Sample this set at almost any point and you may be impressed by a warmth, a generosity of spirit and a relaxed, genial demeanour that would seem to indicate all the ingredients are here for a successful, leisurely, romantic journey through Schubert's symphonic oeuvre. Stay with it for a longer period and you are likely to become surfeited on an over-ripe sound and tempos that often verge on the lugubrious. Indeed, you may vow never to listen to big-band Schubert ever again—this was my response after reaching as far as the end of the Sixth Symphony, having derived so much pleasure from the Gramophone Award-winning Abbado cycle on DG with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe.
Barenboim's cycle was recorded in the Berlin Philharmonie in 1986 (Symphonies Nos. 2, 3, 5, 8 and 9 have been available previously) and the recorded balance is more than partly to blame for the overriding impression of heaviness. Initially, it impresses as a rich, glowing sound, with good depth and a natural perspective, but Schubert's characterful woodwinds often seem to be fighting a losing battle to make themselves heard over the plush of the Berlin strings, and although the horns are strongly featured, trumpets are not assertive enough, and the timpani are invariably amorphous. In both the rival mid-price surveys from Karajan (EMI) and Wand (RCA) the wind and timpani are more prominent, even though the sound, especially Wand's, has less bloom.
It is arguable that the slow movements actually benefit from this approach (it is mainly in the faster ensemble passages that the masking occurs) and that of the First Symphony has the quality of a heart-easing lullaby. Barenboim would seem to view the Andante of the Fourth as a Largo (he takes 11'21'' here, Wand only 7'57'') and the elegiac mood that results is very beautiful and not inconsistent with the symphony's title Tragic. I didn't much care for the heart-on-sleeve manner for the Andante con moto of the Fifth which conveys only indolence. The slow movement of the Great C major, too, is very measured with Barenboim taking over three minutes longer than Karajan, but who could resist the broadly and lovingly phrased second subject here.
Like Karajan, Barenboim also favours slow tempos for the minuets of the early symphonies; stately and heavy-footed in the First Symphony, desperately ponderous in the Second and Third. Wand and Abbado are more consistently lively. The Minuet of the Fourth sounds like a casual run through, with little made of Schubert's off-beat accents. Comparison with Karajan elsewhere is enlightening; there is no doubting the higher degree of polish in the playing the Berlin Philharmonic provide for Karajan. Ensemble is surprisingly awry at the end of the Rosamunde Overture, and the Berliners sound genuinely shocked at the furious vivace Barenboim demands for the finale of the Ninth. But, unlike some of my colleagues, I can't reconcile myself to Karajan's Schubert, finding it, for the most part, smooth, charmless and often aggressive. After a mock-solemn introduction, the Allegro of the Third Symphony's first movement starts with a yodelling clarinet, one of the most cherishable moments in all Schubert, but Karajan's player is on best behaviour, and when the main argument of the movement is under way how distressingly important it all sounds! Barenboim's clarinettist is enjoying himself and what follows is genial, not platitudinous.
Karajan's Great C major is surprisingly 'modern' in its generally brisk tempos and avoidance of emotional excess, but its cut is brutal, with expressionless woodwind and overbearing brass. In the original review of Barenboim's Ninth, the late Trevor Harvey was worried by his predilection for doing ''something with this or that phrase''. But for all this account's indulgence and miscalculation (and traces of peak distortion on my copy), there is a warmth of expression wholly absent from Karajan's.
The Haydnesque theme and variations of the Second Symphony's slow movement provide a good indication of the perception of our four conductors here. In the fourth variation a sturdy, bare outline of the theme is heard forte above dancing semiquaver runs. An angry Karajan hammers out the chords of the theme remorselessly, Barenboim is less incisive and delivers them instead with a weighty, vacuous pomposity. Small wonder the early symphonies are still greeted with yawns of condescension. Wand and Abbado are lighter, holding back the theme and concentrating on the excitement of the semi-quaver counterpoint. Confidence in the young Schubert is restored.
Wand's Cologne orchestra is not in the Berlin class, but the less well upholstered string section make for a more satisfying evennesss of exchange between strings and woodwind. His accounts of the first two symphonies are probably the best available (unlike Barenboim and Abbado, he observes the high trumpet part in the first movement of the First with splendidly majestic results) but in the Third and Sixth the woodwind often sound dispirited and dreary when they should sparkle, and ensemble in the finale of the Fourth is frail and messy.
Total commitment from the participants in a project like this is often open to question and Wand has it, but not quite the means to realize it. Abbado has both, and, although the editorial corrections which Abbado includes in his set have been the subject of some controversy since it was issued, what matters is the care and conviction that shine through in each symphony. Textural clarity, imagination and playing of wit, poise and grace wholly justify the set's full-price tag. Although Barenboim is at medium price, and there is much to enjoy (Barenboim is very generous with repeats, probably over-generous) the only symphony from his set that I could recommend without reservation is the Unfinished.'