Why the Czech Philharmonic still stands apart

The Czech Philharmonic is one of my favourite orchestras for all sorts of reasons, but probably most of all for its wonderful and very special sound. It has a long and highly distinguished history – it was founded in 1896 – and arguably has one of the most distinctive musical personalities of any major ensemble today (you can invariably recognise its unique sound within just a few bars).

Its first concert was conducted by Antonín Dvořák, no less (his New World Symphony, only three years old at the time, was on the programme), and in the 129 years since it has kept its native repertoire very much at the centre of what it does. Its current Music Director Semyon Bychkov – a musician who has gained his position as one today’s greats thanks to a combination of hard work and innate musicality – has showed great sensitivity to what his orchestra brings to the party, but he has also challenged some of the habits that have crept into performance, and tried to get back to the very essence of what the composers were after – his recordings of Smetana’s Má vlast and the last three Dvořák symphonies are wonderful examples of restoration work in practice, the discoloured varnish has been stripped away and the music shines once again with renewed glory.

I remember hearing Bychkov conduct the New World Symphony in Prague a couple of years ago and marvelling at how music that we all know so well (though not as well as the Czech Phil!) could sound so fresh and alive: the strings so glorious and the winds so full of character. It really was like hearing the work for the first time, and it reminded me why it remains one of the symphonic repertoire’s most popular works: when done like this, its myriad virtues become so obvious.

One of the other factors that enhances my admiration for the Czech Phil is its Prague home, the Rudolfinum. Dating back to the 1880s, this striking building – with an even more striking acoustic – has been the orchestra’s home since 1946 (though that first concert, under Dvořák, took place there, and the main hall now takes its name from him). The acoustic is warm, mellow and wonderful clear, the way the floor slopes down to the front of the stage seems to bring audience and orchestra together, and there is a sense of connection that is quite rare. Like many other great halls, it plays a major role in the experience, whether live or recorded. As you sit in your seat you sense the history that its four walls have witnessed, while simulatenously experiencing how making music is a constant act of re-discovery and re-creation.

And then there is the roll-call of conductors who forged the orchestra’s identity and sound, including the great Václav Talich (its long-serving chief from 1919-31 and 1933-41), Rafael Kubelík, Karel Šejna, Karel Ančerl and Václav Neumann. All tended the orchestra’s ‘core’ repertoire with palpable love, but they all had their individual specialities. When the orchestra appears on Medici tv on April 4, it’ll be conducted by the Frenchman Alain Altinoglu (with that wonderful Italian pianist Beatrice Rana the soloist in Mendelssohn’s First Piano Concerto). The remainder of the programme comprises French music – Berlioz and Ravel – and it reminds me that the orchestra has a distinguished pedigree in French music. In the 1970s, Serge Baudo – whose relationship with the orchestra dates back to 1961 – made a series of magnificent recordings in Prague including the Honegger symphonies, his Jeanne d’Arc au bûcher, and works by Debussy and Ravel. (Baudo, incidentally, is still with us, and in two years celebrates his 100th birthday!) 

Altinoglu’s programme juxtaposes two heady, erotic and orchestrally ravishing works, the Royal Hunt and Storm from Berlioz’s opera Les Troyens and the Second Suite from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé, containing one of the most overwhelming evocations of dawn ever composed. I’ve no doubt that the Czech Philharmonic will play them with enormous character and a fabulous array of colours.