Slatkin breathes a big sigh of appreciation into one of my all-time favourite American, or should I say Spanish, tunes: the ''Tango of the Merchant's Daughters'' from The Incredible Flutist. If ever a tune and a suite have one yearning to hear the complete ballet, this is it. Yet rest assured that these 16 or so eventful minutes do constitute the best and brightest of the Flutist (roughly half)—and that Slatkin and his orchestra in no way sell them short. Everything here is properly sun-drenched from the heat-hazed opening at siesta-time to the flashing tambourines and castanets of the catchy up-beat dances. The St Louis 'flutist' proves to be a real spellbinder and the Merchant's chosen daughter duly succumbs in a gorgeously sultry account of the clarinet and oboe-led ''Siciliana''. Slatkin taxes the entire orchestra in the sustained accelerando of the final ''Polka'', but a good time was obviously had by all. This, of course, is the score where members of the orchestra (and anyone else to hand) get to voice their approval in cheering and whistling as the circus hits town; even Slatkin's dog gets in a solo—brief but auspicious.
Piston, the accomplished fine-artist, surfaces in the Three New England Sketches, though no specific locations are envisaged or intended. ''The audience shouldn't try to find special places in this music,'' he was quoted as saying, ''but I won't mind if they smell clams in the air.'' Well, I smell clams. But for one sudden squall, his opening seascape is all calm, open waters and reflected light (upper strings, harp, muted trumpets) with the rustling shingle of cymbal and side-drum. The scherzo, ''Summer Evening'' at once put me in mind of the fleet nocturnal will-o'-the-wisping of the Vaughan Williams Fifth Symphony Scherzo, while the ''Mountains'' are, for sure, American through and through. I particularly warmed to the central pastorale—an unexpected pleasure with strings, then flute and harp and some engaging canonic detail from the other woodwinds distilled into a few moments of repose before the hike recommences.
This kind of bare-faced contrast is the very essence of the Sixth Symphony's first movement. When reviewing Gerard Schwarz's recent Delos recording, I spoke of the arresting dynamic tensions between Piston's 'rocky road' music—toughly syncopated, impulsive—and his sudden departures to Elysian fields. Boston's French connection (Munch conducted the 1955 premiere) would seem to be acknowledged in these fleeting daydreams for harp and Debussian woodwinds. Boston's virtuosity is certainly celebrated in the scherzo—an impish, now-you-see-it-now-you-don't creation which Slatkin and his orchestra have honed to a fantastic level of precision. There's marvellously keen articulation from his strings, and to say that his percussion are quick-witted is almost to spoil the fun of the last few bars. Solo cello and oboe lead the quest of the slow movement—sad yet determined music through which Slatkin communicates a fierce intensity; the finale is essentially a lap of honour for the entire orchestra—well earned on this occasion.
I'm not going to express a clear preference between Slatkin and Schwarz in this symphony. Both are impressive, both exceedingly well recorded and besides, choice may well be governed by coupling. Schwarz gives us the outgoing Second Symphony; with Slatkin you get the pictorial Piston—and that gorgeous Tango.'