Here is an Elgar Second of exciting thrust and considerable interpretative flair. Mackerras's way with the first movement is charismatically propulsive in the Elgar/Solti manner, yet he allows himself ample scope for subtlety of expression: in the opening paragraph, for instance, a glance at the score readily reveals Mackerras's mastery of the music's extraordinary fluidity of pulse (Elgar's marking of poco piu sostenuto at fig. 4 is marvellously well handled—just one example from many). Though I would have preferred a greater sense of mystery and inwardness during the development section (Elgar's ''malign influence'' never really haunts the imagination here), the slow movement goes splendidly, both deeply felt and infinitely touching, rising to a fine, passionate climax—just listen to those cellos really swooping up to their high F at four bars after fig. 86. Indeed, such stirring application is symptomatic of the RPO strings' contribution as a whole: if hardly the most luxuriantly full-bodied of sections, they nevertheless respond with unstinting fervour and prove themselves ever stylish, ideally uncloying advocates for Mackerras's widespread adoption of portamento (Sir Charles noted over 500 such 'slides' from Elgar's two recordings of this work from the 1920s—EMI, 6/92 and Pearl, 9/92—and subsequently incorporated them into the RPO's parts). Crisp detail abounds in the sparkling Rondo, its pounding central crisis genuinely hair-raising in its physical power, whilst the finale flows with a supreme confidence and true nobilmente swagger that are the hallmarks of a seasoned Elgarian.
Throughout, Andrew Comall's superbly well-lit Walthamstow Assembly Hall production serves up a feast for the ears, with wonderfully ripe RPO horns cutting through Elgar's kaleidoscopic textures to often revelatory effect, and in those great waves of sound that punctuate the finale, how pleasing it is to hear the distinctive rasp of E flat clarinet at the very top of its register, adding a thrilling, almost Straussian glint to the proceedings.
Reservations? Well, if I miss anything from Sir Charles's reading, it would be those Boultian virtues of iron grip and long-term control that Sir Edward Downes, for one, displayed so magnificently in his recent Naxos version (an amazing bargain)—Mackerras's finale in particular perhaps just lacks that last ounce of cumulative exhilaration. In this same movement, I'm also still not convinced about the extra organ pedal at eight bars after fig. 165, though the effect (produced by the instrument of King's College Chapel Cambridge, and dubbed on to the mastertape) could hardly be more refulgent-sounding than here. Moreover, for this listener at least, the tears don't quite spill from the glorious epilogue. Otherwise, Sir Charles's account of this great symphony evinces a disarming spontaneity, ardour and wholehearted commitment that many will rightly find most invigorating.
I also much enjoyed Della Jones's vividly projected technically immaculate performance of the Sea Pictures. In the third and fifth songs especially her exemplary diction really brings a newly minted freshness to these almost operatic settings, and Mackerras certainly extracts maximum drama from Elgar's masterly, subtly-coloured orchestral backcloth. Was there, I wondered, some lack of overall intensity? A re-hearing of the classic 1965 Baker/Barbirolli recording confirmed its very special qualities: Dame Janet's commanding presence and sheer beauty of tone continue to take the breath away, whilst Barbirolli's accompaniment positively glows with humanity. However, this new version offers much to savour and there is no want of tenderness or poignancy in the gentler numbers (''Where corals lie'' has a touching simplicity). A fine coupling.'