The rare conjunction of Haydn and the Vienna Philharmonic immediately whets the appetite while Andre Previn has often proved a sympathetic exponent of the composer. That said, I can't say I found either of these performances specially distinctive. They are at their best in the grand massively expectant slow introductions (wonderfully tender, luminous violins in that of No. 102) and in the powerful, exultant finale of the London, where Previn manages beautifully the veiled return to the recapitulation (4'09'') and generates a Dionysian splendour in the coda. Elsewhere though, the performances tend to be a shade complacent, short on drama and incisiveness. The trenchant, combative opening Vivace of No. 102 is over-civilized, the tempo comfortable, the ubiquitous sforzando accents tamed, the music's craggy contours polished and rounded. Timpani, crucial in this work, make an ample impact, but too much characterful wind and brass detail is absorbed into the mellow overall sound picture. The Minuet, at a very deliberate tempo, is distinctly orotund, and even the Adagio is too smooth and uneventful—it is somehow emblematic of the performance as a whole that the trumpet's baleful low C near the close (5'39'') is here quite inaudible.
In the more spacious, lyrical London Symphony I often savoured the unique warmth and plangency of the Viennese strings. But in the first movement there is again too little tension in the phrasing, too little sense of inexorable growth in the momentous development, and Previn ups the tempo disconcertingly at the first tutti (2'50''). The Andante shorn of an important repeat, is affectionately phrased, even if the minore section does not disturb as it should, and the Minuet, again, is far too stately—though it is hard not to succumb to the very Viennese touches of portamento in the trio.
Of the comparative versions listed above, all available as part of mid-price boxed sets, Beecham infuses often similarly slow tempos with altogether more energy and allure; his London, in particular, is a glorious performance. Solti's characteristically taut, bristling manner is well suited to the opening movement of No. 102, and his London has breadth and power, though his phrasing can be unsmiling and peremptory. Sir Colin Davis, directing a slimmed-down Concertgebouw, gives vital, dramatic, richly considered performances of both works, with unerringly judged tempos (just compare him with Previn in the two minuets) and an uncommonly sharp feeling for the wit, pungency and sheer inventiveness of Haydn's wind writing.'