Karajan's DG account of the Tenth is special. The transported intensity of which he is capable, the very particular palette that the Berlin Philharmonic have refined for his personal use and the bitter eloquence with which the Symphony evokes its epic struggle are the constituents of a uniquely powerful chemical reaction. While listening to it one can scarcely imagine it being equalled, let alone surpassed; it can temporarily blind you to the fact that other approaches to the work are possible. Haitink's account on Decca is one such. It is scarcely less brilliantly played (more so, arguably, in the scherzo, where the richness of the Berlin sound softens the attack of bow on string) but Haitink approaches the centre of the work's eloquence from the stoic and sombre points of the compass. The sound is less sumptuous than Karajan's, less apt to sonorous rhetoric, but it is impressively dark and solemn. You could say that Karajan's reading experiences and expresses the tragedy with powerful immediacy; Haitink recollects and reports it, not in tranquillity but in profound disquiet and in the equivocal finale it is Haitink who strikes me as unequalled.
The remarkable thing about Jarvi's performance is that it easily holds its own in this company. One expects the SNO sound to be leaner than that of the Berlin or London Philharmonics, and so it is, but 'lean' is no polite synonym for 'scrawny' or 'thin'. Where richness and power are required they are there in satisfying abundance (for a combination of virtuoso velocity and fearsome impact I am not sure that I prefer either Karajan's or Haitink's accounts of the scherzo to Jarvi's) but the centre of gravity of the orchestra is higher in this performance than in most others. Poignantly piercing lyricism, ferocity of attack and shrill wildness are all emphasized, and with Jarvi's tight control of tempo and long-term momentum this makes for a performance of great excitement. He is particularly good, though, at the other end of the dramatic spectrum as well, the moments of stillness, brooding quiet and expectancy; the clarinet entry in the first movement is phrased semplice, as marked (few conductors can resist a touch of anticipatory expressiveness at this point), the Mahlerian horn-call in the third movement is inspiritingly full-voiced and yet introduces a quite new and yearning mood into the music. It is characteristic, also, of Jarvi's reading that the bellowing out of Shostakovich's DSCH monogram at the height of the finale is not quite as overwhelming as in, say, Karajan's account; it is almost disappointing until one realizes that the full weight of minatory bitterness is being saved for the coda, and that the whole drama has been superbly paced with this destination in view.
A very satisfying performance, in short, which, if it does not oust Karajan or Haitink, certainly takes its place alongside them. It is far more involved and involving than Slatkin's virtuoso but rather studied, rather dapper account on RCA; more reliable than Rattle's intermittently inspired EMI version, which is let down by fussy phrasing and riskily slack tempos. Jarvi's also offers a fill-up: the Fourth Ballet Suite has a serious and quite gorgeously cantabile melody in its Introduction, a gawky fairground waltz in its second movement and a great deal of jovially raucous exuberance throughout; here as in the Symphony the huge dynamic range of the Chandos recording comes enjoyably but friendship-with-neighbours-endangeringly into its own.'