''Help! Where can one hide from such music?'' Thus wrote Liadov about Scriabin's Second Symphony, and he was entrusted with its premiere! Small wonder then that it was not a success, and, until recently, the symphony has fared little better on record with conductors either invoking help in the form of lashings of spurious percussion (Golovanov and Svetlanov) or incapable of the imaginative but precisely controlled use of rubato that the melodies need to breathe (Semkov and Fedoseyev). Even the recently reissued Inbal (in his complete survey of Scriabin's symphonies on mid-price Philips) sounds earthbound in present company.
Then along came Jarvi (Chandos) to let a little air into Scriabin's greenhouse. Never more inspirational on record than here, lithe and energetic in allegros with the score's more languid and seemingly inert moments possessed of mobility, direction and weightlessness—in short, it's a reading with a purpose, even if his keenness to press on occasionally seems wilful. Old habits die hard though, and some may feel his inclusion of cymbal clashes in the finale's coda is a kind of blasphemy (where else in Scriabin's output do you hear them?). Some may also feel that the Chandos penchant for ample ambience was applied, on this occasion, with excessive enthusiasm.
It comes as no surprise to learn that Muti adds over eight minutes overall to Jarvi's timings. I confess I had expected to encounter some of the inertia of previous versions. Not so. At slower basic tempos for the andante first and third movements, Muti does not quite manage to suggest as well as Jarvi, that the slumbering clarinet motto of the first is, at the end of the movement, in a position to release its latent power, nor is he able to express as positively the liberated joy of the piu vivo sections in the third. But Muti's elasticity of pulse is as surely controlled as his grasp of the structure is unerring, and the symphony is experienced as a journey, not as a ramshackle sequence of events held together by an academic attempt at thematic integration. And as the Philadelphians are at their expressive best, what a wonderful journey it is.
The strings are the foundation of the strengths and sensuousness of Muti's account. With the brass encouraged to produce a rich, rounded tone (not the usual Russian blare) over a radiant seam of string tone in the climaxes of the second and final movements, these become moments of statuesque splendour, and, for the first time on record, the end of the finale genuinely does convey Scriabin's objective of light in music. How marvellously, too, the strings course and seethe in the stormy fourth movement, and sing the ecstasies of the third (though the leader's high calorie, amoroso solos will not suit all tastes)—I could go on, but must single out the clarinet for praise. An indifferent clarinettist could single-handedly wreck a performance of this work, but all the solos here are exquisite, especially in the third movement where the motto is transformed into something that calls to mind Gene Kelly singing You were meant for me (perhaps appropriately as the central section bears the unmistakable stamp of Tristan harmony).
Jarvi's coupling is Scriabin's short, atmospheric Reverie, whereas Muti's is Tchaikovsky's Hamlet, a much more generous offering, and no less successful than the symphony. It's a reading that, unlike other modern accounts, rivals Stokowski's famous 1958 recording (dell'Arte) in dramatic intensity, and manages to stay closer to Tchaikovsky's indications of tempo, though, like Stokowski, Muti does relax the tempo for the reprise of Ophelia's theme. A dangerous choice, as surely Tchaikovsky felt that loss of momentum at this point would result in loss of tension. Interestingly, Tchaikovsky's indication of crotchet=116 for the love music is never observed, maybe because conductors fear that, at this speed, the result would bear out Balakirev's witty observation of the love scene as the passage where Hamlet presents Ophelia with an ice-cream. Muti is faster than most here, with passion and power in plenty, and, though there seems to be a conspiracy among modern interpreters to cheat us of proper impact for the fffff crash near the end, Muti generates far more excitement in the headlong rush to this catastrophe than either Dutoit (Decca) or DePreist (Delos/Pinnacle).
One or two small oddities of balance apart—in the second movement of the Scriabin, the fortissimo trumpets at 8'50'' are completely missing, and the bassoons are weak in the main allegro of Hamlet—this is one of the best sounds EMI have achieved in Philadelphia. Smooth, sumptuous and wide-ranging, with better defined string detail in the symphony than Chandos provided for Jarvi, and without the overbrightness of the recent Sawallisch symphonies Dvorak symphonies from this source. A word of caution: the initial batch is afflicted by what I presume is a mastering problem. The effect is similar to damaged tape and has been described by some colleagues as ''bubbling''. To be fair it is only noticeable on analytical equipment in small rooms, but is very obvious on headphones. If you can sample before purchase try the love music from Hamlet at 8'35''. EMI have assured us that the problem will be rectified.'