So soon after Sir Charles Mackerras's inspired EMI Eminence mid-price account of the Symphony No. 7, one could hardly expect any version to supplant it, yet Jansons, with what is arguably a more apt coupling, offers one that in its way is just as compelling. At the hushed start Jansons conveys more tension and urgency than either of the direct rivals I have listed, Pesek on Virgin Classics and Dohnanyi on Decca mid-price Ovation. That is so, even though the Oslo EMI recording is more immediate and less reverberant than either of the other two. Jansons tends to be freer over tempo changes than either Pesek or Dohnanyi, the plainest, most direct interpreter of the three. Though Pesek brings out a fresh, folk-like quality in the slow movement more than the others, and has a richer, better-defined horn solo at bar 32 (track 2, 2'51''), Jansons phrases even more affectionately, and in the scherzo he gives much more lilt to the haunting cross-rhythms, fully matching Mackerras, who is infectious in that movement. In the finale too, Jansons's performance has comparable bite and swagger to that of Mackerras, though he does not always match him in leading up to dramatic moments. Returning to the Mackerras has brought it home how much his sense of spontaneity comes from the way he thrusts home climaxes, on whatever scale, as in a live performance.
In No. 8 Jansons unashamedly takes the view that the opening section is an introduction, and not only does he wait to establish the main tempo, he points the moment of change very clearly, adopting a slow tempo and moulded style before it and a brisk, urgent manner after, leading from one to the other with an accelerando. Pesek and Dohnanyi by contrast let the passage follow through seamlessly. When the score does not indicate a change, purists may well resist, but Jansons's view has tradition on its side, and to my ear sounds the more effective. Jansons in the slow movement takes a relatively broad, affectionate view, with the downward scales for the violins at fig. C (track 6, 3'10'') delectably pointed, always a key passage. Again Dohnanyi is the most literal of the three, taking a relatively plain view though a powerful one, when the Decca recording is so full and rich; Pesek—who takes the scherzo relatively fast—then falls short a little in the finale, where the tempo is on the slow side and ensemble is not so crisp. Jansons's warm, lilting account of the scherzo is rounded off with an exhilarating coda, and he then launches into a winningly spontaneous-sounding reading of the finale. It is striking how each contrasted variation develops as though inevitably, leading up to a final coda full of panache, with the trills on the horns made to snarl superbly.'