If you ever had any doubts that Jansons's Oslo Pathetique (Chandos) deserved pride of place at the top of the list of modern versions of the symphony, prepare to have those doubts confirmed. Right from the opening here (slow and mysterious, the dark-hued Russian bassoon helps) you feel that something special is happening. The veiled flickerings of the ensuing Allegro start at a genuine piano, a more than usually disturbing half-remembered, half-dreamt sequence (compare Jansons's outdoor manner here). The sweet relief of the second subject, naturally, unselfconsciously phrased, is perhaps most affecting when taken up by the solo clarinet (at 8'44")—memorably piano pianissimo and dolce possibile—the dream has surely never faded like this.

As is quite common, a bass clarinet (not a bassoon, as marked in the score) takes us to the development's shattering intrusion. And the preceding delicacy and restraint do not prepare you for the force of the playing here: thunderous cellos and basses (no spotlighting), the penetration and power of the trumpets with the all-important descending scale (at 10'18"), and quite the blackest snarl from the trombones at the end (13'57") that I have heard. What has become obvious so far is that Pletnev is able to coax from his willing orchestra playing of an enormous range of dynamics, without the extremes at either end of the range seeming an end in themselves. Whatever the levels, the playing is always supremely expressive. And, as ever with producer Andrew Keener, this full range is unflinchingly reproduced in the recording (the overall level is thus necessarily lower than usual).

If you recover your critical composure for the second movement (it took me several minutes), you may feel the upper woodwind are a little retiring. The orchestra's flutes and oboes certainly produce a softer, more veiled sound than western counterparts. I have not heard the orchestra live, or anything else recorded in the superb (on the evidence of this disc) acoustics of Blackheath Concert Halls, London, but with Karajan 1964 (DG, 6/77—nla) or Jansons, the individual woodwind timbres are clearer, and at fig. C (2'08") the Russian orchestra's horns obscure the triplet quaver turn of the main theme in the woodwind. It's a tiny grumble, restricted only to this movement, and the beautifully blended woodwind voices certainly make a very melancholy choir.

There is quite phenomenal articulation from the orchestra at Pletnev's tempo for the third movement (on timings, faster than even Mravinsky on DG) and a very perky clarinet with the first full appearance of the march theme at 1'38". Separated violin desks add to the bustle of activity here. Again, one notes the character of the playing at both ends of the dynamic spectrum: at the start the quiet leggiero staccato is a joy, as is the powerful accenting of the fff strings from 7'07".

Exactly why Tchaikovsky chose to give the final Adagio's opening idea to crossing string parts is an enigma to me (do you have any ideas?). Anyway, the effect is lost with all the violins on the left. So here it is with a lovely, but not overdone, subito piano at the end of the phrase. The heat of the moment probably accounts for the staggered entry of violins and cellos at 4'53", and if the performance had been any less compelling, I would probably be carping about it. Beginning with a very marked stringendo at 6'39", the final climax approaches as inevitably as a gathering wave and draws away with (not before) some of the richest, most noble trombone and tuba sounds I have heard from a Russian orchestra. Indeed, throughout there is no trace of the wobble so beloved of Russian brass players.