Janácek Káta Kabanová
View record and artist detailsRecord and Artist Details
Composer or Director: Leoš Janáček
Genre:
Opera
Label: Supraphon
Magazine Review Date: 2/1998
Media Format: CD or Download
Media Runtime: 94
Mastering:
DDD
Catalogue Number: SU3291-2
Tracks:
| Composition | Artist Credit |
|---|---|
| Káta Kabanová |
Leoš Janáček, Composer
Charles Mackerras, Conductor Czech Philharmonic Orchestra Dagmar Pecková, Varvara, Mezzo soprano Dana Buresová, Feklusa, Mezzo soprano Eva Randová, Kabanicha, Contralto (Female alto) Gabriela Benacková, Káta Kabanová, Soprano Jozef Kundlák, Kudrjás, Tenor Leoš Janáček, Composer Ludek Vele, Dikoj, Bass Martina Bauerová, Glasa, Mezzo soprano Miroslav Kopp, Tichon, Tenor Peter Straka, Boris, Tenor Prague National Theatre Chorus Zdenek Harvánek, Kuligin, Baritone |
Author: John Warrack
Over 20 years ago, Sir Charles Mackerras’s performance of Kat’a Kabanova led the way for his Janacek opera cycle, one of the classic series of recordings of modern times. Very properly, the set won Gramophone’s Record of the Year Award in 1977, was transferred to CD in 1989, and has retained its place in the catalogue and in the affections of many collectors. The title-role was sung by Elisabeth Soderstrom, a performance of marvellous sympathy and understanding, and the orchestra was the Vienna Philharmonic. Brno may be only about an hour up the line from Vienna, but the distance has often seemed far greater musically, and it is greatly to the credit of Sir Charles and of Soderstrom, in particular, that they led such an idiomatic performance. So it is a well-earned compliment that the Czechs should choose to return to Sir Charles, but understandable that they also should want to make a version with their own forces, and especially with their well-loved soprano, Gabriela Benackova, who has been able to fill the National Theatre in Prague whenever she sings the role.
She sings it beautifully here. From the outset she establishes, by tone and by subtle warmth of phrasing, the distinction between her nature and that of Eva Randova’s prim Kabanicha; she is touching in the exchanges with Varvara about the birds that can so easily fly off whither they wish; the memories of happy church-going (with a sympathetic horn) are radiant and affecting. When it comes to her dream of the love that has already begun to burgeon in secret, she is confiding yet sensuous, with a contained passion that bursts out in the love scene. There are operatic heroines who scarcely seem to exist outside their love; Kat’a is a real woman who is overcome by an emotion she does not consciously seek, and Benackova makes her succumb with touching innocence to what she accepts will be guilt-burdened. Her last monologue is wonderfully affecting as the burden proves more than she can bear.
Janacek’s admirers will certainly want to hear this lovely performance, perhaps to add it to their collection beside Soderstrom’s subtle, tender interpretation. It is chiefly for Benackova that the set is to be recommended, though there is a mostly good set of supporting performances. Randova sings a firm if not particularly alarming Kabanicha; perhaps she is trying to distance herself from the grim old dragon of more traditional performances, to seek human understanding for her emotional isolation (almost as if she were another Kostelnicka), but the performance lacks definition, and there is little horror in the final, unforgiving clipped phrase, “Thank you good people”, as she aloofly watches Kat’a’s body being dragged from the river. Dagmar Peckova sings a bright, tough little Varvara (perhaps a ‘Kabanicha’ herself in 40 years’ time, if she is not careful), and her Kudrjas is amiably, lightheartedly done by Jozef Kundlak. The two men competing for Kat’a contrast well, Peter Straka an ardent Boris, phrasing with a warmth that matches him well to her, Miroslav Kopp a Tichon who manages to be genuinely touching even as he lies down under the Kabanicha’s torrent of instructions. There is a vigorous Dikoj from Ludek Vele; but even he is too often overwhelmed by the orchestra.
This is not the fault of Sir Charles, who conducts a performance no less impassioned and lucid than before, perhaps even more precisely judged (with even the reticent viola d’amore given clear voice). The opening is still more sorrowful yet foreboding; the intermezzos are elegantly played; every phrase in the voices is accompanied with support and encouragement for the lyrical flow. But it is surprising that so keen-eared and firm-minded a musician did not question the placing of the singers so that time and again their words are obscured. This cannot but detract from the pleasure of the set, and makes it hard to follow at times even with the booklet. This has the Czech original plus French, German and English versions, the latter not an improvement on Deryck Viney’s for Decca, and sometimes quite awkward. Where Viney has Boris, wondering at his love for Kat’a, say, “I’m living in a whirl”, the anonymous new version makes him sound rather hip with, “I’m like dazed”. For Benackova, though, much more than that can be forgiven, even the rather short measure: the Decca CD version includes performances of the Capriccio and the Concertino by Paul Crossley with David Atherton. '
She sings it beautifully here. From the outset she establishes, by tone and by subtle warmth of phrasing, the distinction between her nature and that of Eva Randova’s prim Kabanicha; she is touching in the exchanges with Varvara about the birds that can so easily fly off whither they wish; the memories of happy church-going (with a sympathetic horn) are radiant and affecting. When it comes to her dream of the love that has already begun to burgeon in secret, she is confiding yet sensuous, with a contained passion that bursts out in the love scene. There are operatic heroines who scarcely seem to exist outside their love; Kat’a is a real woman who is overcome by an emotion she does not consciously seek, and Benackova makes her succumb with touching innocence to what she accepts will be guilt-burdened. Her last monologue is wonderfully affecting as the burden proves more than she can bear.
Janacek’s admirers will certainly want to hear this lovely performance, perhaps to add it to their collection beside Soderstrom’s subtle, tender interpretation. It is chiefly for Benackova that the set is to be recommended, though there is a mostly good set of supporting performances. Randova sings a firm if not particularly alarming Kabanicha; perhaps she is trying to distance herself from the grim old dragon of more traditional performances, to seek human understanding for her emotional isolation (almost as if she were another Kostelnicka), but the performance lacks definition, and there is little horror in the final, unforgiving clipped phrase, “Thank you good people”, as she aloofly watches Kat’a’s body being dragged from the river. Dagmar Peckova sings a bright, tough little Varvara (perhaps a ‘Kabanicha’ herself in 40 years’ time, if she is not careful), and her Kudrjas is amiably, lightheartedly done by Jozef Kundlak. The two men competing for Kat’a contrast well, Peter Straka an ardent Boris, phrasing with a warmth that matches him well to her, Miroslav Kopp a Tichon who manages to be genuinely touching even as he lies down under the Kabanicha’s torrent of instructions. There is a vigorous Dikoj from Ludek Vele; but even he is too often overwhelmed by the orchestra.
This is not the fault of Sir Charles, who conducts a performance no less impassioned and lucid than before, perhaps even more precisely judged (with even the reticent viola d’amore given clear voice). The opening is still more sorrowful yet foreboding; the intermezzos are elegantly played; every phrase in the voices is accompanied with support and encouragement for the lyrical flow. But it is surprising that so keen-eared and firm-minded a musician did not question the placing of the singers so that time and again their words are obscured. This cannot but detract from the pleasure of the set, and makes it hard to follow at times even with the booklet. This has the Czech original plus French, German and English versions, the latter not an improvement on Deryck Viney’s for Decca, and sometimes quite awkward. Where Viney has Boris, wondering at his love for Kat’a, say, “I’m living in a whirl”, the anonymous new version makes him sound rather hip with, “I’m like dazed”. For Benackova, though, much more than that can be forgiven, even the rather short measure: the Decca CD version includes performances of the Capriccio and the Concertino by Paul Crossley with David Atherton. '
Janácek Káta Kabanová
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