For a time Klaus Tennstedt (1926-98) seemed destined to become EMI’s next ‘Grand Old Man’, a less worldly, less cerebral East German substitute for Otto Klemperer and his ilk in the central repertoire. Sadly ill health and bad luck put paid to the strategy. Even so, a Mahler cycle was completed in the studio and today’s release schedules attest to the conductor’s continuing fascination with a clutch of live relays, some previously released in alternative formats, others wholly new.

The Mahler Fifth Tennstedt directed in December 1988 at London’s Royal Festival Hall was an emotional occasion, coming the year after he had felt obliged to step down from his post as the London Philharmonic’s principal conductor. EMI issued it on disc (12/89) and the BBC filmed it. Visually and sonically it has worn well and aficionados should not hesitate. Even they may not be convinced by the opening pages, which exhibit a not uncharacteristic tentativeness, but then Tennstedt concerts often began this way, acquiring grander, looming intensity as the ailing conductor drew strength from the music he loved. This is not the spick and span, vibrato-lite Mahler somewhat in vogue today. Awkward corners must have been apparent at the time (though not always to the diehard fans for whom expressive authenticity was everything) and students of the mechanics of conducting may not find much to wow them now. There’s none of the fluidity (and public show) of a Bernstein or a Kleiber, yet something special is going on, especially when the stick is discarded for much of the long-breathed, old-world, unashamedly subjective Adagietto. Elsewhere orchestral sonority is not always grateful, brass deliberately cussed, almost sour, woodwind blended without creaminess, strings digging in deep. Little joy to be found in a generally deliberate, troubled reading of what is normally a darkness-to-light piece. The DVD comes with a detailed booklet but no ‘extras’. The back cover assures us that this acclaimed performance was the last time Tennstedt returned to work with these players. Not so, although it must have been the last time he returned with them to this particular score.

The audio-only Third, captured a couple of years earlier in marginally happier times, projects a sense of struggle which here seems more aptly attuned to Mahler’s intentions. In the Nietzsche setting of the fourth movement the soloist is a young Waltraud Meier yet to essay dramatic soprano roles. Already she contributes more than the statutory stoical poise. While the accompanying bird cries are implausibly discreet, no one could accuse Tennstedt of a merely superficial overview. Exuding integrity, his finale is again straightforward, by no means unduly slow. Fortunately the sound is good. The brief bonus item features the conductor in conversation with a much-missed Gramophone contributor.

‘Big sounds, big rubatos, big everything.’ That’s how Edward Seckerson summed up Tennstedt in the Sixth (LPO, 8/09). As with Barbirolli, only more so, there are lumps and bumps aplenty, individual lines freighted with a weight of nuance threatening to upset the conceptual apple-cart. Before receiving his honorary Oxford doctorate in 1994 Tennstedt conducted a one-off rehearsal, bidding his students to ‘Remember the fingerboards. Vibrato. Romantic vibrato’. How should we rate him in 2011? Over to you.