Barbirolli was scarcely taking coals to Newcastle when he conducted three performances of the Resurrection Symphony in Berlin in June 1965. Mahler was rarely heard in Berlin and would remain so until Karajan took up the cause late in his career. This, it should be remembered, was effectively new music so you should expect as many spills as thrills from the sonically limited Sender Freies Berlin (SFB) tape, however expertly transferred and opened up by Paul Baily. Strings often dominate balances and some passages seem unnaturally loud.

Barbirolli begins the symphony with tremendous rhetorical urgency, yet for all his well- attested rapport with these players there are plenty of dodgy entries and imprecisions of pitch and rhythm thereafter to alarm the unwary. The most peculiar mishap occurs just before the plunging Tempo 1 spasm that ends the movement: the crucial major-to-minor hairpin at 21’06" simply isn’t there, with only oboes and timpani actually playing anything!

Barbirolli was not always a slow conductor, although it is his moulding of string lines in lyrical sections that one tends to remember. In this instance, he really seizes on Mahler’s portamento, molto espressivo and glissando markings to make the ‘Immer noch mehr zurückhaltend’ passage (still more holding back) from 16'24" the emotional crux of the opening movement.

The Second provides a more obvious showcase for the conductor’s affectionate moulding of string textures. In ‘Urlicht’, Dame Janet Baker is firm and reliable; the rather stentorian manner is probably a product of close microphone placement. That said, she is still more intimate for Leonard Bernstein and the LSO (Sony, 5/93 – nla). Beginning in a relatively straightforward style, Barbirolli is soon smouldering with operatic passion before letting everything die away as Mahler instructs. The finale is both inspirational and accident-prone. While the distinguished soprano disappoints and the choir is hampered by some daringly slow tempi, Barbirolli builds the final climax with uncommonly emotive power. He exaggerates the Luftpause at 31'08" before ‘Sterben werd’ ich, um zu leben!’, presumably in the interests of securing unanimity. Not for the first time on disc, the bells at the close are almost comically inadequate.

Barbirolli returned in January 1966 for two concerts of the Sixth Symphony. While this one offers additional proof of his deeply felt interpretation, it is seriously marred by below-par playing. Barbirolli’s sure grasp of the structure is not in doubt: he is particularly strong in the long opening movement, taking a measured tempo, albeit one less funereal than in his studio version and from which he is more inclined to depart as the argument proceeds. The Andante, placed second, has just the right mix of tenderness and uncertainty, and the Scherzo is full of ghoulish bravado alongside a skeletal and unsettling trio.

Above all, there are some terrific moments in the finale, whose musical world seems permanently on the verge of disintegration – the final outburst is properly devastating. And yet the average Mahlerian will have difficulties. Barbirolli cannot persuade the snare drum and the strings to play in time, wind intonation is frequently painful, and the principal trumpet has a spectacularly bad night. The existence of the superior stereo recording with the New Philharmonia makes it difficult to recommend this one to all but die-hard fans.

The Third, given in 1969, is not always technically secure either. The worn-sounding master tape preserves decent stereo yet distorts badly at climaxes. This is a more measured account than Barbirolli’s BBC recording with the Hallé, made eight weeks later, though he has coached the Berliners to deliver a performance with at least as much pungency. There is never anything superficial about a Barbirolli reading. His admirers will appreciate his care in shaping the less monumental aspects of the score quite as much as his tendency to plunge excitedly into transitions. Thus the first movement is properly raw and volcanic, if not as inexorable as it can be; indeed, the very opening is so determinedly gestural that it confuses the players. The second, after an uncertain start, has real bite and character, its sweetness tempered by spiky rhythms and clear textures. The third movement’s posthorn entries are beautifully prepared for yet, in the event, disappointing – the instrument is too close, the playing too literal, and I can’t recall Barbirolli’s subterranean growling ever sounding quite this off-putting.

On the other hand, Lucretia West’s dark-toned voice is splendidly atmospheric in the Nietzsche setting and her magisterial delivery rescues the fifth movement from its choral infelicities and Sir John’s stop-go tactics. Ultimately, Barbirolli is not afraid to strive for the spirituality in Mahler’s work, and Michael Kennedy finds the last movement ‘perhaps the most moving of his Mahlerian voyages’, controlled and dignified, beautifully phrased, until it finally erupts in an authentic expression of joy. I found it intensely moving for all that the emotive manipulations don’t always come off.

The inclusion of a mono ‘encore’, orchestrated nuggets from the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book that Barbirolli also set down in the studio (Dutton, 7/97), tends to confirm the ‘period’ quality. It’s a pity that he did not take more Mahler there. His 1964 recording of the Ninth (EMI, 12/02) might have been followed by a Second and Seventh. Sadly these were rejected by EMI because of Otto Klemperer’s overlapping interests.

No one could fairly accuse Sir John’s live music-making of lacking warmth, uplift, character or guts, but nor could the results be described as cleanly played, even by the standards of the day. The Stuttgart concert of No 2 has better sound than any of these Berlin reclamations, but it is uncharacteristically light in sonority and shows the mortally ill conductor in a poorer light. Only you will know whether you are prepared to make the effort to enjoy these unique but imperfect documents of an unforgettable, old-school maestro.