In a New York Times “Critic’s Notebook,” Corinna da Fonseca-Wollheim samples the Bard Festival’s survey of music by Bohuslav Martinů (1890-1959), the Czech-born composer who spent most of his creative life in France and US.
“[A] restless exile equally fluent in Czech folk song, Neo-Classicism and the hum of the modern world . . . one of the most distinct and delightful voices of his time,” Fonseca-Wollheim writes. “Through decades of exile and in an age defined by ideological binaries, Martinů held fast to his own voice and to an intellectual independence that refused to be boxed in.”
I’ve thought for some time that Martinů may be the most under-rated composer of the past century. His range of stylistic references is extraordinary: Who else quotes James P. Johnson’s “Charleston,” evokes Moravian folk dance, and reimagines the baroque concerto grosso? And writes in a modernist yet accessible idiom? Every work of his that I’ve heard – and I’m nowhere near hearing them all – is an audibly finished product, but unconstrained, seemingly spontaneous, full of surprises, muscular rhythmically, often otherworldly harmonically.
Fascinating, and habit-forming, listening.
Visiting the festival in upstate New York, run by Leon Botstein, Bard College’s longtime president and an accomplished conductor, Fonseca-Wollheim heard a representative sampling of Martinů’s singular sound world:
Three works that give you an idea of Martinů’s range:
Letter V 