Isserlis and Mustonen have been friends and collaborators for close to twenty years, and now join forces in this exciting and varied programme.

Martinů’s three cello sonatas each have a distinct character and allude to musical styles of 20th-century America, whilst maintaining a distinctly Czech feel.

--

The Europadisc Review

Bohuslav Martinů's three sonatas for cello and piano stand at the centre of his numerous works for the cello as a solo instrument. As a string player himself (he had been a violinist in the Czech Philharmonic) Martinů had a particular knack for drawing the best out of the instrument, and the rhythmic vitality of these works often pays tribute to his Czech homeland. Yet Martinů was never comfortable as part of the established order of central European music; he was drawn to Paris in the 1920s not least by a fascination for jazz and neoclassicism. Then in the 1940s he became a reluctant refugee in the US, which further influenced his eclectic musical style.

The various stages of Martinů's compositional development are reflected in the cello sonatas. The first was written in Paris in May 1939, just weeks after Czechoslovakia had fallen to the Nazis, and its bleak intensity – often redolent of Shostakovich at his best – is a poignant leave-taking from his native land. It was premièred in Paris in May 1940 by Pierre Fournier and Rudolf Firkušný, shortly before Paris itself fell to the Nazis and Martinů was forced into exile from the old world. Martinů dedicated the Second Sonata of late 1941 to his host in New York City, the Czech cellist Frank Rybka, and the music is altogether more vibrant and optimistic, full of jazzy new-world rhythms. The Third Sonata was composed in 1952 as a celebratory tribute to the late cellist Hans Kindler, and there's an exultant tone to the music, not least in the spirited finale.

Stephen Isserlis gives splendid accounts of all three works, accompanied by his long-term collaborator Olli Mustonen. He draws the widest possible range of tone from his 'Marquis de Corberon' Stradivarius, from delicate, silvery tracery to full-blooded passion, and he's brilliantly supported by Mustonen throughout. These powerful yet sensitive performances are further complemented by a vivid account of Mustonen's own Sonata for cello and piano of 2006, in the work's first recording. It's a captivating and virtuosic four-movement work, with a mysterious opening, an urgent scherzo marked Precipitato, and an attractively euphonious finale.

Another bonus is Sibelius's Malinconia (1900), written shortly after the death of the composer's young daughter Kirsti. It combines personal grief, allusions to the natural world, and an overarching sense of consolation. Once again, Isserlis and Mustonen combine the utmost sensitivity with enormous technical accomplishment, and it all adds up to an extremely compelling recital.

With excellent recording and notes by Isserlis himself that are as engaging as the performances themselves, this is a hugely attractive disc, not least for the masterful accounts of the Martinů sonatas themselves, and it's a welcome addition to this cellist's impressive discography.