Hearing these two discs so close together was a thought-provoking experience—as well as a reminder how futile it is to talk of 'definitive' performances. In many ways the approaches are so different. The Melos style is urgent, intense, full of violent contrast and serrated string tone—the apparent awkwardnesses of Janacek's writing not camouflaged but zestfully exposed as strengths. ''How it hurts, like carving a piece of living flesh,'' said Janacek of the second violin's sustained E harmonic towards the end of Intimate Letters—it does here, as does the first violin's astonishing cry of joy/pain at the climax of the previous movement, or the jagged feroce figures at the culmination of the Kreutzer Sonata. The sound may need a little taming, but at least the Harmonia Mundi recording isn't intimidatingly close, as—alas—the ASV/Lindsay is.
After this the Gabrieli sound much more inward, the colours not angry and expressionistic but mellower—an impression heightened by the warm-toned recording. The build-up to the final catastrophe of the Kreutzer Sonata may not be of the kind that pins the listener to his seat; there is growing intensity though, and there's a tenderness in the finale's opening violin solos which comes close (though not as close as the Lindsay Quartet's Peter Cropper) to Janacek's description—''as though in tears''. Perhaps their most triumphant moment comes at 4'27'' (fig. 15) in the finale of Intimate Letters: while the Melos agonize, the Gabrieli encapsulate the ache of longing better than any version I know—apart from the magnificent old Janacek Quartet recording (Supraphon, 1/65—nla).
As Janacek couplings both discs have their minus points too. Just occasionally a surprising heaviness comes over the Melos—the tricky second violin/viola syncopations towards the climax of Kreutzer's third movement clog rather quickly, and I'm not sure about the ponderous pace at the start of Intimate Letters (though this soon picks up to something like Janacek's crotchet=84). The Gabrieli are rarely heavy, and the phrasing can be beautiful—truly 'intimate'—but they aren't exactly surgent either: the earth doesn't quite move at the climax of the Second Quartet's third movement.
Of course there's also the Gabrieli's coupling. Smetana's From my life, in a performance which often seems a degree or two cooler than their Janacek (the cello's heavy pizzicatos at 4'06'' in the slow movement are an added minor let-down), but which does have its characterful moments—especially the stylish Polka. This may be an economic incentive for some (especially with the disc mid-price).
So it seems that the strength of both discs is ultimately as Janacek couplings, and, minor reservations apart, both discs have plenty to offer: the performances are consistently felt through, and each presents an experience which is patently derived from within the notes rather than imposed upon them. Both compare well with the available competition. Perhaps either the Medici (Nimbus) or Talich (Calliope) versions may be felt to offer a golden mean, especially so the Talich—more ardent than the Gabrieli and more prone to melting than the Melos. But both the Harmonia Mundi and Decca discs in their different ways enhance our understanding of Janacek, even if together they tend to underline the frustrating truth that the ideal recorded performance of a great work—perfect for every mood and taste—doesn't exist.'