Whatever the rival claims of Dresden and Berlin, there is usually some special alchemy when the Vienna Philharmonic plays Richard Strauss. With Andre Previn setting sensible tempos, content to let the music speak for itself, many listeners will be more than happy with what is, in truth, a curiously old-fashioned programme. Not that there is anything outmoded about the sound. Collectors familiar with the naturally distanced effect favoured by both Telarc and Philips engineers, working with these same performers in Strauss, will be struck by the very different philosophy of the DG team. Theirs is a fiercer, front-row-of-the-stalls balance and, while the visceral impact is undeniable there is a brilliance about the sound you may find intimidating. Distance does not invariably lend enchantment, but it might have obscured the momentary scrappiness in the third of the Intermezzo interludes (track 4, 1'13''ff) to say nothing of the page turns! On the other hand, what sounds like the highlighting of instrumental detail may simply point to the heightened clarity obtained by DG's 4D audio recording process.
The melange from Rosenkavalier begins too slowly, but it's the only real tempo misjudgement on the disc, and the superior playing puts Marriner's respectable Stuttgart version on Capriccio very much in the shade. While it is possible to imagine a more involving, less literal performance—Previn himself contributed a rather flashier one on RCA (10/70—nla)—the piece isn't generally thought worth playing as well as thi, if at all. In implicating Artur Rodzinski in its fabrication, DG's note manages to spell both his names wrong. The Intermezzo interludes are better still, inevitably more opulent than Jeffrey Tate's without, I think, resorting to the ''overstuffed grossness of orchestral sound'' perceived by MEO in Zubin Mehta's account. Indeed, so convincing are they that (for once) you want to hear the opera complete. Where Marriner entrusted the Capriccio Sextet to the whole string section, Previn preserves the intimacy of the original and makes sure that the Interlude is properly balanced—as it wasn't in Ashkenazy's Decca recording with Barry Tuckwell, a special case perhaps. The uncredited horn player here is simply glorious, thanks in part to his distinctive Viennese instrument. Sounding just a mite studio-bound, Previn's is neither the sexiest nor the speediest ''Dance of the Seven Veils'' on disc. Nevertheless, the vivid sonics help him bring out many felicitous details; the drumming at the outset is both spectacular and well-tuned.'