured.
I happen to like this immediacy of sound, feeling it suits the
nature of the works, but I suspect that others will find it
overdone.
Jonathan Woolf
Bohuslav Matoušek
(violin) 
