Tchaikovsky’s elusive blend of instrumental precision and free-flowing thematic fantasy in the Second Suite meets its match in the Detroit/Jarvi partnership: the conductor’s imagination works alongside the lean, clean Detroit sound with interesting results. The strings are not always the ideal: the lush chordings and central fugal energy of the opening movement, “Jeu de sons”, cry out for a richer, Russian tone. But the semiquaver patter is beautifully done, the lower lines clear and personable. Keen articulation and driving force go hand-in-glove as Jarvi prepares for the entry of the four accordions in the virile “Rondo-Burlesque”, sweeping on to the folk-song of the central section with characteristic aplomb. And yes, the accordions are here: “the engagement of these instruments is not indispensible … but the composer believes that their sonority is apt to increase the effectiveness”, it says in the score – and this is where Svetlanov, with his beefier, less fastidious USSR State Symphony Orchestra, lets us down (and that most disappointingly in a country where accordionists can be hired in their hundreds).
It is in the Schumannesque phrases and the subtly shifting moods of the most poetic movement, “Reves d’enfant”, that Jarvi really comes into his own and scores atmospheric points over the Dorati version through which I came to know and love this work (Philips, 6/79 – still awaiting reissue); the short-lived, other-worldly radiance at the heart of the movement seems more than ever like a preliminary study for the transformation scenes of The Nutcracker, just as the woodwind choruses throughout the work look forward to that and Sleeping Beauty. The magical haze surrounding Prospero’s island in The Tempest doesn’t quite come off; here it’s Pletnev on DG who surprises us with the true magician’s touch, but then his Russian horns, and later his trumpeter, cast their incantations more impressively. Jarvi is no more successful than any other conductor in stitching together Tchaikovsky’s strong impressions of the play, though a little more forward movement in the love-music might not have gone amiss. Both the cover itself and the note – inadequate on the individual movements of the Suite – favour The Tempest, though Lord Leighton’s The Mermaid, managing to be both prudish and prurient, is no sight for sore eyes. '