The more I hear it, the more I am convinced that Leonard Slatkin's RCA recording of Elgar's First Symphony is the finest that the gramophone has yet given us. His compatriot David Zinman is no slouch either, but this is a mellower, somewhat more colonialized reading of the piece; Slatkin is truer to its restless spirit—darker, riskier, the tempo relationships more extreme. The colour of the opening nobilmente is beautifully gauged in both performances: but Zinman is already sounding the more settled; fine and upstanding, comfortable. He is spot-on Elgar's written metronome marking for the dramatic volte-face into the allegro—remote keys and pastures unknown—but this is one of Elgar's most dramatic shocktactics and Slatkin is right to exceed reason and expectation. Zinman is generally far less volatile throughout this extraordinary development: the tricky transitions, the abrupt changes of mood and metre—all are effected with ease. And Zinman's customary attention to detail—to dynamics and inner-voices—is always a pleasure to encounter, not least in those fleeting lyric diversions, intimations of happier times past. Eminently ripe brass playing, too: Elgar's trombone and tuba writing rasps home splendidly. Even so, the danger threshold is low. If you take the moment of high anxiety at fig. 45 (14'45'') where the trumpets are marked to crescendo molto vibrato and an upward rush in the horns screws the tension unbearably, it is Slatkin who'll have you on the edge of your seat every time.
He is living dangerously again in an allegro molto for the scherzo that is right on the brink of possibility. Zinman is once more prudent: emphatic, precise, ever the keen observer. But I wouldn't want to give the impression that this is a calculated, unfeeling performance: far from it. If the slow movement doesn't quite warm to life as magically as it can, Zinman's natural way with Elgar's burgeoning melodic lines (and what a miracle of counterpoint this movement is on and off the page) suggests a genuine sympathy with the style. His Baltimore strings are most eloquent, more nostalgic, less regretful than Slatkin's equally affecting London Philharmonic. Each statement of the violin theme is appreciably shyer, at 8'04'' (track 3—four bars after fig. 103) how sweetly Zinman has them articulate this phrase, his subtle rubato giving just a shade more breathing space for each falling duplet. The final ppp is not quite the faded memory I like to hear, but the dolcissimo clarinet's last word is as pale as can be.
The finale is another good example of just how powerfully Slatkin uses Elgar's tempo relationships. Zinman, by contrast, sounds too careful by half through the tempest-tossed development (despite the ominous threat of a menacing low A flat from the trombones at fig. 110—track 4, 1'15''). Nor is that glorious transformation of the grim-faced march quite the revelation one always hopes for. Zinman's strings soar to a fine intensity at the climax, but his horns (the crowning glory) might have opened up a little more when they have the tune. The coda is handsome but not exactly euphoric in those great triumphant surges across the bar.
Slatkin, then (along with Handley—CfP—and the second Boult recording—EMI), remains unassailable. Zinman swaggers through the Pomp and Circumstance of the marches. Only a non-Englishman could make quite such a meal of ''Land of Hope and Glory'' (replete with organ) and the terrific pay-off to No. 2 is a further reminder of the frighteningly impressive tonal range of the Telarc recording.'