This release becomes a magnificent final testament to one of the greatest interpreters of Czech music. Asrael, named for the angel of death (for both Jews and Muslims) was the product of Josef Suk’s grief after losing his father-in-law Dvorák and his young wife in rapid succession. What fascinates me more than anything about this genuinely neglected masterpiece – a genre which in the age of Naxos is becoming rarer – is the dignity of Suk’s suffering: he rarely descends to the Manfred-like lugubriousness of Tchaikovsky or the self-dramatisation of Mahler. Only at the end of the first movement with screaming strings and manic drums does his suffering become uncontrollable, a moment perfectly calibrated by Mackerras and the Czech Philharmonic, who play like real angels throughout.  

From the opening bars, Mackerras captures the elegiac atmosphere with the soulful cor anglais over pizzicato strings. In the second movement Andante, these forces distill the exquisite numbness of grief. However, what makes this work so marvelous is the Scherzo, described by one critic as exuding the nocturnal creepiness of Mahler’s Seventh (exactly!), and bringing a real element of orchestral virtuosity to this miraculous music. 

The fourth movement is, again, dreamlike and almost Debussyesque, which makes the violent beginning to the last section all the more arresting, before the transformative conclusion. Mackerras handles balances and orchestral colours masterfully, as one would expect. Admittedly, this is one of several highly distinguished accounts of this work (Pesek, Flor, Ashkenazy) and one can only hope that such persuasive advocacy guarantees it the place it richly deserves in the mainstream repertoire. One final note: the conductor’s own daughter died around the time of these performances, adding another dimension of poignancy to the occasion. Vale, Maestro and thank you.

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