I wonder if Ivan Fischer has heard his brother Adam's account of the Concerto for Orchestra (Nimbus), or vice versa? Of one flesh they may be, but their musical responses stand worlds apart: on the one hand we've Ivan with his delicate touch and keen ear; on the other, Adam with his broadly drawn, too often heavy-handed theatricality. Ivan's discretion wins hands down on this occasion: the recording studio may to some extent have dampened the fires of spontaneity for him (by comparison, that is, with a live performance I heard him give in London a year or two ago), but for poetry, perception and sheer musicality this is rather special.
As the shadowy introduction begins slowly to unfold (a small point, but I have heard more made of the violas' eerie sul ponticello in the eighth bar) I would draw your attention to the colour and shaping of the important first flute solo in bar 30, and then to the breathless pianissimo in string basses and divided cellos immediately following. The allegro vivace brings alert, rhythmic bowing, if perhaps a shade too much decorum (Fischer ever conscious of the work's neo-classical leanings, is inclined to over-cultivate at times), but then again the gentle lyric diversions—dancing woodwinds over strummed harp and lazy strings—waft enticingly by, elegant and fragrant. Everything has purpose and shape with a sense of being freshly encountered. Two very fruity bassoons lead on the second movement 'couples'—and a sprightly, characterful group they make, the life and soul of Fischer's ensemble. His ''Elegia'' is ravishing, Bartok's 'vale of tears' etched in the subtlest water colours: searching bass line, rippling flutes, imploring oboe. It's the kind of texture in which a single note struck forte in the harp really startles. Fischer encourages long, heartfelt bows for the violins' anguished interjections, and again, it's only a small detail, but how effectively he heightens the intensity at fig. 52 (3'09'') by making capital of the first trumpet's heated crescendo. By contrast, his ''Intermezzo Interrotto'' is as sharply parodied and rudely interrupted as I've heard it. The silly violin variant of that infamous Shostakovich tune is irritatingly high-spirited and duly silenced by uncouth trombone and booming tam-tam. And what a touching moment of reflection he makes of the solo flute at the close. Some readers will want more in the way of Magyar fire and frolic from the finale, but what a change this is from some of the showy, streamlined power-trips one could mention. Certainly Fischer could on occasion let out the reins a little more, but this is eventful, sharply characterized music-making, brilliantly, idiomatically articulated by his Hungarian players—virtuosity with a face. The big string fugue actually means something, the rollicking trumpet tune hits exactly the right celebratory note and the gathering of diffuse fragments on route to the coda is wonderfully suspenseful.
A Concerto for Orchestra to hear, then—not quite the whole story (try Reiner and Fricsay for that—RCA and DG respectively), but unfailingly musical and consistently beautiful. And more of the same is forthcoming from the Dance suite, poised ideally here between boisterous footwork and misty nostalgia. Bartok's exquisite colourations are gratefully attended: the bagpipe-like plaint of oboe and cor anglais in the central molto tranquillo is a case in point, with piano, celeste and violin harmonics creating an air of almost fairy-tale unreality in the closing moments. Robust, focused, unobtrusive sound.'