Antonín Dvorák famously complained about the sound of the cello, but if he had heard this album by Swiss-born cellist Christian Poltéra and his wonderfully sympathetic British accompanist Kathryn Stott, he might have written more for the instrument. Most of the music here was transcribed for cello and piano by Poltéra himself, with a couple of small Dvorák originals and two transcriptions by the composer rounding out the program. Poltéra has an extraordinary way with Dvorák's melodies, which require a distinctive kind of ...
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Antonín Dvorák famously complained about the sound of the cello, but if he had heard this album by Swiss-born cellist Christian Poltéra and his wonderfully sympathetic British accompanist Kathryn Stott, he might have written more for the instrument. Most of the music here was transcribed for cello and piano by Poltéra himself, with a couple of small Dvorák originals and two transcriptions by the composer rounding out the program. Poltéra has an extraordinary way with Dvorák's melodies, which require a distinctive kind of tempo flexibility: not full-fledged tempo rubato, but something of the caressing delivery of the café singer. The opening Sonatina in G major, Op. 100, originally for violin and piano, is worth the price of admission on its own, as Poltéra and Stott bring out the ingenious ways Dvorák boils down the language of the Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95 ("From the New World"), and his other American works to a very concise format. Dvorák wrote this work for his teenage children but also...
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