Having previously discussed the arguments for and against the rehabilitation of Mahler's moonlit serenade, I shall confine myself to the observation that what we have here is again Blumine as a pendant to the conventional version of the main work as published in 1899. No one has emerged as a champion of the complete 1893 score since Wyn Morris revived it more than 20 years ago (EMI, 12/70—nla). With James Judd, as with Rattle and Segerstam, you have the option of assembling your own portmanteau edition—not quite the same thing.
Judd's Florida Philharmonic may not be the world's most recorded orchestra but its Music Director is an experienced Mahlerian and there is little to object to in his interpretations. Indeed, anyone who finds Rattle unacceptably aggressive and Segerstam merely sleepy, may well prefer the relative lack of personality here. Technical precision is remarkable for a comparatively inexperienced body of players and the more smartly upholstered sonorities of Amsterdam or Vienna are by no means de rigueur in this music.
Judd is at his best in the first movement, chiefly in those passages that call for, but rarely get, a light, open-air spirit and deft articulation. For this listener at least, the inner movements are a trifle bland: Judd's agogic hesitations in the Landler sound rehearsed rather than felt (an occasional fault elsewhere) and the grotesqueries of the slow movement are underplayed. Unsurprisingly, the finale lacks menace, although its lyrical elements are handled with some sensitivity. (It is here that one's perceptions are most affected by a programmed reinstatement of the Blumine movement.) Judd races to the finishing line in enthusiastic style and has the grace not to reinforce the effect with an extra timpani stroke. This is a fresh, efficient reading, naturally paced and nicely recorded, albeit not a prime recommendation.'