This is the kind of recording that acquires cult status by virtue of going unheard. “Of course the one to hear is the early Klemperer.” “The early Klemperer? I didn’t know...”. “Oh yes, and some say it’s the best of all. I wouldn’t quite go as far as that myself.” To which the proper answer would be: “No, I should jolly well think not,” for this is a recording with a lot going against it. The sound is too reverberant for clarity and too congested for a feeling of depth and perspective. The chorus sopranos keep going valiantly so that it is ungallant to criticize; but, seeking the kindest descriptive terms, one could not possibly add ‘firm’ or ‘well focused’.
The soloists are ill-assorted as a quartet and scarcely more satisfying individually. As a whole, the performance is enthusiastic but unpolished; it also lacks quietness, tenderness, restraint. Yet there at the helm is Klemperer, two years before Legge recruited him for the Philharmonia and scarcely recognizable as the conductor of the famous 1965 recording, now on EMI. There his speeds are faster, his beat more impulsive, his way with the fugues less ponderous. This is certainly where the interest of the recording lies: what we hear here is the performance of a conductor with the spirit for greatness in the work, but without the means. It is lamentable, therefore, that the issue should contain no historical information whatsoever – and shameful (unhelpful to the historically-minded, grossly unfair to the rest) that the only date to be found in the booklet or on the label is 1996.'