The Bartók CD is what recording should be about‚ and make no mistake. Yes‚ there are shortcomings – the odd spot of iffy playing‚ inconsistent balances and an occasional extraneous noise – but the musical qualities are overwhelming. Of course it doesn’t compare as a production with Chailly’s imaginatively voluptuous though significantly less intense coupling for Decca. But then you wouldn’t expect it to. The Miraculous Mandarin in particular has an animalistic impulsiveness‚ a sense of urgency that drives right to the heart of the drama. The opening sets the atmosphere with precisely the right feeling of panic‚ the ejection scenes – where potential punters (for a captured decoy) are thrown out – are positively wild. The chase gains momentum by the second and at the point (soon after) when the tramps decide to kill the Mandarin‚ Eötvös and his players conjure a series of deathly growls the like of which have surely never been heard this side of Hell! The closing scene has all the heart­tearing pathos that David Robertson’s well played but relatively effete Lyon recording (for Harmonia Mundi‚ 8/02) lacked. And the Junge Deutsche Philharmonie play their socks off: they swallow the Mandarin whole and take on every insinuating bar with genuine understanding. But then‚ they’re being conducted by a composer‚ and Peter Eötvös feels his Bartók from the inside. You sense that involvement in every bar. My only quibble is that‚ as with Robertson’s new Mandarin‚ this Budapest Music Center release has no tracking points. The Concerto for Orchestra (Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester this time) is scarcely less good‚ though the sound is entirely different‚ dry and closely balanced to compare with the Mandarin’s more airy acoustic. But the performance is a scorcher. I’ve rarely heard a more finely tensed account of the ‘Introduzione’‚ or a wittier ‘Giuoco delle coppie’‚ or wilder string declamations in the ‘Elegie’. The finale generates plenty of fire (Chailly’s more pristine performance seems cautious by comparison) and chosen tempi are spot­on. Again‚ the spirit burns away a handful of imperfections that never really mattered in the first place. The ‘fully pro’ second disc is valuable in the first instance for a compelling performance of Eötvös’s own zeroPoints‚ an LSO/Boulez commission from 2000 and a work that was prompted by Boulez’s decision to begin his own Domaines with ‘bar 0’ rather than ‘bar 1’. ‘Out of respect for the master I dared only aim at the interspace between 0 and 1‚’ writes Eötvös; ‘thus the titles of the movements run from 0.1‚ 0.2 without ever reaching number 1.’ The piece comes replete with sound memories (so frequent in Eötvös’s work)‚ including imitated tape noise at the beginning. But the overall effect is of a highly organised aural drama: bold‚ primary coloured‚ monolithic. The Beethoven Fifth calls‚ by Eötvös’s own admission‚ on ‘carefully designed electro­acoustical amplification’ to achieve the effect of a larger orchestra. Ensemble Modern deliver a bright‚ urgent reading with three da capos (in the first movement exposition‚ scherzo and finale) and a fiery Furtwängler­style coda that wouldn’t please the speed cameras. But while Sir Simon Rattle’s similarly lean Fifth with the VPO occasionally called on the stylistic trappings of period performance‚ Eötvös’s equally sensitive approach is almost entirely without ‘period’ affectation. The playing is mostly superb (the scherzo is better second time around) and the sum effect is exhilarating – transparent but nearer in spirit to Antál Dorati than to‚ say‚ John Eliot Gardiner. I enjoyed it hugely.