The Ashkenazy set makes a particulary welcome compilation, when these colourful, dramatic performances, warmly sympathetic yet never self-indulgent, remain among the finest readings available. Note that on three mid-price CDs you get Manfred as well as Symphonies Nos. 4, 5 and 6, where the three EMI discs of the Karajan set have only the three numbered symphonies. I remember that when in the period after Ashkenazy's versions of Nos. 5 and 6 were released on LP, I did comparisons of both symphonies on BBC Radio 3's ''Record Review''; they were both first choices, and this time I have found their impact just as powerful. In the late 1970s Ashkenazy was demonstrating in issues such as this that he was so much more than a pianist who had taken to conducting, and had something very fresh and positive to say about Tchaikovsky. The alertness of the Philharmonia's playing consistently conveys the feeling of live communication, amply compensating for any moments when ensemble is not quite so immaculate as the Berlin Philharmonic's. The recordings are among the finest of Decca's last analogue period, and though there is something of a digital edge in the CD transfers, the fullness and sense of presence match or even outshine those on many a modern recording.
One instance comes in the Collins recording of Manfred from Yuri Simonov and the LSO, which has sound that is slightly distanced, lacking presence and bite. I have compared the Simonov not only with the two outstanding digital versions I have listed but with Ashkenazy too, and at every point Ashkenazy is interpretatively a match for the others, while Simonov after a sluggish and surprisingly slack account of the long slow introduction, remains generally disappointing, at speeds consistently slower than on the rival versions often lacking tension. When in the concert hall Simonov can be such an exciting conductor, it is sad that his impact has been seriously diminished here in the studio.
The Ashkenazy version of Manfred, on the other hand, makes an outstanding choice, and I hope that Decca will also reissue it separately on one of their budget labels. As it is, the three-disc package makes an outstanding bargain in Decca's mid-price Ashkenazy series. As in the Mravinsky (DG) and Haitink (Philips) sets, as well as in the DG Karajan boxed set of all six numbered symphonies, Nos. 4, 5 and 6 take only two discs, with No. 5 split between the second and third movements, a small penalty. The EMI Karajan issue offers a much less attractive bargain on three mid-price CDs, when not only are the discs less well-filled, the recorded sound is mushy and unclear, with a boomy bass, indifferent next to both the Decca and Karajan's DG set. There are points in the performances where Karajan is more warmly spontaneous than on DG—as in the slow movement of Symphony No. 5—but the lack of clarity is serious, most strikingly in the 1960 version of No. 4, which I fear shows its age, and provides few advantages over the early 1970s recording of this symphony that he made along with Nos. 5 and 6.
The DG Karajan set, with all six numbered symphonies on only four CDs, remains one of the most attractive bargains in the catalogue, an excellent set with sound that in fullness and vividness rivals the Ashkenazy. The Mravinsky is a classic, and the sound is amazingly good for 1960, but anyone wanting just those symphonies in less idiosyncratic, if less fiery readings, might also consider the Haitink, which is strong and thoughtful. Note that both those two-CD sets are at full price.'