Mahler enthusiasts have cause to be grateful to Gilbert Kaplan, the biggest enthusiast of them all, one moreover with the wherewithal to sponsor such projects as a collection of all known photographs of the composer, a beautiful facsimile of the manuscript score of the Resurrection and a critical edition of that work, credited to Kaplan and Renate Stark-Voit. His latest wheeze, in partnership with Rob Mathes, is to cut down its orchestral fabric to a sinfonietta-sized ensemble of 56. The result is justified by analogy with the reductions made of the Fourth Symphony and Das Lied von der Erde at the behest of Arnold Schoenberg, and brings the orchestral forces closer to the size Mahler had in mind when he envisaged the Resurrection’s opening movement as a freestanding entity entitled Todtenfeier. But isn’t the undertaking superfluous now that the finished symphony is no longer a special event in the concert hall or on disc? Even if the interventionist alchemy of a Leonard Bernstein is perhaps inconceivable in these days of Mahlerian glut, what we need most are performers capable of projecting that special sense of occasion. It is in this respect that Kaplan might be found wanting.

Universal Edition’s publication of the latest revamp gives him the opportunity to mount the podium once again and record the piece for the third time. There is little consensus about the viability of his endeavours in this area, not least because Kaplan is a wealthy amateur whose piano lessons went no further than yours or mine. A master of marketing, his earliest set (Pickwick, 1/89 – nla), featuring sundry Welsh choirs and a gung-ho LSO, is said to have shifted more copies than any other Mahler recording. Kathleen Ferrier aficionados might not be alone in querying those statistics. I don’t suppose Kaplan pretends to be a great Mahler conductor as opposed to an uber-faithful servant of what is, after all, the only complete composition he has ever directed in public, but he plainly relies on the willing co operation of colleagues to an extent which makes for less than incendiary results.

So it proves here. The hollowed-out score is rendered that much paler and dimmer than it needed to be. I cannot say whether the dearth of potentially destabilising passion and attack, like the preference for sluggish tempi, is a sensible precaution on the part of an amateur maestro or genuine interpretative preference (born of substantial albeit narrow experience). Entries are not always absolutely unanimous even so. Still, the timbre of mezzo Janina Baechle is well suited to the ‘Urlicht’ – and she at least appears to be at ease with the experience. The venerable choir, presumably trained by someone else, is also on form and the recorded sound is luminous and spacious in the ensemble’s regular home, Vienna’s Konzerthaus. Producer Rainer Maillard (who worked on Boulez’s as well as Kaplan’s DG recording of the Resurrection) is the ultimate pro.

If the Kaplan/Mathes arrangement really does help less prestigious amateur ensembles mount local performances, the endeavour might have a point and the recording serve as a useful template. As for repeated listening in the home, I can’t see it having much traction given the absence of old-school interpretative flair, let alone the heavyweight orchestral sonority Mahler demands. Even Kaplan fans may find that sensational final climax a disappointment. It’s a long time coming. Worse, the music conspicuously fails to build towards it. His LSO version, flawed as it is, conveys much more excitement at the close and is capped by real church bells…if you can find it. Then again, we’re still a very long way from Claudio Abbado in Lucerne, whose ‘celebration of the purest joy’ is available in multiple formats.