This could just be the most important Western recording of the Fourth since the long-deleted Ormandy and Previn versions (CBS, 9/63 and EMI, 2/78, respectively). Naturally, it complements rather than replaces Kondrashin's reading, taped shortly after the work's belated unveiling in December 1961: papery strings and lurid brass cannot disguise that conductor's unique authority even when Shostakovich's colouristic effects are muted by rudimentary Soviet sound engineering. In his new recording, Rattle's approach is more obviously calculated, supremely brilliant but just a little cold. Until now his discography has not given much inkling of his stature as a Shostakovich interpreter. His reissued Philharmonia Tenth (EMI, 3/94) was a rather lumbering affair, worlds away from the highly effective concert performances of Nos. 4 and 8 we have been hearing from him lately.
So to what extent is the terrifying emotive power of the Fourth reined in by studio conditions? In the first movement, Rattle eschews the fashionable allure of the programmatic to present the music straight – a mutant sonata structure if you like – but I was perhaps overconscious of the care with which familiar textures had been reappraised, new details brought to the surface, dynamic levels reset. A certain firmness and self-confidence is obvious from the first (though whether the swagger is Shostakovich's or Rattle's I wasn't sure). The restrained Hindemithian episode is relatively square, the first climax superbly built. The second group unfolds seamlessly with the glorious espressivo of the strings not much threatened by the not very mysterious intrusions of harp and bass clarinet. Tension builds again, some way into the development, with the lacerating (Kondrashin-like) intensity of the strings' moto perpetuo fugato passage. (Like me you may be sufficiently perverse to find the climax almost distractingly well-played, balanced and recorded.) Six miraculously terraced discords herald the two-faced recapitulation. Kondrashin and Jarvi find more emotional inevitability in Shostakovich's destabilizing tactics hereabouts. Rattle doesn't quite locate a compensating irony, although his closing bars are convincingly icy, with nicely audible gong. The second movement, ideally paced, seems too cool, the least memorable part of the symphony on this occasion. Characteristically, that distinctive percussion pattern at the close is absolutely secure. If these are ''prisoners tapping out secret messages'', as DJF's booklet-note (not unsceptically) suggests, they have been uncommonly well-drilled.
Even in Rattle's experienced hands, the finale is not all plain sailing. The initial quasi-Mahlerian march is underpinned by disappointingly fuzzy timpani strokes which lose the point of their own lopsidedness. But then the section's mock-solemn climax is simply tremendous (and tremendously loud). The incisive Allegro part of DJF's ''sandwich'' is launched with (deliberate?) abruptness at an unbelievably fast tempo and, even if the music doesn't always make sense at this pace, the results are breathtaking. In the bizarre divertissement sequence, Rattle neither gives himself space to indulge the stylistic incongruities a la Rozhdestvensky (Olympia, 5/89 – nla), nor does he integrate the genre passages into an entirely convincing whole. Even so, the denouement is approached with real flair. A superbly characterized trombone solo, hushed expectant strings and the most ambiguous of all Shostakovich perorations is unleashed with devastating force. The coda is mightily impressive too, not as slow as it might be, but with just the right dragging quality in the articulate and unanimous basses. As ever, everything is in its place. Only the underlying anguish doesn't quite register. It's almost as if we have been listening to some hitherto unsuspected concerto for orchestra. After this, the Britten encore risks seeming beside the point; this really is emotional play-acting. The stylistic parallels between the two composers were real enough, although it is Shostakovich's Eleventh Symphony which deploys part of the same source material.
How to sum up? I would not want to part with Kondrashin, and neither Rozhdestvensky's idiomatic flair nor Jarvi's more direct emotional involvement are easily passed over. On the other hand, Rattle does give us a thrilling example of what a relatively objective, thoroughly 'modern' approach has to offer in 1995. Among recent rivals only Inbal is granted sound of similar quality and his interpretation, while among the best in a variable cycle, is comparatively soft-grained. With its huge dynamic range and uncompromising, analytical style, EMI's recording pulls no punches, and the awesome precision of the CBSO's playing makes for an unforgettable experience. A live relay might have carried greater expressive charge but this studio recording demands to be heard.'