Shostakovich's Fifth may be one of the most popular twentieth-century symphonies, but there is no sign that this is leading us towards any remotely standardized view of the work. Indeed, the more it is played the more new ideas about tempo, character and dramatic structure seem to emerge. What an elusive masterpiece it is!
Semyon Bychkov's reading, let me say at the outset, has the stamp of greatness. Ultimately it may not be so consistently well-judged as Haitink's on Decca; but in many ways it is just as enriching, and in places a good deal more idiomatic too. The hushed inwardness of the violins in the first main theme of the first movement is a case in point—it immediately sets a different emotional perspective from that of the more conventionally mellifluous Concertgebouw. The tempo here, and throughout the movement, is a little faster than usual, and the structure is conveyed in one massive sweep with no loss of spaciousness or eloquence.
For many listeners I think it will be some considerable way into the symphony before the orchestra's identity becomes obvious. Not because of any technical shortcomings (though the first horn theme before fig. 9 does contain a C natural which must surely be a slip); and not because the Philips recording, apparently their first in the Philharmonie, distorts their sound in any way—it is neither so spectacular as Decca's for Haitink nor so boxy as some of DG's efforts for Karajan (including his later—1982—Shostakovich Tenth)—just a good, solid orchestral sound, with comparatively little ambience. But I have the impression that Bychkov has persuaded the Berliners to give him a special tone-quality, leaner and more sinewy than usual. This hint of the Slavonic accent (the principal oboe and clarinet adjust their cultured sound rather less markedly than do the flute and horn) combined with the accustomed Berlin virtuosity, is a potent mixture.
The sweep of the first movement is only once seriously disturbed—by excessive ponderousness before the recapitulation of the second subject. This I more or less adjusted to on second hearing; but Bychkov's second movement is still giving me problems. This is a fraction too slow for a Mahlerian wuchtig and it gets a lot slower still in the Trio. Maybe it is an attempt to make the whole movement more than usually thoughtful; but I remain unconvinced. With the third movement we are back on course and the emotional wasteland at its heart, the refusal to despair in the face of the void, are intensely moving (if you think Haitink has atmosphere, try this!). The finale has a wonderfully rasping opening, pointing up the connection with the first movement of the Fourth Symphony. But then Bychkov, like most conductors, has problems with the transition away from the frenetic central climax. He chooses to slam on the brakes early, at fig. 111, an even less convincing tactic than the molto rit. we so often hear four bars later; the best solution I think I have heard is Ancerl's (Supraphon 50423, 1/65), which is to delay the slowing-up a further three bars. And although the return of the first theme at fig. 121 is at the prescribed tempo, it sounds very strange indeed played legato. An uneven performance then, but an inspired one, and there are many more inspired touches than those i have mentioned.
Leonard Slatkin's view of the first movement is altogether weightier—more halting in the early stages, less urgent in the development. This is impressive enough on its own terms, although it does seem a misjudgement to anticipate the acceleration at the beginning of the development and the added crescendos in the martial trumpet theme thereafter are all too predictable. The scherzo is finely judged in tempo but indulges in cute touches of phrasing which are surely at variance with genuine Shostakovichian irony. The Adagio is even more difficult to take, with a tempo so slow as to render it structurally invertebrate. The Saint Louis orchestra generally give a good account of themselves, but they sound about as happy as I am with their conductor's doubling of note-values at the peroration of the slow movement; after this all the pathos of the conclusion is no more than crocodile tears. Slatkin dares to take the opening of the finale as slowly as marked, but does successfully integrate it with the rest of the movement. The decent RCA recording is marred by a curious sizzle on the violins, as though every note above the stave were an open string.
I share the general enthusiasm for Haitink's reading, but not quite for the reasons expressed by MEO in his original review. Its greatest strength, as it seems to me, is its sense of structural integration—it is also spectacularly recorded, even better played than the new Berlin performance, and generally free from idiosyncracy (though the G sharp in the violas one bar before fig. 78 is a curiosity). But Bychkov, however inconsistent, probes a lot deeper into the suffering and the loneliness of the music. Whatever the verdict on this issue, we are surely witnessing a major new presence in the recording world.'