Three new Tenths, and appearing simultaneously? No, my spirits didn't sink at the prospect (despite ten rival recordings in the current catalogue) since all three conductors have demonstrated themselves Shostakovich interpreters of the greatest distinction, Yoel Levi and Maxim Shostakovich with superb but strongly contrasted accounts of the Fifth Symphony, James DePreist with a magnificent Eleventh. As in the Fifth, Maxim and Levi adopt broadly similar approaches to tempo but differ markedly in their degree of emotional overtness; it is DePreist who springs the surprises.
Maxim Shostakovich eschews histrionic gesture; there is much quiet eloquence, grandeur of outline and an impressive gravity to his soberly measured account of the first movement (which, like most conductors, he takes well below the composer's own printed metronome marks). The scherzo is massively weighty, brutal but less pointedly vicious than usual. The centre of gravity of the finale and of this whole performance is clearly the intensely expressive paragraph which follows the towering statement of Shostakovich's D-S-C-H monogram; Maxim's earlier restraint has saved a great emotional burden for this moment, and it is deeply moving. The third movement, however, which should provide the question to which that finale is some sort of answer, is less convincing. Effectively pale, even exhausted-sounding at the outset (it feels even slower than it is) and formidably powerful at its climax it falls apart in the middle, rather, because of a seeming inability to cope with Shostakovich's slackenings of tempo towards the horn's apparent 'message of hope' and what succeeds it. By the time this arrives Maxim has very little room to slow any further, and the moment loses some of its impact.
Levi manages this better, simply because dramatic cogency seems to be higher on his list of priorities than symphonic sobriety. He begins the work even more slowly than Maxim, but from a desire to give himself room for expressive shading. The whole movement seems warmer, its climaxes more vehement, and his scherzo has more bite from the greater crispness of his articulation. His third movement is only 20 seconds faster than Maxim's but moves with more nervous energy, the horn theme arriving, as it should, like a vision of tranquillity. And in the finale Levi finds apprehension as well as poignancy in the wake of the D-S-C-H monogram.
DePreist's surprises include a first movement of driven urgency and vehement eloquence, both qualities largely released by taking the composer's metronome marks perfectly seriously (even the frozen, 'static' coda seems to work better at this tempo) and a third movement where, by contrast, he achieves both a fevered unease and, in the horn melody, a peaceful radiance, that come from allowing the perceived character of the movement rather than its metronome mark (which he speeds up quite noticeably, something I've always hoped some conductor would dare to do) to dictate proceedings. These two decisions cut about seven minutes from Maxim's or Levi's timings for the work as a whole (thus, as it happens, bringing DePreist rather close to the score's estimate of ''approximately 50 minutes''). Much more significantly they give the whole work a sweeping impetus that is quite devoid of exaggeration or dramatic over-pointing. Together with his account of the Eleventh Symphony ( (CD) DE3080, 5/89), it is the unforced naturalness of DePreist's Shostakovich that I find so impressive. Again and again he achieves more by simply (simply! it is far from simple, of course) working out the implications of the composer's tempo relationships, his accents and rhythmic articulation. I hope that Delos will let us hear him in other repertory; I would love to hear his account of the Franck Symphony, for example.
All three are fine readings, mark you, all well recorded and all are worthy of the comparisons listed above. Maxim Shostakovich should be compared with Haitink (Decca) for noble sobriety (though Haitink finds this quality not incompatible with rather more fire than Maxim allows), and Levi with Rozhdestvensky (Olympia/Target), Jarvi (Chandos) and Karajan (DG) for impetus and drama. Karajan seems to have had a special relationship with this score and his account remains a classic of impassioned yet disciplined vehemence, but it cannot be denied that Jarvi, Levi and Rozhdestvensky—probably in that order—achieve very little less, and with a harsher, more pungent (I would say more Shostakovichian) orchestral sound. DePreist is the joker in the pack, at once more and less faithful to the score than the others, and to hear that opening movement played at the 'right' speed just for once can be a shock. But I can't honestly say that DePreist's approach omits anything; like his Eleventh it forces you to reconsider what the work is about.'