Listeners who, like me, start with the Fourth Symphony are in for a pleasant surprise: that long held pianissimo B flat in the opening bars is attacked and sustained so clearly that it sounds almost like an organ, while the strings' falling thirds are rich, dark and mysterious. This bodes well, and on the whole one's expectations are not disappointed: the playing of the Northern Sinfonia is of the highest quality throughout, and Richard Hickox directs with precision and a great deal of imagination.
If in one or two places the tension seems to sag a little (in the trio sections of the Fourth Symphony's Scherzo for instance), these are only momentary lapses; generally speaking the playing is superbly concentrated, and the woodwind in particular respond warmly to the many gorgeous solo and ensemble passages in both scores. If Hickox's direction seems a little short in the 'clenched fist' determination that characterizes Riccardo Muti's interpretations (see below), there is something all the more impressive about the way that his performances generate a kind of cumulative excitement: in the outer movements of both symphonies one notices that the repeat of the exposition is even more compelling than the first rendition, and development sections grow steadily in intensity and power, with the climax placed exactly at the point of recapitulation. One could carp at a few details: the horns' crescendo figure in the concluding bars of the Fourth Symphony Scherzo is less than ideally clear, and the recording, though clear and well balanced, has a noticeable background reverberation, disconcertingly suggesting an empty concert hall; but these are only minor reservations.
This is undoubtedly the finest of Hickox's Beethoven issues so far, and it compares very well with Michael Tilson Thomas's equally clear but relatively underpowered 'chamber version' of the Fourth Symphony on CBS. Here one feels that smaller forces have encouraged both Hickox and his players to discover the sounds, and their larger meaning, afresh.'