Despite their name, the Montreal Sinfonietta sound rather larger than the orchestras on the comparative versions listed above, though they're left standing by the Paris orchestra that commissioned these symphonies, with its 40 violins and ten doublebasses—so much for the notion that authentic invariably means small-scale in late eighteenth-century music. But the slightly ampler string sonorities on these new discs do not mean that Haydn's brilliant, inventive woodwind writing is short-changed: aided by a lucid, atmospheric Decca recording, the brass and wind (especially the bassoons) are actually better defined in the tuttis than in the rival modern-instrument readings by the St Paul Chamber Orchestra. In fact, my only complaint about the recorded sound is that the timpani are over-recessed in No. 82 and, especially, in No. 86—the dry, wooden-stick period timpani on the Kuijken recordings have an altogether sharper, more immediate impact here.
Aided by the trim, alert playing of his Montreal orchestra, Dutoit's first recorded foray into Haydn is often strikingly successful. As with Hugh Wolff (Teldec), his manner in the fast flanking movements tends to be brisk and muscular, with direct, ungilded phrasing and strong, propulsive rhythms. I particularly enjoyed the taut, fiery outer movements of No. 82, with trumpets and C alto horns pealing thrillingly through the texture (Kuijken on Virgin is notably broader and weightier in the opening Vivace assai, and more pawkily humorous in the finale), and Dutoit's lithe, athletic way with the first and last movements of No. 84 (woodwind detail characteristically prompt and deftly observed). At times I thought Dutoit slightly hard-driven: in No. 86, for instance, whose initial Allegro spiritoso is undeniably exciting but emerges a touch frantic here, with none of the grandeur suggested in Wolff's performance—and the articulation of the dotted figure in the main theme (1'34'') is insufficiently precise. Dutoit and Wolff both go for broke in the finale (Kuijken is again more spacious—and more genial—here); but though Wolff's strings don't always define the dactyllic rhythms clearly, they are that much sharper than the rather larger Montreal string section. In the opening Vivace of No. 85, Marie Antoinette's favourite (hence the nickname), Dutoit gives by some way the swiftest performance, all nerve and sinew: the high adrenalin count does much to compensate for a loss in grace and ancien regime elegance, though the strings' semiquavers are sometimes a bit scrambled and there's a disconcerting spurt in tempo at bar 172 of the development (5'24'').
In most of Haydn's slow (often not so slow) movements Dutoit is a shrewd judge of tempo and mood. He gives crisp readings of the Allegrettos in Nos. 82 and 85, the former sprightly and dapper, the latter refreshingly cool and direct—Kuijken draws this movement out rather more than it will bear. I like, too, the spacious tempos for the Andante of No. 83 and the Adagio of No. 87, which are both tenderly, graciously shaped, with much delicate woodwind detail—though I'd have preferred a smoother line from the first oboe in his solos in No. 87. Against this, the astonishing, highly charged Capriccio in No. 86 is too swift and matter-of-fact for my taste, insufficiently responsive to the implications of Haydn's chromatic harmonies (Wolff, like Bernstein in his newly reissued Sony recording, 5/93, goes to the opposite extreme here). Conversely, the exquisite theme and variations in No. 84 is in principle unrealistically slow, with six long beats to the bar—Dutoit takes 8'59'' over this movement, Kuijken 7'50'' and Wolff 6'58'', underlining the music's dance associations; but Dutoit's reading has such poise, such grave intensity of line that my initial misgivings were quickly dispelled. As to the minuets, Dutoit tends to be the most traditional of the three conductors, with sturdy, measured tempos, the breezy minuet of No. 85 apart; and if that in No. 83 sounds a shade dogged (Kuijken's light, airy reading is specially persuasive), those of Nos. 82 and 86 have a real strength and symphonic grandeur.
Dutoit is generally more sparing of repeats than either of the rivals, though unlike Wolff he does make the exposition repeat in the Andante of No. 83; and he alone does not use a harpsichord continuo, which seems to me of no consequence in these often richly scored works. If you're looking for a complete set of the ''Paris'' Symphonies, I'd still recommend Kuijken's period-instrument readings, which quite apart from their revelations of sonority tend to allow the quicker movements that much more time to breathe, with a gain in elegant and witty detail. If you prefer a more brilliant, highly strung view of the music, on modern instruments, both Wolff and Dutoit have their strong claims. But my own preference would be for these new discs, partly because they're free of the interpretative gimmicks that occasionally mar Wolff's performances, and partly for economic reasons: Dutoit, like Kuijken, fits the six works on to two CDs, whereas Wolff's Teldec set is needlessly teased out over three discs.'