The Fifth was the last in the run of symphonies that Martinu produced in the USA, one each year from 1942. Dedicated to the Czech Philharmonic (in which, 30 years previously, he had been an extra second violin), it progresses from a tense uneasily questing start to a joyous ending, on the way taking in an Allegro (whose elaborate syncopations bear witness to his interest in madrigal techniques), what he described as a ''slow, static scherzo'', and a remarkably impressive long finale of alternating slow and quick sections (all based on the same three-note motif). As always with the eclectic Martinu, various influences are perceptible: bell sonorities reminiscent of the sounds he had heard in early childhood (he had been born in the upper storey of a church where his father was the bellringer), overtones from Stravinsky and Roussel (from his Paris days) and, in the warmly lyrical introduction (mostly for strings) to the finale, something of Bartok's overlapping canonic texture.
Bartok is even more strongly called to mind in his next symphonic work—his most popular which has been adopted for balletic purposes both by the Stockholm Opera and by Kenneth Macmillan, and whose title indicates its unorthodox rhapsodic structure: this was written seven years later, after a serious accident which had affected Martinu's hearing, and was dedicated to his old friend Charles Munch for the 75th anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orchestra: each of its three movements contains passages of Bartokian 'insect music' flurries. But beside this there is evident nostalgia for Martinu's native land in references to Dvorak's Requiem and to the Czech chorale St Wenceslas; and various fragmentary quotations from works of his own such as the Field Mass and Julietta seem to point to some undivulged programme. Very noteworthy in this work is the skill with which so much of the material is derived from the three-note motif heard at the outset, and the technical virtuosity of the first movement variations: nevertheless, it is by its overall atmosphere rather than its compositional brilliance that it makes its effect.
We have been waiting impatiently for over a year for the completion of the Martinu cycle from Jarvi and the Bambergers, whose first four symphonies were so warmly received; and now, by one of those mysterious coincidences of timing, along comes another recording of the same works—the two versions of No. 6 actually recorded within a week of each other. Let it be said straight away that between Flor and Jarvi there is virtually no difference in matters of interpretation, except perhaps that the first Allegro of No. 5 appears to be viewed, respectively, as exultant or just agitated. Nor does there seem to be all that difference between the standards of the Berlin and Bamberg orchestras, except that the intonation of the former's three oboes in unison in the first movement of No. 5 (bar 204 onwards) is flawed: on the other hand, I spotted a couple of tiny slips (admittedly of minimal importance), one by the Bambergers' piano in No. 5, the other by their solo violin in No. 6. Where the difference lies is in the recording: RCA's is reasonably good, even if the sound in general is a trifle recessed, the dynamic range is not very great and the solo percussion's opening to the march (at fig. 22) in No. 6 is too faint; but BIS, by their more forward placing, produce a more vivid sound, clearer detail and climaxes with greater impact. I admire Flor's handling of the two works, but largely for reasons of acoustics Jarvi's is the version I would choose.'