The latest in Jane Glover's Mozart series with the London Mozart Players arrives simultaneously with the sad news of her resignation from the post of Music Director. At least her records bear witness to the vigour and freshness of the playing she has consistently drawn from a band that for years was left in the recording wilderness. This one is an excellent example, and brings the palpable advantage that in addition to the regular coupling of the last two masterpieces it offers the so-called Symphony No. 37. Mozart's contribution to that work is limited to the slow introduction. The rest of this compact three-movement symphony is by Mozart's friend, Michael Haydn, younger brother of Joseph. It is a bright and attractive rarity, though even Mozart's introduction is conventionally elegant rather than distinctive. The main material for the first movement Allegro is striking, but the relative dullness of the development points the difference between a Mozart and a Michael Haydn. The graceful Andante leads to a galloping 6/8 finale, which is rather more adventurous, ending in a coda with exuberant whooping on the horns.
Anyone who fancies this generous coupling need hardly hesitate, particularly when in the two last symphonies Glover does not skimp on repeats, as she might have done. She omits them—as most versions do—in the slow movements, but includes exposition repeats in the finales as well as first movements, particularly important in the Jupiter, with its grandly sublime counterpoint. There Glover's speed is exceptionally fast, with ensemble not quite so refined or crisp as in such rival versions as Jeffrey Tate's with the ECO (on EMI), Mackerras's with the Prague Chamber Orchestra (Telarc/Conifer), or Menuhin's with the Warsaw Sinfonia (Virgin Classics), but still making for a strong and enjoyable reading. Like Mackerras and Menuhin, she shows clear signs of learning from the example of period performance—as in fastish slow movements and minuets—but the reverberant recording does obscure detail in tuttis more than in those rival versions, agreeable as the overall sound is.
Armin Jordan's coupling of Nos. 39 and 40 uses a Parisian chamber group, founded in 1978 as ''a Mannheim-style permanent ensemble''. These are both decent performances, without being in any way special. The playing is rather less refined than in the rival ensembles I have mentioned, but more seriously Jordan's direction, intelligent, never committing any major sin, lacks the tensions of live music-making. In the end these sound like run-throughs rather than real performances.
It is precisely that feeling of live music-making that makes Barry Wordsworth's series of 15 symphonies on the budget-price Naxos label so refreshing and enjoyable, covering the little G minor, No. 25, plus all the later works from No. 27 onwards. What the small print reveals is that all 15 performances were recorded in three intensive spells in 1988, and there is an inescapable feeling of fine players enjoying themselves. The Capella Istropolitana consists of leading members of the Slovak Philharmonic Orchestra of Bratislava, and though some may find the string tone a little thin, it is just as clean and far sweeter than in comparably scaled period performances. The recording is outstandingly good, with a much keener sense of presence than in most rival versions, and with less reverberation to obscure detail in tuttis. More strikingly than any, the sound here allows a genuine terracing, with the wind instruments, horns in particular, rising clear of the string band. The speed of recording is reflected in at least one bad edit. That comes in the first movement of the Prague just before the second subject (track 1, 3'45''), but at least it proves that the exposition repeat is genuine, when it does not happen the second time round.
Generally with three symphonies on each of these well-filled discs, Wordsworth observes exposition repeats in first movements, and in the finales only in such symphonies as Nos. 38 and 41, where the movement particularly needs extra scale. In slow movements, as is usual, he omits repeats. Consistently a principal concern with him is clarity of texture. That means he often adopts speeds that are marginally slower than we expect nowadays in chamber-scale performances, but with exceptionally clean articulation and infectiously sprung rhythms, the results never for a moment drag. Even in the finale of the Jupiter, where some may feel a lack of weight, Wordsworth's timing helps to build a formidable conclusion. He varies in his preferences over speed in slow movements, but whether in flowing Andantes or affectionate Adagios, the phrasing he draws from the Bratislava players is consistently persuasive, without feeling mannered.
In every way these are worthy rivals to the best full-price versions, and certainly more appealing than such prestigious series as Levine's with the Vienna Philharmonic on DG. They can be recom- mended with few if any reservations. Anyone wanting to sample might try the coupling of Symphonies Nos. 34, 35 and 39—with the hard-stick timpani sounding very dramatic at the start of No. 39. That I prefer to the near-rival coupling from Tate (Nos. 32, 35 and 39). The Linz too is outstanding, but I am sure many will find themselves buying all five—Mozart's 15 greatest symphonies in a series costing a fraction less than £20·00 in all. For some the option will be useful of having the last two symphonies coupled together.'