Symphony No. 15 in A major, Op. 141[a]; Piano Concerto No. 2 in F major, Op. 102[b]; The Gadfly Suite (ed. Lev Atovmian), Op. 97a: Romance[c] and Folk Feast.
Mariss Jansons, London Philharmonic Orchestra, Robert Truman (cello)[a], Mikhail Rudy (piano)[b], Joakim Svenheden (violin)[c].
EMI CDC 5 56591 2. DDD. TT 74:56
Recorded April 1997, No. 1 Studio, Abbey Road, London.

Listening to the symphony, I found many of the same descriptions creeping to mind as when I auditioned Mariss Jansons' distinctive reading of the Fifth (see DSCH No. 9). Here, again, is a synoptic view, an achievement all the more praiseworthy in the Fifteenth, segmented organism that it is. And here again, Jansons has something unique to say.

Consider, for example, the second movement, which Jansons stretches to an incredible 17:03, exceeding even Valeri Polyansky's sprawling account (also reviewed in DSCH No. 9). Unlike Polyansky's version of the movement, however, Jansons' does not fizzle out. To be sure, it lacks the chill of Sanderling's take (at 15:21, still long-winded; Berlin Classics 0090432BC), nor does it bring to mind the Hieronymous Bosch hellscape of Ashkenazy's performance (Decca/London 430 227-2; deleted). Instead, the approach to the central climax becomes a surreal funeral procession, the formality of which is cut through and made painfully personal by Robert Truman's elegiac cello work. On the other side of said climax (which here recalls the raging against the dying of the light in Strauss' Death and Transfiguration), the symmetrically balanced slowness transports the listener from the realm of time and space.

Jansons' direction makes structural sense not only within movements, but across the symphony as a whole. Listen to the third movement, Allegretto, on its own, and it sounds perfectly conventional. In context, though, additional forcing turns out to be quite unnecessary, since after Jansons' intimate second movement, the Allegretto appears that much more grotesque, intrusive and unwelcome.

There are also fresh discoveries at a local scale, like the more-prominent-than-usual timpani tattoo from Fig. 124-2/4:49 in the fourth movement, in which the metrical prescription for which beats should be emphasised is exaggerated: an irregular heartbeat calling attention to itself ... or perhaps an ominous knocking at the door?

But the single detail in this reading that struck me most forcefully was, paradoxically, far more subtle. It comes a short while later in the fourth movement, at Fig. 132/8:12, with the entry of piccolo and flutes. As I listened to this performance for the first time, I started to register mild annoyance with the swapping of usual emphasis on the wind melody (which I'd previously assumed was the main point at this juncture) with the randomly swirling semiquavers in the strings, the latter's volume increasingly eclipsing the winds. But then, just twelve seconds later at Fig. 133, I received the awful realisation of the logic behind this nuance: those deceptively aimless swirls resolve into a malevolent tornado that drags the listener into the destruction of the climax (which boasts easily the most shattering cymbal clash I've heard in any performance of the Fifteenth).

This, then, is a compelling interpretation on many different levels. If it does not displace the transfixing account from Ashkenazy and the Royal Philharmonic as my top recommendation, it joins them at the front of the pack.

How quirky, though, to partner this intense work with the entirely untroubled Second Piano Concerto, a 19th birthday present from Shostakovich to son Maxim! While sequential listening would be profoundly anticlimactic, taken on its own merits the concerto wins a delightful performance. Mikhail Rudy delivers a bouncy, characterful first movement, a second full of tender affection, and a last brimming with good-natured humour. As for the orchestra, everyone concerned is quite superb; moreover, they sound as if they're enjoying themselves immensely.

The two most-familiar movements from Lev Atovmian's arrangement of The Gadfly are an equally odd choice of makeweights. No matter; solo violinist Joakim Svenheden's tone in the Romance could hardly be more swoon-provoking nor the orchestra's turn at his melody more sweeping. I don't believe that we've ever before heard such fabulous shine in the trumpet flourishes of the Folk Festival (here labelled Folk Feast). Again, the orchestra clearly relish this music.

To top it off, the recording is in the demonstration class, with a wide, three-dimensional stage image, excellent focus and bass extension capable of inflicting structural damage on your foundations. All told, the album is an unqualified success.

W. Mark Roberts
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