Following a Rite of Spring (also on Sony Classical, 11/90) conceived, at least in part, as a vehicle for orchestral display, it comes as a surprise to find the few departures from the norm in Esa-Pekka Salonen's Petrushka more inclined towards expressive ennui. The conductor's control is never in doubt, even if the strings do not dig in as they do for Simon Rattle in the opening pages. I was struck by the unexpected languor with which the Puppeteer/flute begins to charm his dolls into life prior to the ''Russian Dance''—its own brief, Borodin-like interlude is also rather self-consciously moulded. Jumping ahead to the final tableau, the 'Tom and Jerry' scuffle between the Blackamoor and Petrushka is launched in a sort of carefully articulated slow-motion (DJF found Rattle overly studied here; Salonen is less spontaneous still). Although the performance was taped as long ago as October 1991, its delayed release must have more to do with the search for a suitable coupling than with any deficiencies in the recording, real or imagined. Sony's sonic setting, like EMI's for Rattle, has a rather generous middle and bass. Perhaps it took Rattle's thrustful textural manipulations to disguise a certain lack of clarity at the extremes of the spectrum in Warwick Arts Centre. Salonen clearly feels he can afford to relax: the warm ambience of Blackheath Concert Halls comes across with absolute fidelity and only those accustomed to the impact of a close-miked spectacular like Bernard Haitink's need worry about the results here, recessed certainly but mostly translucent.
In terms of sonority, Salonen's Orpheus steers a middle course between the tubby opulence (and occasional imprecision) of Jarvi, and the smaller scale of Lubbock. There have been remarkably few recordings of a work whose chaste austerity of idiom can unsettle listener and executant alike. Turning back to Sir Colin Davis's pioneering Philips LP (2/65—nla) was an enlightening experience: we tend to lament the passing of the great interpreters of a bygone age, forgetting how much standards of discipline and intonation have actually improved in the last 30 years. Yesterday's LSO made heavy weather of ''Orpheus's Apotheosis''. With today's Philharmonia under the young Finn, I found myself wondering whether Stravinsky's crystalline textures had ever been presented to greater effect. Much of the score seems unprecedentedly beautiful simply because it is unprecedentedly secure and properly linear.
To sum up: if technical brilliance and sheer weight of sound are your priorities in what I am reluctant to call the main work, Haitink's Berlin version remains a plausible first choice. The engineers come in close and every detail tells, for all that the less translucent 1911 scoring is used. Haitink's presentation of the rage and hysteria of Stravinsky's puppet protagonists is—shall we say—unexaggerated, but it is hard to argue with the solidity, bite and precision of the playing. Rattle is more histrionic than Haitink, his reading particularly notable for its fresh look at details of scoring and balance. All of which leaves Salonen sounding less distinctive, less robust, less viscerally exciting, though one seldom has the impression that the characters have been left to fend for themselves. Anyone attracted by Sony's unique pairing is unlikely to be disappointed by a Petrushka so sleek and professional, albeit a shade lacking in greasepaint. Salonen's Orpheus is the major addition to the catalogue.'