So much spatial information is written into Martinu's music that an over-active acoustic can all too easily upset the delicate balance between clarity and confusion. Texturally, this fluid, often amorphous music is a balance engineer's nightmare: how to preserve the mystique, the atmosphere, whilst not undermining the musical sense. Chandos got it just about right for the Sixth Symphony in the first of their Czech Philharmonic recordings under Jiri Belohlavek (1/91). This, the second in the series, shifts operations from Smetana Hall, Prague to the Spanish Hall, Prague Castle—and I'm afraid the acoustic is allowed to have it all its own way.
The aquatic opening of the First Symphony is not a problem, drawing us up through whirlpools of sound to break the surface with one of those familiarly life-asserting Martinu themes—all innocence and swinging syncopation. But with the first big tutti one begins to register the confusion, the vagueness of textural information from the middle to rear of the orchestra. Belohlavek chronicles well here the major/minor-key evolution of this music, the little islands of lyric calm which keep its spirits up (as witness the almost biblical string benediction at the close of the movement). But would that his interpretative clear-sightedness were matched in the sonorities. Of course, the deep string resonances of the largo expand gratefully, and in the finale this sense of space is again highlighted as a lone pastoral flute touchingly surveys the scene. But rhythmic detail, inner-part detail, suffers; one's ears grow weary of the fuzzy contours, and as we break for home in the coda, Martinu's headlong exuberance cries out for tighter, sharper focusing.
The Double Concerto has its problems, too—not all of them acoustical, though closer miking towards a cleaner, leaner string sound would surely have enhanced the rhythmic and harmonic interplay of this splendid piece. Belohlavek conveys the weight of anxiety admirably—the first driving climax of the Largo, like a torrential rain, is most intense—but there isn't the tautness and sinew, the edge and aggravation in his outer movements and for that I don't entirely blame the recording.
Turning to the other Chandos disc, it was as if my hearing were no longer impaired. This too is a generous acoustic (Glasgow's Henry Wood Hall) but here there is focus and ambience in the best Chandos tradition. The woodwinds ring out (individual voices have an identity once again), the brass weigh-in boldly, incisively. Admittedly the music of the Third and Fourth Symphonies is of a stronger profile, a more concentrated energy than the First—but even so, this is a far more sympathetic Martinu sound. I'm not sure that Thomson and the Royal Scottish National quite have the staying power for the Third: the internal conflicts rarely, if ever, let up—easy to recognize, harder to sustain. But enthusiasm also counts for a great deal in these robust pieces, and this the RSNO delivers in abundance. A pity that their violins are never quite up to Martinu's considerable demands (so much exposure, notably at the start of the slow movement); the woodwinds, notably flute and cor anglais, acquit themselves admirably, finding some repose in the solos of the slow movement—a queasy kind of baroque played out over restless strings and piano (who also has the last word, incidentally, placing an ominous question mark over the final bar of the piece).
The Fourth Symphony has long been my favourite for its unbridled, open-hearted optimism. Jan Smaczny, writer of the accompanying notes, suggests that it in fact celebrates a successful conclusion to the conflicts of the Third. Again, the enthusiasm of this performance in the main makes up for the odd rough edges and loose ends: the bounding scherzo (a blast, surely, of the great American outdoors) with its frolicsome bassoon and cheeky hop-and-skip rhythm is nothing if not extrovert (terrifically red-blooded horns), the slow movement finds the RSNO strings full and determined, if not especially subtle, and the finale isn't compromised by some less than rock-steady ensemble. I've yet to hear a completely successful account of the Fourth. Jarvi's Bamberg recording (BIS/Conifer) is probably the best available at present, but who knows, if Chandos can come through with a return to form in the tamer of their Prague venues, then perhaps Belohlavek and the Czech Phil will provide the answer.'