There have been several outstanding recordings of this symphony in recent years, including live performances by Leonard Bernstein and Claudio Abbado (both DG), and it is a sign of the times that two of these new issues were also taped in concert. The exception is a welcome disc from Sir Charles Mackerras, who follows his fresh and unaffected No. 5 (EMI Eminence, 3/91) with a similar reading of No. 1.
Less self-consciously titanic than his big-name rivals, Mackerras delivers a lithe and naturally paced account that many will find especially rewarding, recorded as it is with great warmth and presence. Inevitably the Liverpool strings have a rougher edge than the Berlin Philharmonic at the outset, but the rarified atmosphere is just right. The music breathes with complete naturalness and nothing is vulgar or overstated. The Landler lacks the Viennese lilt of other versions—a soupcon of Bernstein's panache would have made all the difference—but, make no mistake, this is real Mahler playing. Again, the slow movement may strike you as a mite undercharacterized, but it was probably wise of the conductor not to force more out of the RLPO. Characteristically, the cymbals are used as an element of gentle ridicule rather than gaudy sarcasm; I liked that. The finale is superbly judged. There are some tiny flaws: everyone sounds strained at the start where, after an initial rush of bright, brassy sound, the brass and horns seem to lose their edge and the timpanist has momentary tuning problems; the lyrical music inevitably lacks Bernstein's fervour; the brass line virtually disappears from 10'00''. But it is only the very end which fails to bring the appropriate rush of adrenalin. Perhaps if Mackerras had chosen to boost the final note, as do less scrupulous contenders, the effect would have been more convincing.
Rattle insists on a more radical rethink—for those who care about such matters, he adds what sounds like a timpani stroke to the symphony's final quaver (Abbado and Bernstein opt for bass drum). While his interpretation is obviously the result of many performances and much thought, the lack of spontaneity is more apparent here than in his recent live account of No. 7 (EMI, 9/92). There is of course some beautifully delineated detail to admire: from the chirpy wind figurations in the first movement to the running violin passages in the finale. And, whether paring down textures to their perceived essence, or encouraging an ungainly expressionistic blare from the brass, Rattle makes you hear the piece afresh as something raw and modern. I have to say that I thought him ill-served by the Symphony Hall recording, unexpectedly dry and constricted despite its wide dynamic range. Audience noise is successfully minimized, but the close miking tends to exaggerate Rattle's familiar preoccupation with incidental details of balance and sonority at the expense of overall flow.
If his players are on less than top form, it may be that they have more trouble hearing each other in this hall than is apparent from the critics' seats. Or were they perhaps unconvinced by some of Rattle's innovations? I was perplexed by the first movement, so reluctant is the conductor to embrace the joys of spring. Pacing seems deliberately contrived to dissipate any build-up of tension, with climaxes happened upon rather than prepared for, and some agogic changes within the phrase. The Landler could do with some more characterful articulation and while the trio is effective enough it should have been more playful. The finale again shows Rattle the arch-manipulator holding back, reluctant to let rip. The upper strings are spotlit even when playing relatively unimportant accompanimental figures, the oddest balances coming around 9'00''ff.
New York's Avery Fisher Hall has rarely been accused of acoustic perfection, so the Teldec engineers deserve credit for the decent sound they obtain for Kurt Masur's recording, boxy horns and audience participation notwithstanding. After Rattle, Masur can sound rather too comfortable. There are no great innovations, but then there are no great oddities of balance or tuning either—though it wasn't a good idea to focus on the inattentive triangle in the first movement (5'28''). The New Yorkers take time to settle into their Landler and their final burst of enthusiasm (6'59'' ff) seems to follow on not at all, although this may be the result of splicing different live takes. If so, it's done with great care. The slow movement is reasonably characterful, but there is some oddly sleek, matter-of-fact playing in the finale, plus a superficial eloquence which recalls Mehta rather than Bernstein, whose own pointing of this music was never smooth or half-hearted. The final flourishes from 18'41'' shows this great orchestra on auto-pilot. The applause is edited out.
A brief word on couplings. Rattle has the delightful Blumine movement (like the symphony it seems oddly prosaic at the start), while Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen does not clinch the matter in Masur's favour; he accompanies rather heavily and Hagegard is an almost intimidating presence as miked. Mackerras, like Bernstein, comes without filler at mid-price—a fine alternative if you prefer his straightforwardly romantic approach.'