Kitaienko's Petrushka has a definite turn-of-the-century warmth and weight, colour and spectacle (surprisingly so as he used the pared down, sharpened up 1947 revision), but little rhythmic definition or drive. I checked timings after listening to confirm the impression that Kitaienko's was possibly the most lethargic Petrushka I had heard, and it came as no surprise that, at almost 38 minutes, he is about three minutes longer than the average. There is room, of course, for a Petrushka less hyper-animated and accented than the recent dazzling Jansons, but even the most tolerant of listeners will be aware of the phlegm that creeps into Kitaienko's ''Russian Dance'' and that at the Fair the orchestra only really sound at their best in the ''Coachmen's Dance''. And why choose the 1947 revision if you are going to ignore the marcato markings that Stravinsky added to the tripping figure (initially on first violins) in the ''Wet-Nurses' Dance''? I doubt that Kitaienko himself is content with the results, for what emerges from this performance is a mutual lack of confidence between conductor and players. The accommodating tempos for Petrushka's quarrel with the Moor (end of scene 3) and the final scuffle (there are also instances in the Scherzo fantastique) further defuse dramatic intensity.
That intensity is felt most powerfully in the inner scenes: you are unlikely to encounter a more melancholy, despairing and pathetic Petrushka, or a more dangerous Moor. And Chandos are on form to ensure that the Moor's con furore outbursts are nothing less than seismic, and to turn the Peasant's bear into King Kong. Kitaienko's Scherzo fantastique is similarly colourfully huge, stressing the inheritance (Rimsky, Glazunov and, perhaps surprisingly, Balakirev) more than the promise, but it is rarely as precise or airborne as the recently reissued Dutoit. Only in the shorter items—a swaggering Scherzo a la russe and a spectacular Fireworks—does this collaboration succeed.'