Put on this record expecting the rich, solemn textures of the slow introduction of Mozart's E flat Symphony, and you will be in for a surprise. The hard, dry thwacks of the period timpani cut ferociously through the opening orchestral chords, and the violins perform their octave-and-a-half descents not with the usual poise and grandeur but rapidly, almost precipitously. The slow introduction here is not the customary dignified prelude but an impassioned, hectic, near-violent piece of rhetoric, after which the 3/4 Allegro provides, at least initially, a sense of pastoral calm. But not for long. With the first tutti there are powerful accents to many of the sustained notes; the music remains taut and restless, brilliant and exciting too, and unremitting. Well, it's a decidedly different view of this well-known and deeply loved work, and anything that departs from the norms is going to be, first, welcome, because it makes us think afresh about the music, and second, resisted—also because it makes us think afresh about the music. I find it immensely stimulating but I'm not at all sure I like it, or think that it's any more authentic in manner than any other performance in particular, in spite of the period instruments. Those accents are not Mozart's, and I find them rather ugly; and the driven quality of the performance seems to me to contradict the lyrical character of this particular work, which needs, perhaps, a slightly gentler touch, with more readiness to yield a little to its charms. The finale, similarly, is sturdy and serious; commentators usually call it witty, but Roger Norrington does not see it that way. The Andante is alert, quickish but not inflexible, and there is some lovely wind playing; the minuet too moves pretty well and it has a powerful rhythm.
Tempos, by modern standards, are quick, except possibly for the main part of the first movement. I don't know whether Norrington has drawn, as he has with other composers, on contemporary sources regarding tempo. Not, I think, on the tempos suggested by Mozart's pupil the composer Johann Nepomuk Hummel: he takes the introduction 33 per cent faster than Hummel advocates, the first movement Allegro about 20 per cent slower; the Andante is marginally quicker, the minuet much slower than Hummel's helter-skelter 80 for a dotted minim (and the movement is marked Allegretto), the finale rather slower than Hummel's again very quick tempo. Apart from the introduction, where I do feel that the pace is misguided and slightly sensational, Norrington's tempos represent fair compromises between traditional taste and 'authenticity', though it is significant and I think characteristic that the slow music is faster than Hummel, the fast music slower.
In the Jupiter the relation to Hummel's tempos is much the same—the first movement just over 20 per cent slower, the minuet about 60 per cent, the finale marginally (there is no Hummel tempo for the slow movement here). Again, I find the first movement and the finale somewhat driven and not specially responsive to changes of mood; the natural caesuras in the music seem to be disregarded and the impression, again, is a little breathless. And in each there seems to me a curious lapse in taste—the crescendos in bar 21 of the first and bars 128–9 of the last (and in corresponding passages). But, again, there is fine playing from the orchestra, with excellent solo wind work and a very clean, bright string sound; articulation is precise and telling. The Andante emerges less lyrical than usual, less cantabile perhaps than Mozart wanted (he added the qualification), but there is a note of unease, almost of menace, in some of the figuration that I have not heard anyone bring out before, and it is persuasive. Again, this is partly a matter of sharp accentuation. I personally would prefer a slower tempo. There is an old musicians' rule of thumb that, before setting a tempo, you look at the movement's fastest-moving notes (as there it is easiest to judge the tempo as the margins of error are smaller); my feeling, on listening to the demisemiquavers, and even the triplet semiquavers, is that Norrington didn't do that, for the effect is a shade rushed.
I have written at length about this disc as—whether you (or I) like it or not—it is an important one, a disc that makes us think, and makes us re-examine our ideas about the music and about Mozart. Comparison with existing period-instrument versions isn't quite to the point; Hogwood's (L'Oiseau-Lyre) readings are plainer and more direct, Gardiner's (Philips) are more highly wrought, Bruggen's (also Philips) warmer and more traditional in sound and approach. Norrington's are certainly the most dramatic and the most invigorating, but I am not certain that they are the most musical.'