Osmo Vänskä’s Beethoven chimes harmoniously with the Beethoven performances of other talented “maestros of the North”, men like Paavo Järvi and Thomas Dausgaard. All three conductors favour a fashionable formula where textural clarity, composer-sanctioned tempi, crisp articulation and a sense of drama figure prominently. Vänskä’s Minnesota band is consistently alert to detail. The First Symphony’s opening is both pointed and amiable, with Haydn’s spirit kept securely within the frame. The Allegro con brio bristles with life: winds and strings play into each others’ hands, one desk taking the top line while the other provides background commentary, then reversing the process (beam up the second subject, from 2'00"). A familiar enough pattern, granted, but Vänskä makes it all sound so fresh. In terms of tension, the development section moves up a ratchet or two (4'59"), accentuating the argument rather than raising the volume. The Andante is dapper and limpid, the third movement a canny combination of Menuetto (Beethoven’s designation) and Scherzo, not too fast so that the transition from the outer section to Trio is seamless. In the finale I’ve heard wittier transitions from Adagio to Allegro but Vänskä’s players make a very tidy job of it.

The Pastoral’s first movement suggests a brisk land survey rather than a casual amble through the meadows. I love the way Vänskä dips to piano at the end of the (repeated) exposition, driving but never bullying Beethoven’s proto-minimalist development section (from 5'05"). The “Scene by the Brook” is muted (literally), and note the orchestra’s hushed delivery at the centre of the movement (6'50"). The peasants make hay without hurrying until the arrival of the third dance idea (1'41") where Vänskä pushes the tempo hard. A taut and powerful storm ushers in an untroubled but unyielding finale; the playing here is forthright and dignified but there’s little sense of joy. My principal comparison here was a 2005 recording by the Saarbrücken Radio Symphony Orchestra under Stanislaw Skrowaczewski (part of their much underrated complete cycle on Oehms), a broader reading overall, though equally clear-headed and in the finale more poetic and serene. Still, I do so enjoy Vänskä: I like the sound of his orchestra; I respect its disciplined but never brittle approach, the way every bar of each score is tapped securely into place.

Vänskä courts clean contours, or so it seems, but rarely risks danger or exaltation – and that I suppose is what I miss most. Turn to Iván Fischer and the Budapest Festival Orchestra in the Seventh Symphony and the contrast is striking. In the opening Poco sostenuto, the tension created by monolithic chords set against rising string figurations is heightened by a sense of commitment in the playing. There’s the hesitant (and witty) alternation between winds and strings before the dotted Allegro takes flight, a sort of implied “shall I, shan’t I?” Fischer hears the humour, knows how to ease the tempo subtly and, in doing so, accentuate the dance element. There are a few idiosyncrasies, such as the ritardando along the oboe line at 10'57", a smile that might sour on repetition; but who could resist Fischer’s gaily chattering Scherzo (marvellous woodwinds) or his calm, chastely drawn approach to the latter half of the Allegretto? Fischer and his players romp through the finale like devils possessed, pausing only at the movement’s centre, when upper and lower strings wrestle for supremacy.

As with Vänskä and his Minneapolis orchestra, Fischer divides his violin desks, which in this of all symphonies makes a big difference, especially in the finale. The bonuses help focus the Seventh in the context of its time – a nice idea (Fischer’s own) though perhaps more appropriate for a concert than for a record. The tapered urgency of Wilms’s Rondo (the finale of his Fourth Symphony) completes a sequence that starts with Weber’s very pre-Freischütz Adagio (Clarinet Concerto in F minor), expressively phrased by Ákos Ács, then livens up for a cheeky, flexible and brightly-coloured account of Rossini’s L’italiana in Algeri Overture, complete with what sounds like a volley of Turkish-style percussion. It all adds up to a most enjoyable, well-recorded programme, though whether budget-conscious collectors will opt for a one-off Seventh (which is what I presume this is) rather than build towards a cycle, as they might with Vänskä, will be a matter of personal choice. They’ll certainly be missing something if they decide not to.