Recipe for a Martinů symphony:
Mix together in equal parts:
- Rhythmic complexity and syncopation
- Vivacity combined with dreamy otherworldliness
- Shimmering created by interlocking string motifs or figures
Add to taste:
- Spicy woodwinds
- A dash of piano
- Hints of nostalgic Czech folk melodies
Remember to bake in plenty of quirkiness and gorgeous moments when individual fragments of music coalesce into something like a glimpse of a distant paradise.
Crucially, keep it short – 30-35 minutes maximum, and even better if shorter.
What does that all sound like? Try the first minute or two of his first symphony and you’ll see what makes his music utterly original and memorable.
All of Martinů’s six symphonies are “late works,” the first five written almost one per year from 1942 to 1946, during Martinů’s years in the United States, while the sixth was begun here and completed in 1953, when he had returned to Europe. They are a major 20th-century cycle – just as unique and powerful as those of Sibelius, Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Vaughan Williams.
While in many ways they are almost neoclassical (he famously described himself as a “concerto grosso type” composer and was fascinated by Renaissance madrigals), they are nonetheless deeply expressive works that seem shot through with longing, with the aching desire to capture a dream that remains beyond reach. That longing is the subject of his greatest work, the opera Juliette, and he quotes some of the music from that opera toward the end of the last movement of his sixth symphony, which bears the subtitle Fantaisies Symphoniques.
Martinů spent his first twelve years living at the top of a church tower in a village in Bohemia (his father was the fire warden and caretaker, responsible for alerting the townspeople if fire broke out). He often described how this experience gave him a taste for the “big picture” and he kept by his side throughout his life a postcard of the view from the top of the tower. The isolation of his childhood might also have contributed to his famous shyness and modesty, qualities that are as characteristic of his music as they are of Schubert’s. Also, like Schubert, Martinů is essentially a life-affirming and optimistic composer, as Jakub Hrůša notes in the interview above. This is not music that “makes a point” that it imposes on the listener, but rather music that invites active participation from an audience and whispers its concealed passions to one who listens. The shades of joy and sorrow that pass across the face of his work are almost like the play of patches of light and shadow of clouds across a landscape.
Ultimately, there is no way fully to capture in words the pleasures on offer in coming to know the music of Martinů – you just have to dive in and find out for yourself. And there’s no better place to start than this new set from Deutsche Grammophon. Here, the conductor and Martinů scholar Jakub Hrůša offers outstandingly energetic, vibrant, and loving performances, full of the crisp articulation and command of form essential to bringing the music to life. Have a listen, whether you count yourself part of the “Martin-who?” camp or are already a fully-fledged, T-shirt-wearing Martinůtian!
