Shostakovich [Symphony] Symphonies. Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra / Kyrill Kondrashin.

Melodiya (Mid  price) (CD) 74321 19839/48-2 (ten discs, oas: ADD).

74321 19839-2 (71 minutes): No. 7 in C, "Leningrad", Op. 60 (from HMV Melodiya SLS5109, 2/78). 74321 19840-2 (60 minutes): No. 4 in C minor, Op. 43 (HMV Melodiya ASD2741, 10/71). 74321 19841-2 (57 minutes): No. 8 in C minor, Op. 65 (ASD2474, 6/69). 74321 19842-2 (54 minutes): No. 13 in B flat minor, "Babiy Yar", Op. 113 (with Artur Eisen, bass; Russian Republic [Choir] Choirs. ASD2893, 4/73). 74321 19843-2 (54 minutes): No. 11 in G minor, "The year 1905", Op. 103 (ASD3010, 9/74). 74321 19844-2 (66 minutes): No. 2 in B, "To October", Op. 14 (Russian Republic [Choir] Choirs. ASD3060, 5/75); No. 14, Op. 135 (Evgenia Tselovalnik, sop; Evgeny Nesterenko, bass. HMV Melodiya EX290387-3, 12/85. Recorded 1974). 74321 19845-2 (68 minutes): No. 3 in E flat, "The first of May", Op. 20 (Russian Republic [Choir] Choirs. ASD3045, 2/75); No. 5 in D minor, Op. 47 (EX290387-3. 1964). 74321 19846-2 (65 minutes): No. 9 in E flat, Op. 70 (ASD2409, 1/69); No. 15 in A, Op. 141 (EX290387-3. 1974). 74321 19847-2 (76 minutes): No. 6 in B minor, Op. 54 (ASD2447, 3/69); No. 10 in E minor, Op. 93 (EX290387-3. 1973). 74321 19848-2 (69 minutes): No. 1 in F minor, Op. 10 (SLS5025, 12/75); No. 12 in D minor, "The year 1917", Op. 112 (ASD3520, 8/78).

After Mravinsky's politically motivated refusal to undertake the premiere of the Thirteenth in 1962, Shostakovich found a stalwart interpreter in Kyrill Kondrashin. "Dmitri Dmitriyevich never interfered with my work. He always held in his hands a box of Russian cigarettes ('papirosi'), on which he noted down whatever he wanted to tell me afterwards. With great pride I remember him saying to me, 'Kyrill Petrovich, you're a hard man to work with. Just as I write down some point, you're already making it to the musicians!'." Clearly then, Shostakovich cycles don't come any more authentic than this. At the same time, there are three (going on seven) rival sets in the catalogue today, more than in 1989 when these performances last appeared in five ill-assorted CD boxes on the Chant du Monde label—more certainly than in 1985 when EMI issued them as a 12-LP set. Those who want to replace treasured LP copies should not hesitate, but newcomers would be better advised to pick and choose. Objectively speaking, the playing of the Moscow Philharmonic is not uniformly distinguished, possibly because Kondrashin's brand of fevered intensity suits some works better than others. He can be startlingly brisk, the panache and brilliance hardening into mannerism (usually when the music might itself be considered below par). I wondered too about BMG's involvement in this project. Despite the high standards of their Toscanini, Reiner and Monteux reissue packages, the transfers here are no more than serviceable; there are no texts for the vocal works and the badly translated accompanying notes are untrustworthy at best. That said, it would be churlish not to welcome the return of some unbeatable music-making, and Nos. 4, 9, 13, 14 and 15, arguably Kondrashin's greatest recordings, do fare reasonably well.

The Fourth was taped shortly after its belated unveiling in December 1961 and the papery strings and lurid brass cannot disguise the unique authority of the reading. It is difficult to imagine more lacerating intensity from the strings in their moto perpetuo fugato passage which triggers the main climax of the first movement, although Shostakovich's colouristic effects are inevitably muted by the primitive engineering (and the end of the movement is affected by pre-echo). The finale is not quite so successful: Kondrashin neither italicizes the bizarre genre passages to create maximal disruption, nor does he integrate them into a convincing whole. Sir Simon Rattle could yet trump him here. The classic Ninth (from 1965) comes conveniently paired with a superbly vivid Fifteenth (from 1974), generally hard-driven a la Mravinsky but far more convincingly poised. The first movement goes at a frightening lick, deserting the toy shop for the asylum, the slow movement lacks only the very last ounce of desolation and the finale, always intelligently conceived, is suitably emotive at the close. The sound has immediacy and just enough depth. Though of earlier vintage, the Ninth enjoys a more generous acoustic, the tape a little prone to distortion at moments of stress (which for Kondrashin, as for Rozhdestvensky, come more often than usual). Much praised in these pages over the years, both interpretations have a tonal weight and sarcastic intent which cannot fail to shock the uninitiated, but Kondrashin's is the finest of all. Confusingly for those who read the work as deliberately subversive, there were several Soviet LP versions of the Fourteenth, Kondrashin's ranking among the best both artistically and sonically. The conductor's extrovert manner is tempered by the inky blackness of Evgeny Nesterenko's bass, its sepulchral quality peculiarly appropriate to these death-haunted songs. Evgenia Tselovalnik is a match for him, and privileged members of the Moscow Philharmonic tear into the notes as if their lives depended on it. The coupling is an unexceptionable, quick-fire Symphony No. 2 without the factory whistle effect.

Kondrashin's Thirteenth is a special case. While undoubtedly the finest studio recording the work has yet received (there seems to be some confusion over the precise date of its making), it now supplements rather than supersedes his highly charged concert relay unearthed by Russian Disc some months back. True, Artur Eisen is a magnificent soloist in the later performance, more responsive to poetic detail than Vitaly Gromadsky, though not necessarily preferable when a simpler declamatory style works so well. But he has to cope with a subtly sanitized text for "Babiy Yar" which weakens the author's personal identification with the fate of the Jewish people: the indictment of anti-Semitism becomes less specific to Mother Russia and we are reminded of her "heroic deed in blocking the way to Fascism". The remastering is acceptable, if curiously drained of resonance (except for the passage beginning 5'36" into "Fears" which sounds as if it has been spliced in from a different session). Kondrashin's view is consistently angry and inspired and the chorus is terrific so you will probably need both versions. This is one piece for which texts are scarcely an optional extra and Russian Disc's presentation is certainly superior to that of Melodiya.

Of the remainder, the Eighth and Tenth are particularly affecting—or would be were the master-tapes in better shape. In the Eighth, recorded as long ago as 1961, the opening gestures have tremendous fire and attack, and Kondrashin holds the movement together in a taut arc of protest, eschewing to some extent the spiritual desolation evoked by Kurt Sanderling and other distinguished rivals. For once there is no danger of torpor, though some (not DJF) will feel that depths remain unplumbed. The third movement makes a powerfully violent impression. The drawback is the orchestral image, fierce and crumbly without sufficient dynamic range. The Tenth suffers more grievously by having its opening notes lopped off and the next few accompanied by a low roaring noise of indeterminate origin. Uncharacteristically, Kondrashin indulges in some exaggerated moulding of string lines, fading and swelling into the central climax of the first movement, despite what is otherwise a straightforward and forthright reading of the text. Something similar happens in the early stages of the scherzo, which is otherwise as manic and driven as you might expect. Whatever the coded references to developments political and personal (one theory has the horn theme encrypting a one-sided love affair), the Allegretto goes exceptionally well; Shostakovich's personal brand of fatalism is aptly evoked in the frustrated self-assertion of the final climax balanced by the almost nonchalant torpor of the close. The raucous recording emphasizes the crudities of the finale. But if the rejoicing is meant to be proletarian, football terrace stuff, might Kondrashin not be nearer the mark than long-standing Western favourites like Herbert von Karajan? The makeweight is a rushed Sixth which shows its age.

The remaining discs bring fewer revelations. In the Third, Kondrashin is in his element once the music gathers pace, but the opening has little of the atmosphere of Rostropovich's LSO account. Its coupling, the Fifth, sounds so worn and distorted that it is difficult to assess a reading in which all the expressive emphases make sense even when Kondrashin seems too brisk for profundity. The frenzied drive is at its most extreme in the finale, where the orchestra sounds pressed, the recording almost breaks up and the closing pages are tackled with fierce ironic deliberation and out-of-tune timpani. Bernard Haitink's Gramophone Award-winning Fifth provides an extreme, emblematic contrast. The Twelfth, perversely denounced by Melodiya's own notes but lent some dignity by Kondrashin's interpretation, is paired with an attractive, highly inflected account of No. 1, decently engineered. The third movement's plaintive oboe solo struck RL as merely ill-tuned. The Seventh and Eleventh Symphonies are similarly conceived, which is to say uncommonly fast though not without moments of passionate intensity.

To sum up: Kondrashin finds in these scores an unrivalled degree of dramatic tension, bringing to the surface raw emotions that more smoothly executed Western accounts play down. We may be impressed by the diligent literalness and sobriety of Haitink, the exquisite coolness and clarity of Inbal, but to what extent should we worry if they illuminate aspects of the music the composer himself thought unimportant? It isn't simply a matter of 'authentic' orchestral timbre. These CDs may not present Kondrashin's cycle in an entirely favourable light, but they still document a very special kind of insight.

DSG