Leoš Janáček made great play of not being a traditional believer, demonstratively refusing to enter churches to get out of the rain, according to his niece. Yet he composed a mass and drew on its formal structure, even making the central section Vĕruju (Credo) of his Glagolitic Mass the longest of all. The truth is that unless you’re a nihilist, you have to believe in something. Janáček believed in Pan-Slavism, strong ethical values and in life-affirming, life-renewing musical energy, even if in consequence he drew barbs of criticism from the writer Milan Kundera, who called the work “more an orgy than a mass”.
In this BBC Proms performance by the Prague Philharmonic Choir and the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Jakub Hrůša, there was no orgy but a feast of sensual pleasures that all Epicureans could enjoy. This orchestra lives and breathes every note of Janáček’s music: I was particularly impressed by the full-toned strings, each line of which was cleanly articulated, and together with the characterful wind, the festive brass and quite titanic contributions from the timpani, there was a thrilling vibrancy of sound. In the penultimate movement, Christian Schmitt’s organ solo, with lightning changes of registration and a dazzling display of virtuosity, filled the Royal Albert Hall with might and majesty.
The 80-odd professional choristers of the Prague Philharmonic Choir were positioned on high risers, immediately behind the orchestra and below the organ. With all four sections evenly blended, they produced a wonderfully supple and flexible response, from the super-soft start to the Gospodi, pomiluj (Kyrie) to the impassioned cry of “Slavoslavim Te” (We adore Thee) in the following Gloria and superlative intonation in the unaccompanied passages which lead off the Agneče Božij (Agnus Dei).
Of the four soloists, the tenor has by far the most work to do. David Butt Philip’s clarion voice commanded attention in the Vĕruju with his fearless attack and ringing tones, while still maintaining a mellifluous legato line. I immediately warmed to the velvety and rounded mezzo of Bella Adamova in the Svet (Sanctus-Benedictus), and Pavel Švingr was a reliable bass, if lacking the ultimate degree of authority. I was less taken initially by the soprano of Corinne Winters, somewhat steel-edged and squally, but she later displayed a more focused tone. Hrůša held the eight sections of this mass together with a combination of infectious vitality and sensitivity towards all its textural complexity.
Outside Czech lands Vítĕzslava Kaprálová is an unfamiliar name, and her death in exile in France at the age of only 25 may well have deprived the world of an arresting later development, given that she also studied with Martinů. Whenever works such as her graduation piece, the Military Sinfonietta, with which this concert opened, are performed, there is a tacit hope that even if gold nuggets are not uncovered, there will at least be a fair sprinkling of gold flakes. Yes, a command of writing for full orchestra was in evidence: neoclassical rhythms, martial elements in brass, percussion and timpani, a solo for the leader, cymbal crashes, harp glissandi and tubular bells. Yet the whole is sadly not much more than the individual pieces.