A remarkable achievement.

Last year, when I surveyed most of the available recordings of The Dream of Gerontius, I expressed the hope that Mark Elder, as he then was, and his Hallé forces might make a commercial recording of the work. That hope was inspired by the remarkable performance that they had given at the 2005 Henry Wood Promenade Concerts, which, as I commented at the time, made a great impression on me. Having re-listened to it more than once in the off-air recording I made, I now feel it was, quite simply, the finest live account of the work that I ever expect to hear. And now, with almost identical forces, the newly-knighted Sir Mark Elder has made a studio recording. It comes too late for the 150th anniversary of Elgar’s birth but instead, and more fittingly, perhaps, it marks the Hallé’s own 150th birthday, which falls this year.

The inevitable question is: has it been worth the wait for this recording? The answer is an unequivocal "yes".

The American tenor, Paul Groves, reprises the role of Gerontius, as I hoped he would. I hadn’t realised it at the time but we learn from the booklet biography that his performance at the 2005 Proms was his debut in the role, which makes his achievement that night all the more remarkable. His greatest virtue of all, it seems to me, is the clarity and ease of his singing. Every note is hit right in the centre and his voice has an exciting and pleasing ring. The top notes are always true and secure. I followed in the score but, frankly, that was superfluous as far as the text is concerned for Groves’ diction is crystal clear – as, indeed, is that of the other soloists and the choirs.

In Part I Elgar sets his tenor a task that is almost impossible. The singer must try to suggest the frailty of a man on his death bed while, at the same time, he must be able to deliver heroic, dramatic passages, such as ‘Sanctus fortis’. Groves is fully equal to the dramatic sections though sometimes he does sound a little too healthy for a dying man. ‘Sanctus fortis’ is a huge test and it’s one that Groves passes with flying colours. He starts it in ringing, forthright voice but later on, just before cue 48 in the vocal score, he shades off the end of the phrase "Parce mihi, Domine" with great sensitivity. In this aria, and frequently during the performance as a whole, he demonstrates prodigious breath control. One example occurs in ‘Sanctus fortis’, where the whole eight-bar phrase, "For the love of Him alone, Holy Church as his creation" is taken in one span, where most tenors take a breath, quite legitimately, after the comma. Later, the first phrase of ‘Take me away’ is one glorious, seamless whole, as it should be but often isn’t. Returning to ‘Sanctus fortis’, there’s a lovely piangendo at cue 53, when the words "Sanctus fortis" are repeated gently by Gerontius, and then the phrase "O Jesu, help" is truly anguished. Groves’ delivery of the climatic "In Thine own agony", top B flat and all, is magnificent. In all, his performance of this testing keynote aria is very fine.

Part II brings different demands for the tenor soloist. Now he represents the soul of the dead Gerontius. Quite a bit of the music in Part I required the vocal resources of a heldentenor but the opening pages of Part II needs the subtlety of a lieder singer. I’m not sure that Groves is quite successful in these passages. The clear, pleasing singing remains a constant feature but he doesn’t seem to delve as deeply into the words as do some of his distinguished predecessors in the role. As an example, I compared the first solo – "I went to sleep" - as sung on disc by John Mitchinson (for Rattle) and by Anthony Rolfe Johnson (Vernon Handley). Both are so much more responsive to the words and both also sing more quietly. Groves can’t quite match those experienced masters of the role. But he brings his own insights and subtleties to the part and his dialogue with the Angel is intelligently and sensitively sung. Inspired, no doubt, by the presence of an audience, he was a touch more spontaneous at times in the live Proms performance. On the other hand, on that occasion he had to project into a huge acoustic. Here, recording under studio conditions, he can offer a more subtly nuanced reading. The last section of the role, the aria ‘Take me away’, is another hugely demanding solo. Groves’ opening is superb. Later on, perhaps, a little more dynamic contrast would have been welcome but his fervour – not overdone - firm tone and excellent breath control offer ample compensation and the final phrase – "there let me be" – is most affecting.

Alice Coote, who was the Angel in the Proms performance, once again takes the role for the recording. Like Paul Groves she offers much but I found it interesting to compare this performance with her live account. To my ears her voice has a slight edge to it at times in this present performance and her tone doesn’t have quite the same degree of warmth and fullness that she exhibited at the Proms. That said, she is right inside the role, she sings with feeling and commitment and her performance gives a great deal of pleasure. I like, for example, the inflection she brings to the words, "this child of clay". A little later on, she has the right amount of legato and warmth for "A presage falls upon thee." That wonderful passage "There was a mortal" is done with appropriate inwardness – I think she does this passage even better here than in the Proms performance. Her account of the celebrated Farewell is lovely. She brings compassion and dignity to this solo and sends the Soul of Gerontius on his way in a most reassuring way.

There is one change to the line up of soloists that took part in the Prom performance and it’s a significant one. In place of Matthew Best, who sang in 2005, Bryn Terfel sings the two bass solos. This is luxury casting indeed. Terfel is a magisterial Priest. His opening phrases are delivered with all the power and sonority that one would expect from this singer. However, I was delighted to note how, as the aria unfolds, he’s attentive to Elgar’s dynamic markings, which are often quiet, and by so doing he makes the Priest’s words properly prayerful. He’s an imposing Angel of The Agony, singing this dramatic solo quite splendidly. One relishes the sheer amplitude of his voice but, once again, one notes how attentive he is to the dynamic markings – and it makes such a difference. Often I’ve found that a soloist is more suited to one of these two solos than the other but on this occasion Terfel is completely successful in both.

At the Proms performance the Hallé Youth Choir, a mixed-voice choir whose members are aged between twelve and nineteen years, sang the crucial semi chorus parts. Their contribution was important then and I’m delighted to find them similarly involved this time. The involvement of these young singers, for whom this recording must have been a tremendous experience, gives this performance an edge over most of its CD rivals. Benjamin Britten scored a significant coup by using the choir of King’s College, Cambridge as the semi chorus when he recorded Gerontius in 1971 and I wonder if Sir Mark Elder had that precedent in mind. The use of young voices, with their completely different timbre, results in a sharp and very telling contrast and I find the effect is really exciting and atmospheric. The writing for the semi chorus is often extremely exposed but the young Hallé singers rise to the challenge superbly and their fresh, youthful voices add an additional and very welcome dimension to the choral sound. I think their involvement is a major success and I applaud it unreservedly.

Their adult colleagues in the main Hallé Choir are also on top form. They’ve obviously been prepared superbly by their chorus master, James Burton. So, every strand is clear in "Be merciful" and they bring real bite and urgency to "Rescue him." In the Demons’ Chorus their singing is virile and has excellent definition. Perhaps they could have snarled a bit more but it’s an exciting account of the chorus. Equally fine is ‘Praise to the Holiest’ and, towards the end, they are clear, controlled and atmospheric at "Lord, Thou hast been our refuge", never an easy passage to bring off.

The orchestral contribution is, if anything, even finer. From the very start of the Prelude to Part I you sense we’re in for something a bit special. The playing glows here and elsewhere. Dynamics are beautifully observed, the rhythms are well articulated and there’s a consistent feeling that the players are right inside the idiom and playing with belief. Two things are worthy of special comment. Firstly, the engineers have contrived to balance the organ beautifully so that whenever it plays it enriches the textures without being unduly prominent. Secondly, the harp part is hugely important and once again, the instrument is balanced perfectly so that time and again one is aware of its importance yet it never draws unwarranted attention to itself.

But for all the splendour of these contributions the whole is knitted into something much greater than the sum of its parts by Sir Mark Elder. Writing of his Prom performance I suggested that one or two of his tempi were a fraction too fleet. I have no such feelings here. I cannot recall a single bar in the whole score when I felt that the pacing wasn’t just right. Elder has demonstrated in several previous Elgar recordings and performances that he is a master interpreter of this composer. This superb interpretation confirms that judgement in spades. His shaping of the Prelude is masterly and that sets the tone for the whole performance. He is scrupulous in his observance of Elgar’s markings and in many ways that’s the key to success in Elgar performance for the composer was copious in the indications he gave in the score and if a conductor trusts Elgar and follows the markings that’s more than half the battle.

The performance has huge sweep and conviction but there are also many small points that show Elder’s meticulous and perceptive attention to detail. One example comes in the Prelude a couple of bars before cue 17 when the orchestra plays a quiet, stabbing chord, with the gong adding a frisson. Elder places and balances that chord to perfection. Move on to the short, hushed Prelude to Part II, for the strings alone. Elder obtains miraculous, luminous textures from his players and in a mere twenty-six bars he establishes an otherworldly atmosphere, just as Elgar intended. Best of all, at cue 3 the dynamic marking is an incredible pppp. Elder achieves precisely that and the effect is superb. Only one other conductor in my experience has matched this, namely Simon Rattle in his 1986 EMI recording, but to be honest, I think even Rattle is put in the shade at this point. These are very small points in themselves but they catch the ear and show the scrupulous attention to detail that has gone into the preparation of this performance.

Elder, however, is anything but a micro-manager. He is magnificent in the big moments. The end of Part I, after the chorus has joined the bass soloist at "Go, in the name of Angels and Archangels", is brought off expertly. Every strand of Elgar’s many-layered tableau is given its proper weight and the whole passage causes the eyes – or my eyes, at any rate – to prickle, as it should. Even better is the long build up to ‘Praise to the Holiest’. This long passage, after the Angel’s solo "There was a mortal" is challenging, but Elder’s direction is superbly assured. Once again, all the various strands - semi chorus, chorus, orchestra and two soloists - are knitted together perfectly. One thing I admired particularly is the way in which Elder paces the several short sections marked Poco più animato with a vernal eagerness and then observes the decelerations, marked by Elgar, to perfection. Here the ladies of the chorus and the younger ladies in the semi chorus sing with a wide-eyed freshness that is completely appropriate to Angelicals. The whole passage is an unqualified success and Elder builds the tension and the atmosphere so that when the choir erupts at "Praise to the Holiest" it is as if great gold doors have been thrown open to reveal blinding light. Elder handles the ensuing chorus masterfully. The last pages, from cue 94 onwards, are tremendously exciting without recourse to excessive speed as Sakari Oramo does on his CBSO recording (see review). The end of the chorus bids fair to lift the roof off the Bridgewater Hall yet Elder’s forces have more to give and manage to observe the crescendo on the last, long chord. It’s a thrilling moment.

One more example of Elder’s perceptive command of the score and of his forces will suffice. In Part II, starting at cue 114, is the remarkable passage where Gerontius sings, "I go before my Judge", followed by the choir’s muffled entreaties, "Be merciful". Elder distils the most incredible atmosphere in these bars. The music has an awestruck quality that I’ve never heard brought out so well. It sounds as if everyone – Paul Groves, the choirs, the orchestra – is on tenterhooks, scarcely daring to articulate the notes. It’s the most remarkable piece of music making imaginable.

So how can I sum up this recording? I think it’s a remarkable achievement and I have been greatly moved by hearing it. Paul Groves and Alice Coote both deliver very fine performances. I feel that both gave a little more in terms of spontaneity during the Proms performance, inspired by the presence of an audience. On the other hand, under studio conditions they achieve some subtle points that were not possible in the huge arena that is the Royal Albert Hall. Bryn Terfel is a superb addition to the cast. The choirs and orchestra are on inspired form and Sir Mark Elder confirms that he is the finest Elgar interpreter now before the public. Under his inspired leadership the white-hot inspiration of Elgar’s visionary score comes alive.

The performance is captured in excellent, atmospheric sound. The recording doesn’t quite have the punch and presence of the Oramo recording but it’s not far short in terms of immediacy. The forces are splendidly and truthfully balanced and the whole project is a great success for the engineers. The notes are by Michael Kennedy and up to that fine writer’s usual immaculate standard.

It has been well worth the wait for this recording. For over forty years Sir John Barbirolli’s great 1964 recording of Gerontius has dominated the catalogue. I’m sure he would rejoice that, in their 150th anniversary year, his beloved Hallé and their distinguished current Music Director have produced a worthy successor and one that offers irrefutable proof that the Elgar tradition of the Hallé is being maintained in the twenty-first century. Let us hope that Sir Mark will go on to give us new and equally fine recordings of Apostles and Kingdom but even if that doesn’t happen they have done Elgar proud with this distinguished recording which I have found to be a very moving experience.

-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International

The Creation is potentially the most life-enhancing work in the choral repertoire but it hasn’t been particularly well served on record, partly because it is difficult to sustain the necessary fervour in studio conditions. Sony has found performers who are both able and willing: Tafelmusik’s playing is predictably immaculate, and the Tölz Boys Choir (with fresh-voiced tenors and basses) is radically more accomplished than many all-male groups.

The big, set-piece choruses are very exciting, though some may find Weil’s speeds shockingly fast, and the impact would have been greater had the balance favoured the choir just a touch more. He is not afraid of greater expression in slower numbers (such as the introduction to Part 3), though on occasion the result is, I fear, too pretty for its own good.

All three soloists have something to offer: Ann Monoyios boasts a light, clear soprano ideally suited to her decorative arias in Parts 1 and 2; Jörg Hering’s warm tenor brings fluent musicality throughout; and Harry van der Kamp’s distinctive low-vibrato bass is deployed with great intelligence.

The overall style of performance is relatively intimate, so it’s a shame that the engineers give us quite so much resonant church acoustic; but the well-articulated German text is never under threat. Anyone not allergic to period-instrument Haydn will find much to enjoy here.

-- Stephen Maddock, BBC Music Magazine

Mozart: Clarinet Quintet in A Major, K. 581

The night has always been a time of enchantment; embodying the uncanny, but also the romantic side of human existence. For this Hänssler Classic release Jenny Lin has selected a program of night pieces that speak to both the sensual and more complex psychological aspects of nocturnal experiences – from Debussy’s "Clair de lune" to Arthur Lourié‘s "A Phoenix Park Nocturne" to Liszt's "Liebestraum" she evokes sounds, dancing, romance, far from everyday experiences, whispering of things hidden from the light of day. She evokes thoughts and visions from a shadowy realm that draws us into our inner world. A dramatically styled CD, expressive of human longing for the nocturnal side. - Hänssler Classic, (Translated from German)

In Wolfgang Rihm's compositions, there is a continual energy inherent in the sound objects themselves that the composer senses and liberates. Rihm coined the term "vegetative composing" for this particular relationship to the material; elsewhere he has spoken of reacting "seismographically". By means of inscription, contrafacture and overpainting Rihm creates absolutely new works out of works composed earlier within a compositional row. "Frage" stands out for it's two essential design approaches from the visual arts - linearity and the planar, objectlike - and it's use of two painting techniques: overpainting and inscription. More than that, however, the work is embedded into a network of references to the visual arts. Whereas in "Frage" elements of various ages were recombined into a montage, in "Sph�re um Sph�re" a model is completely reworked, namely, in the form of a contrafacture. Both works of this CD were premi�red by ensemble recherche, and "Frage" is also dedicated to this ensemble specialized in New Music. - First recording! Coproduction with Westdeutscher Rundfunk.

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There seems to be no plan at Hänssler to record all of the CPE Bach keyboard concertos on modern piano, but the three volumes that pianist Michael Rische has released thus far have been splendid, and generally superior to the competition from Miklós Spányi on BIS if only because Rische takes the composer at his word when he demands a really quick Allegro assai (Wq. 46 finale) or Allegro di Molto (Wq. 22). As in previous releases in the series, Rische offer two concertos with orchestra plus one from the group of six, Wq. 43, in the composer’s arrangement for piano solo.

Bach designed these latter works for popular consumption: they belong to his “easy” pieces, both technically (not really) and in terms of their moderate length and less weird than usual harmonic syntax. However, this doesn’t mean that the music is in any way bland or boring. Even in the brief central Adagio, only two and a half minutes long, Bach spins out a curiously affecting, consistently intriguing melodic line. Really, the man couldn’t write a boring keyboard piece if he wanted to.
Aside from the brilliant, early-ish D minor Concerto Wq. 22, the other major work is the double concerto in F major, Wq. 46, in which Rische is joined by Rainer Maria Klaas to make up a richly sonorous duo. There is only one other double concerto by Bach, specifically written for harpsichord and piano, which appears on the BIS complete cycle, but this wonderful piece deserves to be hugely more popular than it is. At twenty five minutes it’s a major work, with horns added to the string orchestra, and it would grace any concerto program.
As in previous releases in this series, the playing sparkles in the outer movements, and reveals a whole winning lyricism and sentiment in the central slow ones. Rische exploits the capacity of the modern piano fully, but always tastefully and stylishly, in the service of the music. The playing of the Kammersymphonie Leipzig is also excellent, here without conductor, unlike the earlier releases. First rate.
-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

“To me the composer’s role is to comment on the things that surround us in the here and now,” says composer Martin Schuttler (b. 1974) who lives in Berlin. What surrounds us in the here and now is the reality of the street, normal life, things outside the box of our private universe, things we stumble across every day.Dirt, garbage, trash, grunge, low-tech, junk, kitsch, scrap: all of this, the profanest of the profane, finds room in and provides material for Schuttler’s music, his steely, angular compositions, which are not without their gentle, mild, dulcet, almost suave moments. Puzzlement. Disruption. An attempt to explain and enlighten. “Pelze & Restposten” (“Furs and Remainders”) is the title Schuttler chose to give to his first portrait CD. It’s a dialectical word-game on luxury items and mass commodities, on value and worthlessness, on quality and quantity, not without a touch of self-deflation. His CD presents compositions from 1998 to 2009.

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There is to be a journey, not too far away, because, after all, it's nicest at home, isn't it? A journey for invited guests, offshore and onshore, by boat and by bus, and a few steps on foot. A journey full of surprises. A journey as a performance. A journey into the night... When looking for a word to best describe Harald Weiss' musical oeuvre, the most applicable certainly appears to be "cross-over". He has been honored with numerous prizes and awards for his artistic work: among others, the Rome Scholarship of the Villa Massimo, the Lower Saxony Scholarship for Film and Music, and a prize from the Premier TV station for his video clips.

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The artistic credo of the renowned Canadian organ duo (and husband and wife) Sylvie Poirier and Philip Crozier is manifested in their exclusive commitment to interpretations of original works, supplemented by commissions from composers who have done concerted work with the performance possibilities and compositional demands of four-hand and four-foot organ performance. The present organ CD offers two works by Albrechtsberger and Wesley from the first half of the nineteenth century and works by contemporary composers with whom the performers work closely.

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Classical Music

When brand new, this CD’s reputation preceded it: winner of many rave reviews, it has already received the initial WQXR Gramophone American Award. It is dedicated to the memory of the composer’s mother, Birgitta Lieberson-Wolfe (1917–2003), who was known professionally as Vera Zorina, but the disc is being viewed widely as a memorial to mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, who passed away in July 2006, at the height—or could it have been only the beginning?—of a great career. No singer since Callas has been so idolized, but her life and her achievements remind me more of Kathleen Ferrier’s. In a moving encomium in The New Yorker (September 25, 2006), Alex Ross makes the cogent point that conventional adjectives simply do not apply to Hunt Lieberson, but that we must fall back on them because there are no words in the language which can do her justice. I, too, fell under her spell on several occasions. She was radiant as Didon in Les Troyens, and then bitterly hurt and angry at being abandoned by Enée, feelings projected throughout the giant Metropolitan Opera House. In Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby and Harbison’s opera thereof, Myrtle Wilson is hardly more than a convenient plot device, yet Hunt Lieberson brought her to life; such a change could upset the balance of a work but in this case added nuance and depth to a work that needed both. Her singing of Britten’s Phaedra with the New York Philharmonic was so devastating that I had to reconsider everything I thought I knew about the work. The final time I heard her was in her husband’s lyrical, loving Neruda Songs, with Levine and the Boston Symphony; she was beauty itself. These occasions could have been four different singers, if such singers existed.

Peter Lieberson, the son of a composer, has been at least three composers in one: he writes works related to his “long-standing practice of Tibetan Buddhism;” he has written exciting, complex music that mirrors such earlier teachers as Babbitt and Wuorinen; and—under his wife’s influence—has recently written lyrical, expressive vocal music. It is the complex music (call it difficult, if you must) that appeals most strongly to me—viz., a thrilling recent DG disc, 457 606, titled Raising the Gaze. I am too ignorant of Buddhist beliefs and ceremonies to appreciate that side of the composer; although some of his most heart-felt music falls into that category, I have seldom been able to understand its statements or follow its procedures. These categories begin to overlap in the instrumental works on this disc. The Six Realms (1999–2000) mixes complexity with Buddhism. Written for Yo-Yo Ma’s Silk Road Project, its movements reflect “the six realms described in Buddhism . . . a highly detailed portrait of our human consciousness” (the quotations are taken from the composer’s program notes). Yet he also refers to the piece as “my concerto.” Written for solo cello and a large orchestra often sparingly used, its 27 minutes cover a wide range of emotional (presumably religious) and musical expression. After a bumpy start (mine), The Six Realms is now beginning to reveal its depth and power.

The Horn Concerto (1998–1999) is more conventional, as much so as anything I have heard from Lieberson. Lyricism meets complexity, each making room for the other. It consists of two roughly nine-minute movements, the first of which recalls concertos of Schoeck and Hindemith, the second Stravinsky, especially his Symphony in Three Movements. Fine models all, but surprising for Lieberson (who knew Stravinsky as a child). As the piece progresses, the writing for horn becomes more vibrant, more exciting, and no doubt very difficult to play. William Purvis rides it like a champion.

But the pieces de resistance here are the five Rilke Songs (1997–2001), taken from The Sonnets to Orpheus. Lieberson’s straightforward music seems to equate simplicity with truth. Music and performance transport us into Rilke’s world and involve us in his musings; that the vocal line is lyrical and the voice beautiful is almost incidental. While the performances of the two instrumental works are excellent, that of the songs is so ideal as to disappear. Pianist Serkin and the composer have been friends from birth and collaborators for decades; the singer was wife, inspiration, and artistic advisor; the three are one artistic whole. It comes as a shock to hear an eruption of applause; the audience at the Ravinia Festival must have been holding its collective breath for these 18 minutes. So was I.

Every one of Lorraine Hunt Lieberson’s recordings is a treasure. Every Peter Lieberson disc ought to be treasured; Oliver Knussen called his music “the real thing.”

FANFARE: James H. North

Dvorák: Greatest Hits

WALTON: SYMPHONY NO 1 ANDRÈ P

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NOEL! NOEL! NOEL! CHRISTMAS WI

MUSIC FOR ALL OCCASIONS

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SCHUMANN: KINDERSZENEN BRAHM

The excitement and passion Bernstein brought to Tchaikovsky is well known, but what strikes me even more forcibly on rehearing [this interpretation] is [the] intelligence and thoughtfulness... [W]itness the clarity of the canonic exchanges between lower strings and woodwinds in Romeo and Juliet's initial fight sequence... The New York Philharmonic also gives the conductor 100 percent effort. Ensemble isn't always perfectly tidy (note the occasionally slightly "off" cymbal crash in Romeo), but when Bernstein drives the players hard..., they respond with extreme bravura.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com [reviewing Romeo and Juliet, reissued as part of Sony 93076]

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Among Tchaikovsky's symphonies the Polish too often appears as the charmless one. I have long been hoping for a new version which would present the music with balletic flair, with a Beechamesque swagger. After Bernstein's disappointingly brutal account of the Little Russian last December (CBS 73047) I was not counting too much on this issue, but in fact far more than the two versions listed above Bernstein does give the music charm, disguises the rather square structure and encourages resilient rhythms. Bernstein is at his best in the first movement. Some may feel that after the superb panache of the first subject Bernstein relaxes too much for the second, which after all is marked merely pow meno mosso. But more than his rivals Bernstein relates this music to the Tchaikovsky ballets. That oboe melody is pure Swan Lake (a work contemporary with this), and so is the 'little swans' music of the trotting bassoon a couple of pages later. There are also hints of The Nutcracker in the delicate string scoring as the climax of the exposition is reached... Arguably Bernstein is too gentle in the second movement Alla tedesca, which is far slower than usual with a gentle flexibility which allows such moments as the reprise after the central triplet-based Trio to emerge with delightful delicacy. When for the coda Bernstein slows unashamedly, I personally am convinced by this approach, but anyone who prefers a straight approach to Tchaikovsky might object.

The remaining three movements are not given quite such a distinctive reading, but they are never less than persuasive. Bernstein again opts openly for dual speeds in the slow movement (for that matter so does Maazel) and though the opening tempo is slow for Andante elegiac° it is perfectly apt for the introductory idea with its hints of lazy fanfares in the distance. The surprisingly Elgarian second idea then comes in at a genuine Andante. The scherzo brings some splendid woodwind playing (the oboe here and elsewhere outstandingly good), and the tempo allows clean definition, which is more than one can say for the HMV Russian version. The finale again has plenty of space round it, a genuine tempo di polacca. The relaxed tempo means that the contrapuntal development which immediately follows the first theme runs the risk of sagging (Maazel is altogether faster, which makes things easier). The principal theme returns with splendid swagger after a very delicate conclusion to the central episode, and the patriotic theme returns with no apology, only just skirting the cliff-edge of vulgarity.

-- Gramophone [9/1973, reviewing the LP release of the Third Symphony]