If you crave the interpretative freedoms of yesteryear, lend an ear to Temirkanov's Tchaikovsky. At times, I wondered whether this set might achieve wider recognition if cloaked in a sanctifying veil of distortion and surface noise, but wide recognition is certainly what the majority of it deserves to achieve, even if a disproportionate amount of this review will probably be devoted to issuing warnings.
As early as the second theme in the First Symphony's first movement second theme, it is obvious that Temirkanov knows how to phrase Tchaikovsky melody for maximum yearning beauty and melancholy (phrasing may occasionally strike some listeners-though not me-as over-inflected, for example, in the Fourth Symphony's very slow, slow movement). His gradual slowing towards the end of this melody, too, is a significant pointer to the numerous other examples, many far more extreme, throughout his cycle of unmarked decreases and increases of tempo (short and long term) for expressive effect; a device largely avoided by Jansons, Maazel and Karajan unless sanctioned by the composer. Then there is the use of string slides (again mainly avoided by Jansons); sweet but always stylish (rather more so than Karajan); with the passages in question always wisely chosen. Temirkanov's concern to point rhythms is also a consistent feature of the set, whether off the beat (the First Symphony's Scherzo), or on it (the Second Symphony's March); and fast-moving primary or accompanimental figures are invariably well animated. Along with Jansons and Mravinsky, Temirkanov's phrasing also includes copious 'refinements' of dynamics-more so in his St Petersburg set than this new RPO one-though no more than Jansons.
Probably the most controversial feature will be Temirkanov's slow tempo for the Alla tedesca from the Third Symphony (the second movement intermezzo-like waltz), marked Allegro moderato, and despatched at a flowing one-beat-in-the-bar in under six minutes by Maazel and Markevitch. I had previously thought Karajan ponderous at over eight minutes, but Temirkanov, at a very moderate moderato, and a definite three-in-the-bar, takes all of 11 minutes. The expressive phrasing and enhanced melancholy are intermittent rewards, of course, but the two-against-three that Tchaikovsky intends (from 2'38'', after fig. C) goes for nothing, and there are other moments where you feel the material simply can't take the treatment. Added to which you wonder at the wisdom of what has now become two consecutive slow movements at the centre of the symphony.
If you are alarmed at how often the adjective 'slow' has already appeared in this review, I should add that, on the whole, Temirkanov justifies the time he allows himself. Unfailingly he uncovers and explores the darker tensions and undercurrents; a passage such as the long lead up to the coda of the First Symphony's finale is genuinely unsettling, and the delayed release of the coda itself, as a result, more uplifting (no apologies need be made for this coda here), with the piu animato from fig. N (12'15'') bounding joyfully forward-amongst the above comparisons, only Markevitch is as exciting. Fate, at the beginning of the Fourth Symphony, is fanfared very broadly indeed (and that breadth is sustained more successfully by the RPO brass than it was in Temirkanov's St Petersburg set), but it is well contrasted with his lively tempo for the ensuing moderato, and the extra breadth for fate's interruption of the finale again provides the ensuing coda with something more to shout about. Slow tempos are also used to atmospheric effect: for instance the Second Symphony's opening horn solo (as molto espressivo and melancholy as I've heard it) more than usually suggests deep perspectives, aptly enough for a variant of the folk-song Down by Mother Volga. You are also unlikely to hear more hushed and rapt clarinet solos in the second theme of the Sixth Symphony's first movement (from 9'33''), and at the start of the central section of Francesca da Rimini (from 9'47''), both memorably Adagissimo and dolcepossibile.
Most of the sessions for this RPO set (from various different London locations, but mainly Watford Town Hall) predated the already available 1992 St Petersburg tapings of the last three symphonies. That set divided critical opinion with EG finding ''willfulness... the playing relatively slack and as recorded rather dull toned'' and performances that felt ''like studio run-throughs''. For parts of the St Petersburg Fourth and Fifth Symphonies, I agree, but found the ''willfulness'' often telling us as much about Tchaikovsky as Temirkanov; particularly, and more than any of Temirkanov's compatriots, about Tchaikovsky's innate Russianness (for example, the Mussorgsky-like grandeur at the close of the Andante opening of the Fifth's; a point made less effectively in London). These RPO performances are less wilful, the manipulation less obvious, and the sound brighter and more spacious. There can be no doubt that this new RPO Fourth is the finer of the two. The RPO Fifth is more difficult to assess; sessions for this and Romeo and Juliet were in All Saints', Tooting, and neither are ideal. Romeo and Juliet is distant with particularly misty woodwind. The woodwind are brought forward for the RPO Fifth Symphony but with only partial success (what happened to the oboe solo after fig. E at 4'22'' in the finale?), and with the result that the image no longer coheres, the violins glare in upper regions, and Temirkanov's already expansive reading acquires an unappealing bulk. I must emphasize that it is only in these two works that the recorded sound on this RPO set falls below par. His dark, intense and doom-laden St Petersburg Sixth Symphony remains for me one of the two most distinctive readings of the last decade (the other is Pletnev), and by a small margin remains preferable to the RPO account, principally for the greater tonal resource, eloquence, and elegance of the St Petersburg strings (partly a question of Temirkanov's own adjustments of balance, and his more persuasive pointing of the St Petersburg second movement waltz). In both accounts, the finale is classical tragedy, with avoidance of fever-pitch protest and passion at climaxes.
Apologies for confusing you with all these comparisons. To sum up: bargain seekers should snap up the 1960s Markevitch set of the numbered symphonies (no extras, but four CDs for the price of two). The Jansons set remains the safest option for more flush customers (seven short measure CDs for the price of five, but including the Manfred Symphony and the Capriccio italien). Explorers and the broad-minded should investigate the RPO Temirkanov: six CDs for the price of four, excluding Manfred, but including a fine Swan Lake Suite (minus its finale), Tchaikovsky's first (very Lisztian) encounter with Fate, an often Barbirolli-like Francesca, a Marche slave despatched with a twirl of the moustache and a spring in the step and an ultimately edge-of-the-seat Capriccio Italien.'