Having lived with the sets conducted by Vaclav
Neumann and Neeme
Järvi for many years now, it is always nice to have one’s
ears re-awakened by a new orchestral recording of Martinů,
especially one played with as much commitment as on this new Belgian
production.
Martinů’s
Fourth Symphony is one of his most luminous scores, and the
details in its orchestration benefit greatly from modern digital
recording techniques. Well performed and still richly deserving
of its place in the catalogue, Neumann’s Supraphon set has
nonetheless been surpassed by the best of the more recent
releases, in terms of colour and effect if not necessarily
in those of performance. This new Fuga Libera recording is
highly revealing in this regard, and Walter Weller also has
a good sense of where Martinů’s little brush strokes
of accompaniment in the percussion and elsewhere should make
their mark. The triangle at the end of the first movement
is a case in point, ringing out like you never heard it before,
and in tune as well. The piano is also an important colour
in this spectrum, but there are a few places where it jumps
out of the texture a little too freely for my taste – more
a marginal issue of recorded balance than an aspect of the
performance. It’s nice to hear one of Martinů’s favourite
instruments used so effectively and played so well, but to
my mind it just splashes a little too far forward on a few
occasions.
Tempi
are good throughout this recording, with a fine sense of urgency
in the second movement Scherzo, as well as a very brisk
Poco allegro finale. If one or two of the inner sections
linger perhaps a little too lovingly, then these are at least
valid if you take a more pastoral view of these moments. 4:04
into the 2nd movement, in the Moderato second
section, the pacing does need either to have more forward
momentum or to build or grow in some way. The contrast with
the Da capo repeat of the opening later on is more
dramatic as a result, but if I were to ride my bike that slowly
I would fall off.
That
Largo third movement is one which can take your soul
into a new dimension, stretching it beyond and out and back,
uplifting the spirit in a poignantly moving elegy. The Belgian
strings have been well coached and create a magnificent sonic
landscape, with well timed expressive restraint and warmth
in equal measure. That crucial moment, with solo strings soaring
at 3:10, is one of heartbreaking beauty, and I was delighted
to hear the short piano solo reinstated at 4:24, a passage
expurgated from other versions for some reason. The fourth
and final movement is a rousingly swift conclusion, with the
virtuoso abilities of the orchestra flexed to the full.
Estampes
was Martinů’s final
orchestral work, and is one of those pieces which seems to
re-invent itself s time goes on, as well as being evidence
of the composer’s own continuing musical explorations even
late in life. Harp, mandolin, and other instrumental colours
and combinations make it stand out as entirely different to
the symphony, as does Martinů’s economy of means and
sometimes almost ascetic pointillism with the orchestra. There
are plusher moments of course, but the whole thing has an
edgy quality which is brought out well by these Belgian forces.
The gently lyrical and moving moods of the second movement
are dissuaded from taking too much grip, with brusque interruptions
in the central Allegro moderato. The typical Martinů
gestures are present in the third and final Poco allegro,
but these are again shot through with strangeness – sometimes
like a Hollywood film score, sometimes with an intense angularity
which can sometimes seem to be bordering on confusion.
My
comparison for this work is that of the Czech Philharmonic
conducted by Jiří Bĕlohlávek on a Supraphon disc released in
1989. The Czech forces have an edge in terms of pungent local
colour and depth, with all those gorgeous vibrato-laden horns
and clarinets, but Walter Weller’s version stands up fairly
well even in a drier acoustic and with marginally less joie
de vivre.
Le
Départ is a substantial
symphonic interlude from Martinů’s
opera The Three Wishes, and has appeared on
disc before,
but only the once we are told. This is from the composer’s
Parisian period, but departs somewhat from Martinů’s
‘jazz-inspired’ works from this time, having a programmatic,
late-romantic feel alongside his acidic ‘fingerprint’ harmonies
and sinewy melodic lines. The work is very much of its time
however, and the booklet notes correctly identify it as having
a family resemblance to works such as Martinů’s Half-Time,
and resonances with Honegger’s Pacific 321 and
Rugby. The orchestra here gives this piece the full
works, and gives the impression of enjoying itself immensely.
The
well chosen cover art of this attractively produced disc is from
1947, and by a Belgian artist called Georges Collignon. Walter
Weller once apparently recorded Martinů’s Symphony No.4
with the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic on EMI, but I can find
no evidence of this disc’s availability. I find his to be a refreshing
view on these works here, and on the strength of this release
I hope this team comes up with more. The National Orchestra of
Belgium is certainly up to the job of dealing with Martinů’s
tricky writing, and I would certainly join the queue for a complete
set.
Dominy Clements
National Orchestra of Belgium/Walter Weller 
