So far, there hasn't been a set of Sibelius symphonies that one could happily recommend over all. Maazel (Decca), Davis (Philips) and Karajan's DG collection (Symphonies Nos. 4-7) each include some fine performances, but none of them quite manages to convince as a cycle. The Ashkenazy set does just that: not only are the performances remarkably consistent in quality; on top of that Ashkenazy conveys a profound awareness of the processes that underlie Sibelius's development as a symphonist. As the composer leaves behind him the frankly rhetorical gestures of the finale of Symphony No. 1 and the Andante of No. 2 and concentrates more on what he called ''the profound logic'' of ''inner connection'', so Ashkenazy's manner becomes less indulgent, and there are signs of an increasing concern for the pacing of musical events. In the slow movement of No. 4 for instance, Ashkenazy's sense of timing is most impressive: pauses between gestures are judged to a nicety, so that the silences are long enough to be pregnant, but not so long as to allow dissipation of energy. In general Ashkenazy's initial choice and subsequent manipulation of tempo are almost unerringly perceptive. Only once, in the finale of No. 6, does his change of pulse sound forced (I'm referring to the difficult gradual acceleration just before letter L). Elsewhere there's an irresistible sense of current, sometimes immensely slow, sometimes precipitously fast.
So far, so good; but there's more to Sibelius than formal processes, fundamental though these may be to the musical language; there's that uniquely Sibelian sound-world, so powerfully evocative of the atmosphere and imagery of Nordic mythology, of vast Northern land and skyscapes and the stirrings of elemental forces; and there's the simple matter of expression—the music may surge like the mightiest of rivers, but does it speak? In these respects I find Ashkenazy rather less convincing. The playing of the Philharmonia Orchestra is polished and obviously attentive throughout, and the recordings manage to be immediate without upsetting overall balance or allowing intrusive noise, but the end product has a glossy quality—it's as though one had experienced the musical landscape via a magnificently filmed travelogue rather than at first hand. As for expression, Ashkenazy may have a fine sense of the overall shape of each movement, each paragraph, even each phrase, but when it comes to the tiny inflexions that give a phrase or figure its poignancy, which make it 'tell'—here something is definitely lacking. Ashkenazy has succeeded in communicating his understanding of the grand design of each work to the players, but not so much, it seems, his feelings about expressive elements. Thus his interpretations may impress, even grip the listener, but they are rarely affecting. A pity, for the insights are there; too frequently in fact for such a set to be easily dismissed. On balance, these performances should be heard by anyone who really cares about Sibelius: there's plenty to be learned from such acute and penetrating readings. Whether you will want to live with them though is another matter.'