A distinguished choral conductor, Valery Polyansky's orchestral ventures have often struck me as more dutiful than inspired. As a Rozhdestvensky protege, his Shostakovich series has seemed to have all the deliberation of his mentor's Shostakovich conducting and none of the in-jokes. But in Rachmaninov he might just surprise you. Without trumping the classic, echt Russian coupling of these pieces from Kyrill Kondrashin and the Moscow Philharmonic, Polyansky is no slouch. He launches the Symphonic Dances at a sensible and effective tempo, too fast and springy for Rachmaninov's curious Non allegro marking but none the worse for that. The orchestra contributes some specifically Russian sonorities, though whether this should be reckoned a big plus in so quintessential a product of the emigre experience is open to debate. At the outset, the sound itself is a little boomy, giving prominence to menacing timps. There's little of the clarity and sophistication Mikhail Pletnev provides with his slower pacing, superior players (and DG's X-ray recording), but, unless you require a truly original gloss on the work, there's little to complain about either. Perhaps the nostalgic central section is rather clouded by reverberation, the image of individual instruments tending to bleed between mikes. Nor does Polyansky extract the full poignancy of the coda's magical major-key reminiscence of the then long-suppressed First Symphony, instead giving us no more than a wry smile.
There is some glare on the instrumental solos that usher in the nocturnal waltz movement. Thereafter, the conductor pursues a stop-start strategy with some over-emphatic gesturing. After a steady start, the Allegro vivace section of the finale has plenty of raw rhythmic thrust, and its central Lento assai gives us a properly valedictory glimpse of 19th-century romanticism. Polyansky rides more or less roughshod over the reprise of the Orthodox chant, Blagosloven esi, Gospodi (always a safer option than observing Rachmaninov's Poco meno mosso) and, whatever the score might be thought to imply, the final gong stroke is left to ring loud and long.
If Mariss Jansons retains pride of place among modern recordings of the Symphonic Dances, he, like Pletnev, has the now conventional coupling of the Third Symphony. Chandos gives us The Bells, surprisingly perhaps, given that it already has versions by Jarvi and Kitaienko in its catalogue. This one sets out at a cracking pace, freer with tempo than some will like. Sadly, the tenor is not ideally served by a swimmy recording balance that renders his contribution all but inaudible at the climax. No prizes for guessing the nationality of Olga Lutsiv-Ternovskaya in the second movement: Sheila Armstrong on the analogue Previn is a rather different proposition, smoother and less volatile, like the reading as a whole. In the black, alarm-bell Scherzo, one of Rachmaninov's most searing inspirations, Polyansky sets the tempo a notch too slow and the choir is none too well focused by the technicians. The finale brings a real Russian bass and an evocative leave-taking, though again the perspectives may not convince.
A mixed bag then to which your equipment may respond more favourably than mine.'