After years of total neglect, we have within months three CD versions of the Symphony No. 2. Like the new Mackerras version on EMI Eminence and the CD transfer of Previn's 1973 EMI recording, this one confirms the mastery of the piece, in its structure as well as in its sumptuous sounds. But where the rival versions both couple it with the First Symphony, this one has for coupling a four movement work, broadly in the shape of a symphony, which Christopher Palmer has arranged from the opera, Troilus and Cressida. It is an almost appropriate match, when the opera and the symphony represented the first full flowering of the post-war Walton, far less tense than his pre-war self but warmly characterful, going well beyond the sort of self-repetition of which he was so often accused. Palmer in his long and illuminating note suggests that had Walton decided to make a concert suite from Troilus, he might well have followed Hindemith's example with his opera, Mathis der Maler, creating a quasi-independent symphony. Palmer's concern, on the other hand, was ''to remain as faithful to Walton's original text as possible''—no easy matter when there are few purely orchestral episodes in the opera, and vocal lines are rarely doubled by instruments. Even so, this is far more than just a pot-pourri; a satisfying structure in itself, as well as a display of Walton at his most ripely romantic.
The second movement Scherzo, for example, works particularly well, when the playful music for Pandarus—one of the greatest roles ever created for Sir Peter Pears, matching those that Britten gave him—leads logically to the loveliest aria in the opera, ''At the haunted end of the day'', which is used as a central trio. I was surprised that the great melody enters first on a solo cello (not the right register at all), but it is good to have it rescued. The main emotional weight of the suite comes in the long, mainly slow third movement, ''The Lovers'', with the love music culminating, as in the opera, in the erotic—maybe even pornographic—storm interlude, before leading to the poignant, movingly atmospheric music of the lovers' parting. So far from being weightily symphonic, the first movement largely limits itself to setting the scene, but with prominent use of Troilus's ''Aphrodite music''. The finale, drawn from Act 3, has Cressida's two big solos framing the ceremonial music for the entry of Diomede. I am sad that no place was found for the magnificent sextet which provides such a moving emotional climax before the final death scene with its solo for Cressida, but it might have overweighted the last movement. Palmer's use of the solo bassoon for one of Troilus's big entries in the love scene strikes me as odd too, but I warmly welcome the chance to hear 35 rich minutes of the score, particularly when they are given such a ripely romantic performance, and recorded in such opulent sound.
The sound is weighty too for the symphony. This is a broader, less tense and dramatic reading than either Mackerras's or Previn's. If my first concern was for the symphony, I would opt for one of those alternatives, but Waltonians who like the idea of the concert suite from Troilus, will find that Thomson's reading of the symphony carries complete conviction too, bringing a ruggedness in the powerful final passacaglia. It is worth mentioning—even though it is a long way off yet—that Chandos's Walton Edition will ultimately include a complete recording of Troilus conducted by Richard Hickox, using the original full text with soprano heroine, not the revision for mezzo, in which Walton also made many cuts.'