Monumental Josef Suk : Asrael Symphony, Jiří Bělohlávek, Czech Philharmonic Orchestra

The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra's tribute to Jiří Bělohlávek continues with Josef Suk's Asrael. a symphony for large orchestra in C minor, Op. 27 (1905-6) and Pohádka, Op. 16 (Fairy Tale). Bělohlávek conducted the Asrael symphony many times and recorded it at least twice,with the Czech Philharmonic in 1992 and with the BBC Symphony Orchestra at the Prague Spring Festival in 2008. This latest release was recorded at the Rudolfinium, Prague, in October 2014.  This Pohádka comes from a performance in October 2015. These give us Bělohlávek's most recent, and probably most mature takes on the music of Josef Suk, overshadowed to some extent in the west by Antonin Dvořàk and later by Leoš Janáček. As Bělohlávek demonstrates, Suk's music is distinctive and original, with great character.  Hopefully, the Czech Philharmonic will have in its archives tapes of Suk's Zrání, (The Ripening) op 34 (which Bělohlávek recorded with the BBC SO) since it is a companion piece to Asrael.

Antonin Dvořàk, Suk's father-in-law and mentor, died in May 1904  after which Suk began writing the symphony. In July 1905, Suk's wife, Ottilie, died, aged only 27,  shortly after the birth of their son. Asrael was a way in which Suk sought to exorcise the shock of losing the two people dearest to him by challenging trauma through music. "Such a misfortune either destroys a man or brings to the surface all the powers dormant in him", he wrote, "Music saved me."

The symphony is built on two huge sections like the pillars of a monument.  This architecture is paramount. The first two movements, both andantes, represent Dvořàk, while the last two movements, both adagios, represent Ottilie.  A vivace forms a bridge between the first "pillar"  and the second.  Bělohlávek's definition of this structure intensifies impact, enhancing the emotional depth of the piece.  The first andante, begins mutely, as if the orchestra were numbed by grief.  Muffled timpani give way to strings, lines initially jagged but gradually absorbed by expansive developments involving full orchestra, which blaze into passionate crescendo before the poignant diminuendo.  The second andante, more austere and restrained, is shaped with deliberate purpoise. Individual isntruments - winds, trumpets, celli, bassoons, basses - lament against a chorus of strings. Every voice counts, as if the orchestra were singing a Requiem.  In the vivace, Bělohlávek's tempi are swft, emphasizing vitality, so the chill that sets in midway marks a turning point.  The vivace itself mirrors the two "pillars", the first part remembering past happiness, the second a reminder that loss cannot be reversed. When the pace picks up,  it is propelled by urgent momentum before it is cut off abruptly.

The second "pillar", written after the death of Ottilie, balances the first "pillar".  While the andantes that went before were solemn, the adagios that follow are gentler, reflecting the different personalities of Ottilie and her father.  Again, Bělohlávek emphasizes the symmetry in the structure. The first adagio, like the second andante, is restrained, mournful winds calling over a backdrop of low-timbred strings.   The solo violin melody may represent Suk himself, who was an accomplished violinist, as his grandson, the second Josef Suk, would become. It is answered by celli, possibly sugggesting a dialogue between Suk and his departed wife. Gradually the orchestra falls quiet, celli and violin singing together in intimate harmony. The second adagio, marked maestoso, reflects the andante sostenuto with which the symphony began.  Again, Bělohlávek captures the forward momentum beneath the turbulence.  After a brief respite, when the celli and violins interact one last time, the pace resumes with even greater force. Woodwinds pull the movement forward, answered by harps.  Only now do the big brass return, softened by winds, celli and horns. A melody on alto flute is answered by bass flute : warm, bright sounds rising heavenwards as the symphony reaches its conclusion. The mood is elegaic, comforting rather than strident.  In the Bible, Asrael is the Angel of Death, but that's not solely negative, the implication being  that the dead are beyond suffering, "happy with God".

Suk's Pohádka, (Fairy Tale), op. 16 (1899-1900, rev 1912) is a suite based on incidental music Suk wrote for a play about mythological lovers, Radúz and Mahulena. The first movement depicts an idyllic setting : an extended violin melody suggests pastoral bliss. The two inner movements contrast. In the first intermezzo, the lovers play with peacocks and swans, but in the second,the strings inject a note of foreboding, extended by low-timbred brass and winds, suggesting a funeral march.  Luckily,  love breaks the curse and the lovers are restored. The score harks back to Smetana and folkloric tradition, with a glaze of romantic colou. A lovely part for the violin leader. 

Jiří Bělohlávek : tribute to the innovator and to the man

Jiří Bělohlávek, conducting Dvořák's Requiem in Prague, April, 2017

Jiří Bělohlávek died last night. He was only 71,  but such was his stature that his death feels like the end of an era. Indeed, he transformed the whole way Czech music is heard, and revealed the treasures of Czech repertoire to the world.  He was also a gentleman, with charisma and integrity.  Even though he didn't speak much English when he was appointed as Chief Conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra in 2005, he communicated his enthusiasm so effectively the BBC SO grew close to him.  As Chief of the BBC SO,  he had to give the traditional speech at the Last Night of the Proms., which he did three times. At first, he read from a script, but by 2012, he was so "at home" that he joked, ad libbed and interacted with the audience, like we were all part of a family. In retrospect, he seemed unwell, even then.

In the intervening years, Bělohlávek's bouffant mane disappeared, and he grew thin.  His pugnacious body language  gave way to frailty.  Yet his travails seemed to galvanize his musicianship.  On April 13th this year, he conducted Dvořák's Requiem with the BBC SO at the Barbican (read my review here).  He seemed fatigued, perhaps because he'd conducted it in Prague a few days before.  Yet he  was putting very deep feeling into the performance, so much so that the intensity was almost too hard to take.  Emotional truth is sometimes hard to take. Once the immediate impact  subsided I kept thinking and thinking about the music itself, and its meaning. That, not technical polish nor received tradition, is the sign of a truly great artist.  Everyone knows the recording with Karel Ancerl, but Bělohlávek reached into the true soul of the music   Last week, one of my friends had a presentiment  and checked Bělohlávek's schedule, to find that he'd cancelled concerts in May.  So perhaps that Dvořák's Requiem was Bělohlávek's farewell, though no-one quite expected it, a farewell to his two favourite orchestras and to audience who had grown to love him as if he were a personal friend. 

Through him, the BBC SO, the Barbican and London connected with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and with the National Theatre of Prague.  Bělohlávek reintroduced Czech opera and vocal music to Britain in Czech, revealing the pugnacious, vibrant quality of the original language, so essential to proper, idiomatic performance. This matters, since Britain was receptive to Czech music very early on.  Dvořák and Janáček wrote masterpieces for British audiences. Even Kaprálová premiered her work in London, where her friend and colleague Rafael Kubelik conducted at the Royal Opera House.  Britain discovered Czech music long before Mackerras, and rediscovered it again with  Bělohlávek  Who knows what might have happened had the communists not taken Czechoslovakia, forcing Kubelik into exile?  Read more HERE about  Bělohlávek's early career. Though Bělohlávek was assistant  to Vaclav Neumann, in many ways he was Kubelik's true heir. And Ancerl's, too, for that matter.

For more detail about a fraction of Bělohlávek's concerts in recent years 

Autumn Elegy: Mahler Das Lied von der Erde
Janáček : The Makropulos Affair Prom
Janáček Jenůfa Royal Festival Hall
Czech Philharmonic 120th anniversary concert, Prague
Smetana Dalibor : BBCSO Barbican
Dvořák The Jacobin 2012
Janáček Glagolitic Mass Prom
Mahler 8
Martinů Juliette, Magdalena Kožená
Janáček  : The Excursions of Mr Brouček
Janáček : Osud

Czech Philharmonic Orchestra 120th anniversary gala

The 120th anniversary concert of the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra is now available from CzechTV   on arte.tv.   All the musicians are wearing golden African daisies to mark the occasion -gold for happiness and warmth, the daisies bright but tough. Sunflowers would be too big and roses too delicate. The  programme honours masters associated with the Prague Philharmonic - Janáček's Des Spielmanns Kind, Ballade für Orchester, Suk's Ein Märchen Op 16 and Dvořák Slawische Tänze Op. 72

Janáček's Des Spielmanns Kind, Ballade für Orchester, from 1912, revised 1914, already exhibits signs of  the maturity that lay just ahead,  Janáček based the piece on a poem by Svatopluk Cech. whose novels were soon to inspire The Excursions of Mr. Brouček to the Moon and to the 15th Century (1920)  Although this piece is not written for voices, it recounts the story of a village fiddler who dies in poverty, leaving only his violin and his orphaned child. A fairly common meme in middle European folklore, with many  variations, some quite macabre. The violin often represents the Devil. In Janáček's music the violin leads the orchestra seductively, building up a tension undercut by the flowing violin line which is then taken up and varied by the winds - darker sounds, suggesting menace, which once again dissipates into the plaintive call of the violin. Then, characteristic Janáček descending triplets and the low voice of a clarinet. The fiddler's child is adopted by a village woman but this peace won't last. One night the woman dreams she sees the ghost of the fiddler by her bed. Next morning, the child and the violin have disappeared. Rushing strings introduce a new mood, which leads to a kind of elegaic calm. Father and son are together, again. There's not much of the Devil in this. It's nowhere near a Janáček opera, but harks back to other music of its time.

This point  was reinforced by hearing Josef Suk's Ein Märchen  (Pohádka) Op. 16  Originally written in 1897/8 as incidental music for a play by Julius Zeyer, it was adapted as a suite first performed by this orchestra in 1901, revised by the composer in 1912. Radúz and Mahulena and lovers. The first part  - again with dominant solo violin - is an atmospheric prelude for the striking "Game  of  Swans and Peacocks" - how the music prances and dances, ending with a flourish.  The Funeral Music in the third section flows with mysterious,undercurrents.  Jirí Belohlávek conducts it so it feels daring, and suitably disturbing.  The lovers have been cursed by Quenn Runa, an evil presence like the Devil in the Fiddler legends. In the dramatic Finale, the lovers triumph over death. Yet again, the solo violin leads. This piece isn't "folkoric" .  Suk's distinctive voice gives it depth and sophistication.  Drama by symphonic means.

This concert took place in the Rudolfinium,  where the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra is based. Above the interior, below the statue of Antonin Dvořák, proudly facing the building. The Rudolfinium has withstood war and occupation. It's a shrine to the blossoming of Czech music and national spirit.  Belohlávek concluded this anniversary concert with Dvořák Slawische Tänze Op. 72 (1878-86).  Cheerful, lively playing. Maybe somewhere in the afterlife, the composer is beaming with joy.

Josef Suk - The Ripening

"Where have you vanished, the suns and snows of youth"? As autumn closes in, I think of Josef Suk's The Ripening. The Ripening  op 34 is based on a poem, Zrání, by Antonín Sova, a contemporary of Suk, and a "modern" poet of the renaissance in Czech culture. "Ripening" is  a metaphor for maturity and the cycle of life. The piece isn't as well known as Suk's Asrael Symphony, written in memory of his wife and her father,  Antonin Dvořák, but the symphony and tone poem connect. The Ripening was written slowly, ten years after the trauma from which arose the steely Asrael. There are several recordings, all worthwhile: Talich, Pešek, Neumann, Ancerl, Bělohlávek and Kirill Petrenko. Earlier this year, Bělohlávek conducted it yet again with the BBCSO at the Barbican, and BBC Radio 3 broadcast it with an excellent commentary by Geoffrey Chew, who explained the complex symbolism of Sova's poem, or rather, suggested ways of connecting to its oblique character. 

The Ripening starts off with 13 bars that define the moods to come. Pure, almost transparent chords rise ever upwards and hang. Do they suggest mists hanging in the air, clouding vision or images remembered through hazy half-light? Gradually the tranquillity deepens and "Czech" sounds, suggesting Dvořák, emerge. Darker, earthier, evocations of soil and fertliity. In winter, the fields may be barren, but life teems beneath the surface  Beautifully rarefied textures return, harps and lively figures which may suggest youth and hope. At times, the piece feels cinematic, because the music seems to happen on different levels, like contrasting frames in a film. I feel this is very much central to meaning and impact, for it conveys a feeling of events happening on different but separate planes.

Cymbals  crash, suggesting turbulent, violent change. Small speeding figures even suggest the turmoil of urban life. Then a solo violin leads us out of the dense thickets of sound - it feels poignant but progresses forward. Hymn-like figures enter, rolling timpani, then swathes of string sound that seem to cut like knives. Suk doesn't need hammerblows. Yet again, solo violin and winds counteract the full orchestra. Slow funereal passages in the fourth movement Piu tranquillo gradually dissipate, liberating a serene violin melody, reinforced by harps and bells. One remembers that Suk, his father-in-law and his grandson were all string players.

Wilder, flying figures propel the music forward, driven by trumpets calls. Angular shapes, which sway intensely back and forth. I like the way Suk evokes zig zag dichotomies, the swaying like wind through endless cornfields. Bells peal triumphantly, trumpets leading a charge into resonating reesolution. Rich, warm confidence and conviction. Those cornfields will die down at the end of summer, but the grain they provide will sustain others through the long winter ahead.

"Angel voices" (as Bělohlávek  calls them) rise from the choir. We only hear them now, when we ourselves are "ripe", having  been made ready by listening to the transitions in the music that has gone before. The voices are wordless so they feel surreal : the spirit of Sova's symbolist images in abstract sound. Yet the voices alone don't express the mood. The exquisitely high -pitched "ascending" theme that's run through the whole tone poem emerges yet again, led by the solo violin. The dialogue between choir and violin operates on two planes like a strange concerto. The swaying images in the music which have suggested psychic dislocation, dichotomies and cornfields, now reveal themselves as a gently rocking lullaby.

Dvořàk Suk Ripening Jurowski, LPO

Vladimir Jurowski's leading the London Philharmonic Orchestra on adventures off the beaten track, some more fruitful than others. But better that than conducting safe bets on auto pilot. We need the Jurowski's of this world! Jurowski's latest programme at the Royal Festival Hall (which was being recorded) was a winner.

Last year, Jurowski conducted a concert built around Josef Suk's Asreal Symphony and Janáček’s The Eternal Gospel. Read more about that here, because Jurowski's two concerts connect, one growing from the other.Suk's Asrael Symphony grew from trauma. In the Bible, Asrael is the Angel of Death. Suk's wife Otilka had died suddenly, a year after the death of her father Antonín Dvořàk, Suk's mentor and friend. The symphony is a massive monument in music, through which Suk confronts his grief and perhaps finds a way forward.

The Ripening  op 34 is based on a poem, Zrání, by Antonín Sova, a contemporary of Suk, and a "modern" poet of the renaissance in Czech culture. I can't track down the poem in translation, but apparently it's about late summer, the "ripening" a metaphor for maturity and the cycle of life. So perhaps The Ripening, written over a long period ten years after the Asrael Symphony can be heard as a companion piece. Youth and love appear in the delicate, lyrical passages, swept away by fate in the form of the wild scherzo which dissipates into a strange plateau of looming, keeing lines: dark strings, gloomy winds. Yet again, trumpets stir the music on. Jurowski places a small brass section in the choir stalls so the sounds they make call forth over the tumult in the orchestra. When the offstage voices sing their wordless song, it's as if we're hearing voices from another dimension. The Ripening isn't specially rare, as there are several versions around : Talich, Pešek, Neumann, Ancerl, Bělohlávek and Kirill Petrenko. Jurowski's good at the broad sweep but the quieter moments come through sensitively, too.

Dvořàk Piano Concerto in G minor op 33 (1876) was described by Kurt Honolka as "a sort of symphony wiuth  piano obbligato, the solo part unrewarding which is why it is mostly played in the arrangement by Vilem Kurz, a piano professor". On the other hand, if soloists find the part interesting, they can make it sound rewarding. Martin Helmchen certainly seems to find it gracefully lyrical. Listen to him in the video clip below.

At first, there didn't seem much point in starting a Suk/Dvořàk programme with the suite on Janáček The Cunning Little Vixen, apart from the fact that it's fun and that Jurowski is conducting a Family Matinee at the Royal Festival Hall on Saturday 13th May, and will, of course be conducting the opera in full at Glyndebourne a week after that. Not all Czech music sounds the same!

Ironically, Brahms might have been a better choice, since Brahms, Dvořàk and Suk had stronger musical connections, and The Ripening would have even greater resonance in that context. .But the suite was created by Vaclav Talich, pictured centre in this sketch with Josef Suk (smoking) and Vítězslav Novák. Three of the biggest names in Prague in the early 1930's, all good friends and familiar with one other's work. But think more deeply about The Cunning Little Vixen. Chances are that the Glyndebourne production won't be as bright as the performance might be.  The opera's based on a comic strip, it's not naturalistic, nor twee. The "animals" are allegory, the story's about the cycle of life and death. So a very good opener to The Ripening, after all.

Josef Suk died yesterday

Josef Suk died yesterday after a long illness. Please read the full story here in České Noviny. The news is more than "just" the death of a great violinist but also of a lineage. Suk's grandfather was Josef Suk the composer and his great grandfather was Antonin Dvořák.  Please read my post on Dvořák, Josef Suk the eldest, and his Asrael Symphony. At left there's a photo of Ottilka Dvořák holding her baby son, father of the late violinist. It was taken in 1901. A few years later Ottilka was dead, but Josef Suk, the violinist, was born in 1929, and was old enough to remember his grandfather, who died in 1935.  Maybe Suk has musical descendants, but it doesn't matter: all of us have learned from the "family". I heard Suk live only once when I was too young to appreciate. But here is a clip which now seems quite poignant. And here is a link to Martin Anderson's obituary. Martin always writes beautifully, and knowledgeably, but this is truly personal.  The thing with obits is that they're written long before the event, so have a nice elegaic quality about them which is way beyond "ordinary" journalism. (PS I am writing MORE about Vitezslava Kaprálová songs in the next few days. Please come back)LOTS on this site about Czech music and film

Josef Suk Asrael and Janáček The Eternal Gospel

Vladimir Jurowski conducted Josef Suk's Asrael last night in a blazing performance that shows why this symphony is coming into its own 105 years after it was written.

Asrael is the Angel of Death in the Bible. The picture is Josef Suk's wife, Otilie Dvořàk, who died suddenly not long after the photo was taken. The baby much later became father of Josef Suk the violinist, who's thus a direct descendant of two major Czech composers.

The shock of Otilie's death compounded Suk's grief over the death a year before of her father Antonin Dvořàk, who was Suk's mentor and own father figure. Asrael, Symphony for large orchestra was Suk's way of exorcising the trauma by channelling it into music.

The symphony is monumental, built on two huge sections like pillars. The scale is panoramic, even cinematic in the way its moods progress in distinct episodes. By emphasizing dynamic contrasts, Jurowski keeps momentum, so the traverse keeps moving towards its resolution. Big as the piece is, what’s striking is its understatement and quiet dignity. Brass fanfares, for example, are deliberately muted so they sound numb and hollow. It’s a jolt, since brass often heralds triumph.

Solo instrumentals are pivotal. There’s a dialogue between Kristina Blaumane’s cello and Alex Venlizon’s first violin. Cellos feature strongly in the first part, generally understood as a portrait of Suk’s dead wife. The composer himself played violin. So beneath the tumult, there’s surprising intimacy. It isn’t just the image of a biblical angel that comforts Suk, but the memory of his happy marriage.

In this unusually well planned programme, another angel appears. In Janáček’s The Eternal Gospel, the angel comes from the Book of Revelation. The poem, by Jaroslav Vrchlický (1858-1912), is a "modern" take on Revelation, based on a 12th century mystic's vision of the end of time when "wealth, all possessions, gold, jewels and fortune will turn to mire". It's incendiary stuff, attacking the "she-wolf of Rome". It even knocks Jesus, who "only stooped to man". Raising St Francis oif Assisi above Christ isn't something a 12th century monk would or could do. This is clearly Vrchlický's poem, not Joachim di Fiore, but an adaptation. It's uncompromisingly radical, way beyond piety or even nationalism. Janáček, passionately anti-clerical, could spot a cogent bit of blasphemy.

The Eternal Gospel was written around the First World War, when the destruction of the old order did seem apocalyptic. This was a critical point in the Czech struggle for independence. The “Allelujahs!” here aren’t religious, but political.

The piece also represents a critical point in the composer's development. In 1917, Janáček was poised between his "old" style of writing and the breakthroughs he'd reach with The Diary of One Who Disappeared and what was to follow. The programme notes cite the Glagolitic Mass, but we wouldn't have the major operas, and much else, without the incendiary transformation that The Eternal Gospel really represents.

Adrian Thompson substituted at very short notice for the scheduled tenor, so his performance was truly remarkable. He sings almost the whole 20 minute piece, and in Czech, a tough language to master. His diction was so clear that it was easy to follow the text throughout even for non-Czech readers. He was clear, even above large orchestra and choir. An impressive achievement, for which he deserves major praise. (He's recorded this for Hyperion, which I haven't heard, I only have Benno Bl;achut) Sofia Fomina, singing the Angel, had less to do, because Janáček isn't that interested in the angel, except as justification for the wilder sentiments expressed in the tenor part.

The evening started with a lacklustre Taras Bulba. Perhaps Jurowski and the LPO were saving their energy, because we can hear that piece anytime. Much better that they concentrated on The Eternal Gospel (by far the greater rarity), and Asrael, and carried them off with such conviction.

This concert was recorded and will be broadcast on www.bbc.co.uk.radio3 on Wednesday 24th Feb and available on demand for a week thereafter. Listen, because Jurowski's approach is thoroughly individual. It's a keeper. There are many recordings of Asrael, which is fairly well known, but Jurowski meets the standard, easily.
Coming up soon : Diary of One Who Disappeared !