Namedrop first: it was Charles Mackerras who introduced me to the music of Vítězslava Kaprálová, lending me a CD with her Military Sinfonietta leading the way. It piqued interest, but more as a sense of promise cut short: this abundantly gifted young woman, first female conductor of the Czech Philiharmonic at the age of 22 when she premiered the work, died three years later before fulfilling her genius.
Last night’s performance of what might be more accurately called Semi-military Kaleidoscope, though it couldn’t have been finer than in the supple hands of Jakub Hrůša in his second Prom with the Czech Philharmonic, left a sense of regret at what might have been. Fanfaring promise and some attractive material never really gather a head of steam, though the presentation is accomplished, not least when a solo violin (concert-master Jan Mráček, poetic) weaves a line above trombones in close harmony: my guest, at her first Prom this season, marvelled at the orchestral colours. As the starter of a second all-Czech programme, it was much more than a token gesture to a woman composer in what's often called the "parking lot" slot of a concert. 
For melodic originality, we had to wait on the least familiar of Dvořák's three concertos. Though it seems to have been a reasonably regular Proms visiitor since 1954, I've never encountered the Piano Concerto live before. Its experiments with soloist-orchestra exchanges and melodic transformations suggest a late work, but it was in fact a thanksgiving following an award by conductor Herbeck, critic Hanslick and composer Brahms n 1875 to "Anton DWORAK of Prague, 33 years old, music teacher, completely without means" (thanks to Jessica Duchen's programme note for selecting all the salient points). The crazily over-elaborate piano part of its 1883 publication tends to have been mostly rejected in favour of an edition by Vilém Kurz; clearly it's no easy task, but Mao Fujita (pictured above) played rapidly transforming Robin Goodfellow to make light of its filigree, though well capable of pulling out the stops when necessary.
One of many big surprises was the grand transformation at the start of the first-movement cadenza, which then beats a retreat back to the opening melody. The many guises of this memorable idea noodling around four adjacent notes suggest moves towards slow-movement territory, with some ravishingly soft exchanges between Fujita and the Czech Philharmonic strings, while the second theme proper bounces in to Slavonic Dances territory. The Andante sostenuto's theme is elusive, and melts into further refinement as a handful of woodwind underpinned by bassoon almost going its own way hand over to the soloist and a handful of other instruments for a coda that's pure Rusalka moonshine. The finale has more Puckish surprises in store. Fujita remained crystal-clear and responsive to his fellow musicians - the compliment was fully returned - to the last: a true concerto partnership. 
The Czech Philharmonic gave a searing performance of Janáček's Glagolitic Mass under its chief conductor Semyon Bychkov at the Barbican two years ago. The impact of its unforgettable melodic shards and trenchant blazes was greater than last night, for me at any rate, only because the Albert Hall tends to take the edge off modernism, especially from a seat towards the back of the hall. As so often the more mystical moments - Janáček's "Veruju" (Credo) retreat to the Agony in the Garden, clarinets uncannily spectral, and the inward angst of "Agneče Božij" (Agnus Dei) - worked best n the vene, pulling you in with their quiet intensity. The professional Prague Philharmonic Choir gave us every expressive nuance in the latter: a fine companion to one of the world's great orchestras.
Hrůša conducted what was inevitably a very theatrical performance of the Glagolitic Mass to form an "afterlife" fourth act of Janáček's From the House of the Dead in a supremely imaginative production by Jiří Heřman at the National Theatre Brno, so it would make sense to go for a different approach in a vast concert hall. Of the four soloists, Janáček allows only two to stand out as urgent message-bearers; while soprano Corinne Winters seemed oddly neutral, albeit with every note in place, David Butt Philip carried the stenuously high tenor lines with full dramatic heft. 
The wow factor, again - I caution - from my place in the hall, was the berserk organ solo. Hrůša had called upon a charismatic colleague in Bamberg, Christian Schmitt (pictured above), to make a special guest appearance, and given the Albert Hall king of instruments, this was literally a case of pulling so many of the big stops out. Schmitt's handling of the final cadence alone would have been worth the price of anyone's admission, though of course the whole concert was a special event in so many ways.
