''Like an eye gazing fixedly into space''—a description of the sustained D flat on flutes and muted trumpet that runs through most of the symphony's second movement. Semitonal oscillations from this D flat to quote from Dvorak's Requiem are brief pointers to what is going on behind the eye. Is there anything in Mahler that so vividly describes the immobilization of profound shock in the wake of Fate's crushing power (the end of the first movement)? It also provides one of many points of contrast between this new all-Czech Asrael and Pesek's Liverpool version on Virgin Classics. The latter's trumpet clearly projects that numb stare, the sighing string figures are less consoling, and the pace more obviously funereal. Belohlavek's trumpet and flutes blend, there's more warmth in the string figures, and the pace is more genuinely an andante.
A more crucial indicator comes in Suk's dark night of the soul, the scherzo: Belohlavek's Czech strings—violins marginally sweeter, lower voices firmer and fuller of tone—are a stronger feature as the hallucinations leap and dart through the orchestra; and once the contrasting Trio establishes its widely-vaulted planes of blissful reminiscence (at 6'22'') you can now relish Suk's rich departures for cellos and basses (did Richard Strauss ever pen a more heartstopping sequence of modulations than this?). Turn to Pesek, though, and the nightmare is noticeably more spectral and sharply etched: there's a chill in the air, his Liverpool woodwinds slither and shriek more menacingly; Pesek is more aware and keen to exploit the potential of the dynamic contrasts. Liverpool's Philharmonic Hall's drier acoustics help, no doubt, as does the wider dynamic range of Virgin's recording.
Belohlavek's is a fine performance by any standards, more involving than Neumann's (Supraphon) with the same orchestra, and there will be many who value the richer string sonority and the warmer ambient bloom of the Chandos sound (from Spanish Hall, Prague Castle). It's certainly a more comfortable listening experience than Pesek's. But I wonder why Chandos felt it necessary to raise the level for the Adagio (fourth movement). To maximize the attraction of those vibrant Czech colours? Whatever the reasons, those with memory spans of longer than a few minutes may well feel that the difference in amplitude between the fff tutti that closes the scherzo and the Adagio's solo violin is not quite what it should be.
More importantly, after the Adagio's loving portrait of Suk's late wife, the finale erupts with the cruel reality of Death thundered out on four timpani. It is Pesek who achieves the intended violence of this contrast, and an almost unbearable intensity in the ensuing anguished protests. Both versions realize the closing pages' peaceful resolution (as the preface to the score puts it ''the Greek fires dying down'') with playing of consummate beauty. With Pesek that resolution is harder won.'