While it’s difficult to avoid the conclusion that the slick virtuosity of latter­day Mahler performance has been bought at too high a price‚ neither of these twofers is remotely suitable for neophytes. The target audience will be die­hard Mahlerians‚ plus those Jascha Horenstein fans who have neither succumbed to pirated transfers of his 1960s broadcasts‚ nor invested in existing transfers of  his pre­war Kindertotenlieder‚ itself previously coupled with Oskar Fried’s Resurrection on Pearl. At first sight‚ Fried’s pioneering set‚ the first recorded performance of any Mahler symphony‚ looks like an authenticist’s dream‚ so be warned: this is nothing like Ormandy’s remarkably listenable Minneapolis Resurrection of 1935 (Biddulph‚ 7/97). In 1924‚ it was technically impossible to record the symphony in its original state. What we have here is a reduction in which dynamically compressed melodic lines are missing much of their supporting texture. Members of the Berlin State Opera Orchestra would have had to congregate round a large collecting horn‚ obliged to perform unnaturally loudly throughout‚ for this is an acoustic recording‚ a process much kinder to voices than instruments. Thus‚ the Urlicht seems well sung and convincingly Mahlerian where much of the rest evokes a 1920s tea room. The third movement suffers most grievously in this regard‚ sounding for all the world as if some disgruntled client were tapping‚ clapping and ringing a bell for service. However successful Ward Marston may have been in revivifying the intractable source material‚ this is one for the incunabulist‚ with its reduced forces‚ approximate tuning‚ lascivious portamentos and assorted ‘noises off’ severely limiting its appeal. Fortunately‚ Horenstein’s sensitive and passionate account of Kindertotenlieder stands up far better. An unexpectedly flexible conception this‚ in which the electrical recording of 1928 allows us to appreciate that the same musicians are capable of lovely wind playing. Heinrich Rehkemper is not ideally nimble or steady‚ but his world­weary tone is by no means inappropriate. We know that these 78s had a tremendous effect on the young Benjamin Britten‚ who purchased them in 1934. The other songs are again historically interesting rather than essential listening. Leaping forward to 1967 does not bring the sonic transformation you might expect. It is always a joy to hear Dame Janet Baker in this repertoire‚ but she is uncomfortably prominent on BBC Legends’ disinterred concert relay‚ her dynamic range unnaturally compressed by a recording that turns the Usher Hall into a shoebox. If this is a stereo tape as advertised it has a remarkably narrow stereo spread! Dame Janet went on to record the songs with Barbirolli (EMI‚ 7/99) only a few weeks later‚ so I cannot see myself returning very often to this BBC relay. No doubt Horenstein does his best with the mediocre Scottish National Orchestra of the day‚ but in ‘Oft denk’ ich sie sind nur ausgegangen!’ the lilt is missing. Even Horenstein’s 1966 Proms account of the Ninth lacks the mainstream appeal of his groundbreaking Eighth (BBC Legends‚ 12/98). For one thing‚ the LSO are on comparatively uneven form – caught napping at the start of the second movement and their characteristically bright sonority not always flattered by respectable if papery sonics. Perhaps the Royal Albert Hall was simply too hot or the rehearsal time too short. I had hoped that the performance would provide some of the gloss missing from Horenstein’s scrappy but interpretatively compelling mono LP‚ the very first studio­made Ninth. As it turns out‚ the reading is rather less consistent‚ for all the tremendous things in it. The outer movements have the same absolute conviction‚ darker and slower than before with consolatory aspects rigorously shunned. The conductor was never one to tease out the meaning of every dot and comma at the expense of overall flow‚ yet there is some potent highlighting of detail in the opening movement – lots of eerie pizzicatos and a thunderous articulation of the ‘heartbeat’ motto on the timpani at 19'16" at the height of the development. In the second movement‚ I found Horenstein’s very slow ‘Tempo I’ difficult to take and the LSO’s response half­hearted. One can see what the conductor is driving at: in his desire to separate off (and separately characterise) the main thematic groups‚ he even indulges in some uncharacteristically extremist nuancing from 2'23". The Rondo­Burleske eschews the hysteria of post­Bernstein interpretations‚ and the finale is intensely moving notwithstanding considerable indiscipline in the ranks. It helps that Joel Lazar supplies excellent notes‚ but it rankles that there are no texts and translations for the songs. While Naxos can be forgiven such omissions given its budget status‚ isn’t it time BBC Legends reconsidered either its policy or its pricing? Roughly contemporary studio accounts of the Ninth from Barbirolli‚ Bernstein‚ Klemperer and Haitink cost less and are by no means outshone.