The collaboration between the illustrious Czech Philharmonic Orchestra and the Pentatone label, which began in 2022, has already delivered abundant fruits. Chief conductor Semyon Bychkov’s ongoing Mahler cycle has won critical plaudits, and last year’s disc of Smetana’s Má vlast was similarly feted (including by us!). Now, with its principal guest conductor (and Rafael Kubelík Conducting Chair) Simon Rattle, they present another iconic work from the Czech repertoire: Antonín Dvořák’s Slavonic Dances. This is music that the orchestra has recorded dozens of times, and its earliest account, with Václav Talich in 1935 on HMV, still holds a very special place in the discography, as does their Supraphon remake of 1950, together with the superb 1959 stereo recording under Karel Šejna. Forty years later, Charles Mackerras – a pupil of Talich – put down another benchmark recording with the orchestra, authoritative yet wonderfully sensitive and pliant.

So, how does Rattle stack up against such venerable classics? Given that the Czech Phil could probably play this music in their sleep, does Rattle have insights of his own to bring? The answer is, most definitely, yes. There is, however, nothing forced about these performances. The earlier Op.46 set (1878) was Dvořák’s breakthrough work, composed at the suggestion of Brahms’s publisher Simrock, with the Czech composer riding high in the wake of an Austrian State grant which allowed him to focus on composition. With works like the Serenade for Strings and the lovely Fifth Symphony already under his belt, he brought a freshness of invention to these dances. Initially written and published in piano duet format, and then splendidly orchestrated, the eight dances are all original compositions in the spirit of folk dances, rather than quoting actual folk melodies.

Rattle completely gets the lightness of touch required to make this music dance, the sprung rhythms, the subtle rhythmic inflections, and (in the faster music, such as the two furiants that frame the set) the sheer energy and ebullience to bring this music to life. What is unique to this performance – aided by a finely focused recording in the Dvořák Hall of Prague’s Rudolfinum, without the swimminess that can sometimes come from that venue – is the attention to detail. In the coda to the opening Furiant, the underpinning timpani rhythm is crystal-clear. Gear shifts in the popular A flat major Polka (no.3) are immaculate, and the famous duet for trumpets has a marvellous dreamy quality; the written-out viola and cello trills in the coda (marked forzando, but rarely heard clearly on recordings) emerge with unprecedented clarity. The tossing of grace-note figuration between string and wind in the trio section of the minuet-like F major Sousedská (no.4) takes on a human quality (a cheeky call-and-response), without undermining the cellos’ lyrical countermelody. In the succeeding Skočná, the strings produce some gloriously ripe textures which nevertheless never drag down the tempo.

No.6 (another Sousedská) has just the right combination of rhythmic poise and village-dance atmosphere. The canonic writing in the C minor Skočná (no.7) is perfectly balanced yet with a hint of cheerfulness leading into the freer dance passages. The concluding G minor Furiant – probably the most famous music of all the Slavonic Dances – has all the necessary energy and excitement, but with an iron grip on the tempo, while the speed gently eases for the trio section, where once again inner parts are tellingly caught.

Composed in just a month in the summer of 1886 (once again, at Simrock’s suggestion), the Op.72 set is characterised by greater subtlety, particularly in the expressive depths of the slower music, yet Rattle and his Czech forces still bring plenty of sparkle and brio to their performances. Here too there are telling details: the rap of the timpani at the end of the lively opening Odzemek, for example, or the delicate inflections of phrasing in the wistful slow waltz of the following Mazur. In the F major Skočná (no.3), the timpani rhythm in the upbeat to the main theme is another seldom-heard detail (Doráti’s swifter 1983 RPO account, with poorly balanced wind, sounds too rushed).

In the later dances of the 1872 set, the mood of nostalgia deepens, and Rattle and his players bring wonderful colours to the dreamily-scored Dumka (no.4). The severe, knotty textures of the B flat minor Špacírka (no.5) are difficult to nail successfully, but the livelier central section, which returns at the end, brims with high spirits. The Polonéza of no.6 (marked ‘quasi Minuetto’) has an almost classical hue, yet Rattle finds plenty of enchanting detail to tease out of the music. The Serbian kolo (no.7) is a last blast of high spirits, another instance of great excitement and phenomenal playing immaculately controlled, while the concluding Sousedská, a nostalgia-laden slow waltz, is heart-stoppingly lovely: Rattle’s deep affinity with this music is nowhere more evident than here.

In sum, this is a superb release, vividly recorded, with the Czech Philharmonic on top form – less characterful in timbre, arguably, than seventy years ago, but compensating for that in levels of sensitivity and orchestral virtuosity. Rattle’s feel for Czech music just seems to get richer with time, and this disc now comfortably joins those august names mentioned at the outset. Thoroughly recommended!