Rusalka Dvorak

Glyndebourne has wisely preserved the best of Melly Still's literal,cluttered and ugly 2009 staging; its world-class soundtrack;.Dvorak's operatic masterpiece is in Belohlavek's bones, and he gets a thrilling and luminous account of the ravishing score from the LPO on virtually flawless form. It is the most central European of london's symphonic bands, and certainly equals, if not surpasses, the idiomatic Czech Philharmonic on rival sets conducted by Vaclav Neumann (supraphon) and Charles Mackerras (Decca). Ana Maria Martinez's Rusalka-more warm -blooded than Gabriela Benackova , less self-indulgent then Renee Fleming-gives one of the most ecstatic acounts of the famous Song to the Moon on disc.

This highly acclaimed production from the Bayerische Staatsoper, a powerful and fascinating re- interpretation of Dvorak's fairy-tale opera Rusalka, was a revelation: the young, up-and-coming Latvian soprano, Kristine Opolais, whose performance was rightly hailed by the press as 'one of the most vivid and striking accomplishments seen on an opera stage in a long time' (Vienna's leading daily Der Standard). With her supple and velvety soprano voice, her captivating physical beauty and her hauntingly moving stage presence, Kristine Opolais perfectly embodies the role of the water nymph who becomes a human being in order to find love.

Dvorak’s enchanting fairytale of the water-nymph Rusalka has been a signature role for Renée Fleming for the past 25 years. The Gramophone Classical Music Guide writes: “Renée Fleming's tender and heartwarming account of Rusalka's Song to the Moon reflects the fact that the role of the lovelorn water nymph, taken by her in a highly successful production at the MET in New York, has become one of her favourites”.

Antonín Dvorák famously complained about the sound of the cello, but if he had heard this album by Swiss-born cellist Christian Poltéra and his wonderfully sympathetic British accompanist Kathryn Stott, he might have written more for the instrument. Most of the music here was transcribed for cello and piano by Poltéra himself, with a couple of small Dvorák originals and two transcriptions by the composer rounding out the program. Poltéra has an extraordinary way with Dvorák's melodies, which require a distinctive kind of tempo flexibility: not full-fledged tempo rubato, but something of the caressing delivery of the café singer.

This whopping 40-disc set, which sells for very little, contains familiar performances of the major works, and most of them are quite good. Symphonies Nos. 1-7 feature Kosler and the Slovak Philharmonic–not a first-class orchestra, but a fine conductor who gets the ensemble to play idiomatically and well. The Eighth is Menuhin's (not bad), the Ninth Paavo Järvi's (quite good). The concertos come from Vox and feature Firkusny (piano), Nelsova (cello), and Ricci (violin).

Lilting melodies and exhilarating dance rhythms; gentle pathos, brooding drama and robust high spirits; the spirit of rural Bohemia and the sophistication of Prague, Vienna, New York and London in the late 19th century: Antonin Dvořák’s music is unfailingly distinctive and captivating. In all his works – from the epic ‘New World’ Symphony and Cello Concerto to the irresistible Slavonic Dances, haunting ‘American’ String Quartet, quirky violin Humoresque and yearning Song to the Moon – he is a composer whose heart is open and generous, and whose love for his homeland always shines through. This box provides an illuminating and enriching survey of his works, including his complete symphonies. A number of the celebrated performers have Slavonic roots themselves; all their interpretations draw on a deep affinity with Dvořák’s inspiration and humanity.