When it comes to operas, except for stand-alones like overtures, preludes, entr’actes and ballets, it seems that some composers find writing for the orchestra a rather perfunctory task done simply to support the soloists. That’s not the case with Czech composer Leos Janáček (1854–1928) whose orchestral accompaniments comment even further on the speech rhythms and folk-inflected motifs ever present in his vocal lines. Consequently his operas have motivated a number of modern day conductors and composers to extract orchestral suites from them.

Our conductor here, Slovak-born Peter Breiner (b. 1957), tries his hand at it in this series of three CDs containing suites drawn from Leos’ six major operas. Lasting between thirty to forty minutes each, Breiner successfully captures the composer’s unique sound world, and includes more material from the parent operas than most of the other suites currently available on disc. Consequently all Janáček enthusiasts will want these whether they have other versions or not—particularly at Naxos prices!

The third volume in the series [8.570706] begins with a suite from The Cunning Little Vixen (1924), which was inspired by a series of stories that appeared in a Brno newspaper back in 1920. For many this remains Janáček’s most endearing opera. While on the surface there’s a childlike simplicity about it, a fundamentally profound message asserting nature’s unending cycle of birth and death lies underneath. Maestro Breiner’s six-part suite comes across as such a convincing stand-alone symphonic work that it would be easy to believe the opera was a later elaboration of it. Highlights include an infectious “Blue Dragonfly” opening movement [track-1], a captivating Moravian folk-filled “Wedding” scene [track-4] and a “Vixen is Running” finale [tack-6] utilizing some of Janáček’s most powerful music.

The companion suite, From the House of the Dead (1927–28), symphonically encapsulates Leos’ most succinct and arguably finest opera. It’s based on Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s (1821–1881) fictionalized account (1862) of the time he spent in a Siberian prison camp. Due to the very nature of the opera, Breiner’s six part suite doesn’t have the melodic sweep of what we just heard. Instead there are repeated fragmentary motifs that in some ways anticipate minimalism, but not to an extent where “Glassophobes” would find it unlistenable.

The opening overture [track-7] with its insistent driving introductory theme is hypnotic. The “Holiday is Coming” section [track-9] is a fascinating juxtaposition of swaying liturgical passages replete with chimes, and boisterous bass drum-spiked dance episodes. There’s what could even pass as a tiny tone poem in the form of “The Play and the Pantomime” movement [track-11], which harkens back to the Sinfonietta (1926) and much earlier Taras Bulba (1915–18) . A blazing finale entitled “Jesus, God’s Prophet” [track-12] ends the suite enigmatically with optimistic brass fanfares squelched by pessimistic thunderations from the orchestra.

The first selection on volume two [8.570556] is a five-movement suite from Kát’a Kabanová (1921), which is based on Russian dramatist Aleksandr Ostrovsky’s (1823–1886) The Storm (1859). Apparently it was Janáček’s love for Puccini’s (1858–1924) Madama Butterfly (1904) that was a key motivating factor in his writing this heart-rending opera about an ill-fated provincial belle.

At the very beginning of the overture [track-1] eight strokes on the timpani serve as a fate motif (FM), anticipating the tragic tale to come. The “Intermezzo and Songs” section [track-4] contains some lovely melodies undoubtedly derived from Moravian folk sources, and concludes rapturously with some of the composer’s most amorous music. The finale, “The Storm is coming” [track-5], opens dramatically with FM repeated over and over again, and takes on the aspect of a miniature tone poem. There’s a subdued romantic central section, but FM returns and the tension builds, ending with Kát’a’s demise as she jumps into the Volga river.

This disc is filled out with a six-movement suite from The Makropulos Affair. Completed in 1925, the opera is based on a 1922 play by Karel Capek (1890–1938). It’s about a young woman named Elina Makropulos (E.M.) who back in the late 1500s drank a life-extending potion devised by her physician father. It’s kept her young and beautiful for three hundred and thirty seven years, which takes us up to the time of the opera. During her almost vampire-like existence she’s had a variety of names as well as many lovers, and she’s now an opera singer called Emilia Marty (E.M. again).

The opening two sections of the suite, “Death was touching me” [track-6] and “The Gregor Prus Case” [track-7], are notable for a couple of strange glissandi and more of those explosive timpani strokes Leos loved so well. The second section is drawn from the opera’s overture, which anticipates the Sinfonietta, and contains one of the composer’s most engaging melodies [track-7, beginning at 01:35]. The fourth movement, “I am actually an idiot” [track-9], is spiced with some Tzigane touches recalling a time when Elina was known as the gypsy Eugenia Montez (E.M. once again). The stunning finale, “So?” [track-11], where Elina ultimately triumphs over her desire for eternal life by refusing to take any more of the potion, is a real tearjerker.

It seems appropriate the first volume [8.570555] should begin with a suite from Jenůfa (1904), which put Janáček on the operatic map. The folk music of Moravia is some of the most gorgeous in the western world, and its melodies and speech rhythms are the lifeblood of this stage work. It’s based on a tragic drama about peasant life by Czech playwright Gabriela Preissová (1862–1946).

The opening, “Night is already falling” [track-1], is anxiety-ridden and spooked by ossified notes repeated on the xylophone. Two folk highpoints include a wild dance that breaks out in the second part “All are getting married—Every couple must get over its problems” [track-2], and the melody to a fabulous wedding song (“Ej, mamko, mamko” or “Oh mother, mother”) that appears in the fifth movement, “May God grant you a good day” [track-5]. The last part, “They’ve all left—Now you leave too!” [track-6], builds via a spellbinding undulant theme to an overwhelming climax guaranteed to melt the iciest of hearts.

The Excursions of Mr Brouček (1908–17) is the subject of the concluding five-part suite on this disc. The opera is based on a couple of satirical novels by Czech writer Svatopluk Cech (1846–1908). In two parts, the central character is a bumbling besotted landlord named Matej Broucek who takes a trip to the moon in the first half of this farce, and is then transported back to the fifteenth century in the second. Most of the suite is drawn from his lunar excursion, with only the concluding movement derived from his visit to Renaissance times.

With an emphasis on extended melodies, the music here is less folkie than in Leos’ other operas. The two opening movements, “I, Matej Broucek” [track-7] and “There is the Moon” [track-8], open the suite in lyrical fashion with a minimum of those quirky rhythmic passages so typical of the composer. The third section, “Waltzes and Other Dances” [track-9], is about as folkish as the suite ever gets, but the predominance of waltz episodes will bring Richard Strauss’ (1864–1949) Der Rosenkavalier (1911) to mind. The finale, “Those who are the warriors of God” [track-11], sounds more like the composer, and contains a bit of Czech nationalism in the form of a reference to the same Hussite hymn Smetana (1824–1884) quotes in Ma Vlast (1872–79) [track-11, beginning at 01:23]. It ends the suite triumphantly, and brings this CD to a memorable conclusion.

With the arranger conducting, all of these performances by the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra are totally committed and even passionate where appropriate. In the process the musicians from down under certainly prove themselves a class act! Some may find a couple of Maestro Breiner’s tempos a little slow, but in the context of these suites they seem to work.

All three albums were recorded between May and August of 2007 at Wellington Town Hall and produced by the same personnel, so it’s not surprising that the sonics are uniformly demonstration quality. The soundstage is perfectly proportioned with enough intimacy for instrumental detail, but at the same time sufficient space for this intricate music to breath.

The orchestral timbre remains natural over the extended frequency and dynamic range engendered by Janáček’s brilliant instrumentation. Tinkling bells, triangles and tambourines will tweak your tweeters. While at the other end of the audio spectrum, timpani and bass drum profundities will plumb the depths of your woofers. Audiophiles take note!