Recordings of Shostakovich's most symphonically conceived symphony continue to flood in—see the review (page 51) of Erato's Mravinsky Edition for yet another one, and be prepared for at least two more new issues before the year is out.
By 'symphonically conceived' I mean relying on large-scale musical argument rather than on imagery derived from what the Germans call ''applied music'', angewandte Musik (for stage, film, circus, etc.); and by extension, not dependent on overt reference to contemporary events. Of course there is plenty of room for disagreement in this controversial area. But the fact remains that what tends to distinguish one interpretation of the Tenth Symphony from another is not so much the moment-by-moment characterization as the pacing of the dramatic structure. In this connection it is notable that Russian conductors seem to enjoy a less conspicuous advantage than usual over their Western counterparts—Rostropovich on Teldec, Maxim Shostakovich on Collins Classics and Ashkenazy on Decca all fail to pace the structure convincingly. It also follows that the quality of orchestra playing may be more than usually critical.
Few orchestras are better equipped, so you would think, than the Chicago Symphony. But their new recording finds them on less than top form, and Solti sometimes leads them astray. The opening pages, for instance, are given an allpurpose espressivo con molto vibrato treatment which wholly belies their anticipatory function, while the bassoon at the opening of the development section (from 9'03'') is under the note and inappropriately fruity. The second movement is certainly menacing, but in a peculiarly lumbering way; it times at 4'20'', whereas Karajan on DG is nearer the mark at 4'05'', Mravinsky takes 3'59'', and the composer himself (in the four-hand version now on Le Chant du Monde) scampers home in 3'40'', a feat matched among orchestral recordings only by Ancerl and the Czech Philharmonic (DG, 9/56—nla). In the third movement the Chicago string tone is again uncertain in its focus.
This is a live performance. The disconcerting 'first-desk' string sound may be down to miking difficulties; likewise the booming timpani and overly forward woodwind, and these things do not make for comfortable listening. Nor does the loud ovation after a well-played, but not very insightful account of the finale. Solti's reading can nevertheless be prized for its straightforward handling of the central phase of the first movement and the climax of the third. Playing these passages by the book proves to be a perfectly satisfying approach to their architecture, and one wonders why so many other conductors feel compelled to modify Shostakovich's tempos.
The pacing of that third movement climax is one of the few weak spots in Claus Peter Flor's interpretation—the jump forward at 8'40'' (fig. 129 in the score) is either a structural miscalculation or a different take, and the premature slowing at 10'12'' (fig. 137) is no more effective. For the most part, though, Flor unfolds the massive first movement with an ideal blend of spaciousness and momentum. It is the insufficiently driven second movement which most seriously disappoints (at 4'28'' it is even slower than Solti's), and the finale, after a breathtakingly atmospheric introduction, is too comfortable by half.
On the whole I have nothing but admiration for the Royal Concertgebouw's playing, and they certainly outclass their American colleagues. But there are signs of haste in the recording or editing process—at 23'04'' in the first movement (eight bars after fig. 69) the first piccolo appears to play G and A flat together, as though two takes have been momentarily overlaid; then there is a stray timpani stroke at 9'52'' in the third movement, what sounds like a stray clonk on the xylophone at 3'54'' in the finale, and, most unfortunate of all, a discrepancy of tuning between the timpani and the rest of the orchestra later in this movement (at 4'25'', the return of the introduction). For a full-price issue these are quite serious distractions, although the recording generally is as warm and transparent as you would expect in the Concertgebouw's famous acoustic.
Don't look for orchestral refinement or subtlety of recording in the Mravinsky reissue. But if you are the slightest bit interested in this symphony you simply must hear it, and not only because it was recorded only months after the premiere performances conducted by Mravinsky himself. Here, almost uniquely, is a sense of how much is at stake in human terms. I would quibble with details in the first movement, but the savage second movement is unsurpassed in its combined ferocity and thrust, the third moves from creeping malevolence to a spinetingling summoning-up of ghosts, and the finale rushes lemming-like to its conclusion, making a nonsense of the average insert-note description.
Saga haven't been able to do much with the abrasive 1954 recording quality, though by comparison with the LP some of the aural grit has disappeared. It is a pity, though, that they couldn't update the 1964 sleeve-note—''Dmitri Shostakovich, born at St. Petersburg (now known as Leningrad)....''
For myself I would want, in addition to Mravinsky, the earlier of Karajan's two recordings, as the most inspiring and symphonically satisfying account by a non-Russian (this despite DG's only partly successful remastering). For the best Russian account in more or less modern sound there is Rozhdestvensky on mid-price Olympia; for tip-top recording quality again there is no good reason to pay more than mid-price—I suggest Skrowaczewski and the Halle on Pickwick.'