This is a record that can scarcely be said to have general appeal, but for all admirers of Janacek it is indispensable. It consists of some very unknown Janacek indeed, as well as pieces that have long been known about, and they vary greatly in quality. There is really only token interest in the male voice choruses Blessing the flag and the War Songs, which hardly adumbrate the marvellous pieces written for the Moravian Teachers' Choir. Nor is there much more in the little violin fanfares. The March of the Blue Boys is a jolly Stravinskian romp for piccolo, celesta, glockenspiel and drum. There is more interest in the pieces from Along an Overgrown Path, which were originally intended for harmonium, and are played here on the instrument that sits in the little house where Janacek lived in Hukvaldy, at the foot of the wooded hill that gives the village its name. It is an evocative place, and the pieces are evocative in this version, even if one's loyalties to the piano remain. Two Jenufa curiosities are included: one is the piano duet version of the discarded overture known as Jealousy; the other is the aria, also discarded, which the Kostelnicka sings in Act 2. It adds to our understanding of her character, even if it holds matters up dramatically (it was included in Mackerras's Decca recording).
The most striking 'novelties' are operatic. Janacek must have been attracted to The Living Corpse through its sympathy, remarkable in Tolstoy's moralizing old age, for the damaged and fallible among mankind. He began it in 1916, but never got far enough for a very distinctive operatic physiognomy to emerge. Never mind: the six minutes recorded here are a fascinating glimpse of the might-have-been. The finest music on the record is for Mr Broucek's missing 'excursion'. This ten-minute episode describes his return from the Moon, still confused by his memories of Etherea and the Moon folk, trying to come to terms with his real earthly surroundings and the mocking laughter of his household and a lot of nonsensical chatter about sausages. He nearly causes his old housekeeper to have a seizure at all these upsets; and then—what could be more typical of Janacek?—he catches hold of her and promises her a new apron, to music of overwhelming tenderness.
Opening and closing the record is Janacek's last piece, I'm waiting for you, a fragment written for his beloved Kamila Stosslova. He did not specify the instrument. It sounds clumsy on the harmonium, but played on the piano after the other music by Rudolf Firkusny, it has a touching simplicity, and its breaking off leaves a real pang.'