Given the distance between the ‘authentic’ Fourths peddled by Mahler’s own disciples Mengelberg and Walter, Segerstam’s individualism cannot be ruled out of court. His is however an extreme view, mostly languorous and slow, and yet shot through with composerly interventions designed to disrupt the conventional flow and/or keep everyone on their toes. He starts as he means to go on. Whether his presentation of the main material will strike you as warm and spacious or merely lethargic I cannot predict, but few will welcome the outsize accentuations that pepper the line. Sometimes the conductor is inspired to dart forward; more often, especially after the woodwind take up their theme from 2'00'', the music almost stops. The second movement is more attractive, with a very leisurely trio to showcase individualised, peasant-style winds. In the third, the grainy, somewhat backward strings of the Danish orchestra are encouraged to give of their best, although the oboe entry at 1'58'' is strangely loud and un- gentle and there are some curious balances later on too, like the bizarre revoicing at 12'40''. Either the conductor or his production team do not observe the segue into the finale, which for once is not a vehicle for a big-name soprano.
While those seeking a lither but still emotive effect will probably prefer Gatti, Segerstam’s willingness to sacrifice absolute precision of attack and articulation to his own vision has a certain appeal. He goes about his music-making with a sense of freedom rarely heard since Bernstein and this, together with the distinctively roomy if not always tidy sound stage, makes for an effect rather different from today’s norm of squeaky-clean studio-bound perfectionism. The well-regarded Chailly is ‘objective’ to a fault. Amid the fluffs and the follies, the longueurs and the lumpiness, Segerstam conveys a real sense of wonder.'