Two of the above recordings of the Glagolitic Mass date, it can be seen, from the mid-1960s, when as part of the growth of the work's acceptance a number began to be issued in different countries. That by Karel Ancerl is a vigorous, idiomatic performance, charged with exuberance and reflecting the excitement and energy which the work can generate in its chorus and orchestra. The drawbacks are two which have often beset the work. One is the quartet of soloists, which is uneven: the men dominate, with Blachut still in fine voice and being well partnered by Eduard Haken, but Libuse Domaninska and Vera Soukupova both sounding on less than their best form. The second problem is the actual recording, which is hoarse and obscures too much of the music for this now to be a very recommendable version. It is a seriously difficult work to balance, and the problems show even in the most recent version, Mackerras's, as well as in Kubelik's. The non-Czech quartet of soloists chosen for Kubelik approaches the work in too operatic a manner, with singing whose very mellifluousness goes against much in the work, for all the mastery and the lyrical passion of Kubelik's direction. The recording is better, though even the eloquent Haefliger has difficulty in making his words clear.
Mackerras's new version is of particular interest as it embodies another of the reconstructions that have been painstakingly made of Janacek's original intentions in different works as his stature has drawn greater scholarly interest. This one has been made by Paul Wingfield. He has gone into the nature of his restorations in great detail in his excellent monograph on the work in the Cambridge Music Handbooks series (CUP: 1992), and summarizes them in his note to this recording. Briefly, they involve the playing of the Intrada at the beginning and the end, in the Introduction a very complex rhythmic pattern and in the ''Gospodi pomiluj'' (''Kyrie'') use of quintuple metre instead of the familiar four-in-a-bar (both far more effectively), and fierce timpani interjections in the wild organ solo. There are other points; but in any case, most interested listeners will care less for them in detail than for the heightened force and impact of the music. This it certainly now (or once again) has.
These matters make it the more regrettable that despite marvellous handling of the work by Mackerras, there are still problems with a quartet of soloists that is less than exciting, and a recording that even with the most modern techniques can obscure the detail of the music and the clarity of the words. This should not detract from the interest of the disc, which every lover of the work must want to hear. Those who acquire it will have the additional benefit of a fine performance of Kodaly's Psalmus Hungaricus, though the restored Mass is naturally the occasion for recommendation and choice.
With Kubelik's performance, on a two-disc set, goes Dvorak's Stabat mater; but Smetacek's performance, for all its merits, is not to be set above the splendid version by Belohlavek, with Prague soloists, chorus and orchestra. Ancerl's comes with two performances of works by the much less well-known Miloslav Kabelac. The Hamlet Improvisation was originally coupled to his Fifth Symphony; it is a tense, brooding work, as one might expect, but not lightened by any touch of Ophelia or Fortinbras or other ingredients (as with Liszt's Hamlet). The Mystery of Time, of 1957, is a 25-minute piece that, says Eduard Herzog's note in the Artia score, was inspired by ''contemplation of the Universe, of the motions of the heavenly bodies and of the strict laws that govern the great master design''. No less. It is a kind of passacaglia, but takes the form of a huge arch from soft to loud to soft with virtually no thematic material or harmonic development, and is deliberately static. In its rapt contemplation of very little material it suggests not so much early minimalism as mindless music, music in which there seems no reason for the piece ever to stop (or, for that matter, to start).'