Martinu: Bohuslav Martinu

The standard nonet – consisting of five wind instruments (flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, bassoon) and four stringed instruments (violin, viola, cello, double bass) – is the mid-size SUV of chamber ensembles: hefty enough to produce pseudo-orchestral horsepower, but still maneuverable enough to accelerate from zero to sixty at a respectable clip. Nowhere are its virtues more evident than in this 1989 album from Ensemble Wien-Berlin (a super-group of principal players from the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonics, formed earlier in the decade), whose jocular interplay and burnished blend bring shine to two of the finest works written for the nonet, Louis Spohr’s seminal 1813 Nonet in F and Bohuslav Martinu’s zingy, neo-classical Nonetto No. 2.

The style of the Czech composer Bohuslav Martinů was enriched by numerous influences which are reflected in The Greek Passion; magnificent choirs contrast vividly with intimate chamber music, and folkloristic elements are placed next to complex, classically worked-out orchestral movements. A highly emotional mixture of oratorio and dramatic opera takes the listener into a world in which catastrophes abound. Lorenzo Fioroni, who has directed operas in Nuremberg, Augsburg and Heidelberg, has produced this dramatic contest against fear in Graz.

In the second of four Hyperion discs dedicated to the works for violin and orchestra by Czech-French-American-Swiss composer Bohuslav Martinu, violinist Bohuslav Matousek with Christopher Hogwood and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra join two of the composer's typically atypical works: the Concerto da camera for violin with string orchestra, piano and percussion and the Concerto for violin and piano with orchestra.

For those who like their modernism light, buoyant, and lyrical, there's Bohuslav Martinu's prewar music. And for those who like their modernism big, bold yet still lyrical, there's Martinu's postwar music. On this 2007 Hyperion disc, the first of four devoted to the Czech composer's complete violin concertos, violinist Bohuslav Matousek with Christopher Hogwood and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra present three wonderful works from both sides of the war: the Concerto for flute, violin, and orchestra from 1936 and the Duo concertante for two violins and orchestra from 1937 plus the Concerto in D major for two violins and orchestra from 1950.

Sol Gabetta’s first recording of the Elgar Cello Concerto, with the Danish National Symphony, was much admired when it appeared six years ago. This one, taken from a concert in the Baden-Baden Festspielhaus in 2014, is a far glossier affair orchestrally. Simon Rattle’s tendency to overmould the phrasing is sometimes too obvious, but Gabetta’s playing is intense and searching, less introspective than some performances in the Adagio, perhaps, but epic in scale in the outer movements, and always keenly responsive. Those who possess her earlier disc might not think they need to invest in this one, but would then miss Gabetta’s vivid, pulsating account of the Martinů concerto, which went through a quarter of a century of revisions before the definitive 1955 version she plays here, with Krysztof Urbański conducting. She finds real depth and intensity in it, both in the slow movement and in the introspective episode that interrupts the finale’s headlong rush.

Commissioned or premiered by some of the greatest violinists of the age—Kreisler, Dushkin, Elman—all the usual Martinu virtues are here in abundance, which makes the subsequent neglect of this important body of work even more incomprehensible. A decade after their original release, these recordings remain virtually unchallenged. The works recorded in this set—Martinu’s complete output for solo violin and orchestra, including compositions with other solo instruments.

Cellist Johannes Moser and pianist Andrei Korobeinikov present Bohuslav Martinů’s complete cello sonatas. These works belong to the most significant twentieth-century repertoire for cello and piano. Reflecting Martinů’s troubled existence, defined by wartime, emigration, longing for the homeland, yet also full of hope and life-affirming energy, the music seems entirely topical in our own troubled times. After their award-winning recording of works by Prokofiev and Rachmaninoff from 2016, Moser and Korobeinikov demonstrate their congeniality once more, fully realizing the extreme interdependence of cello and piano in these works.