It is not so very long ago that the idea of playing Mozart on period instruments was regarded as amiably eccentric and of little more than academic interest—far away, of course, from the real business of music-making. Well, here we have two conductors, probably the leading British (and perhaps world) exponents of period instruments today, in music at the very heart of the repertory; to me it seems clear that these men occupy the interpretative high ground once inhabited by the Beechams, the Klemperers, the Karajans. What is more, the two could hardly be more different in their interpretative approach.
No one, I hope, would be fool enough to say that one is 'more authentic' than the other, though certainly these two hold quite different relationships to tradition. Roger Norrington is more the iconoclast, and always does something to make one think afresh about the ways in which we have been taking things for granted in playing Mozart and listening to him. The Prague Symphony, done with an orchestra of the size Mozart might have hoped for in Prague but certainly didn't get (strings are 8.8.6.5.4), begins with a sombre and almost menacing slow introduction: echoes of the Prague opera, Don Giovanni, perhaps. The main Allegro of the first movement is taken at quite a deliberate tempo, and with the repeated-note principal subject played much more 'on the string' than usual, giving it extra weight and the orchestral fabric extra density. It is a serious, purposeful reading. There are fierce, explosive fortes, also some slightly odd little crescendos, and the development section has a fine sturdy rhythm (its counterpoint emerges with almost baroque austerity); while the powerful climaxes of the recapitulation of this marvellous movement are given full value. The Andante moves along fluently with no sacrifice to its breadth of scale; textures are warm and there are many refined details of timing to give it shape. In the finale, done at a quite moderate tempo, Norrington gives due weight to the accents and changes of dynamic, pointing up the detail sharply; I have heard wittier and more charming readings, but this one certainly gives full value in its own way.
The G minor has some original ideas too. The opening movement is fleet-footed and texturally very clear; it has one or two slightly surprising details, such as the semi-echo effects in the first tutti and the curious sustained chords (which no one has ever thought to play anything but detached before) just preceding the double bar. Some of these do not especially appeal to me, but they need to be listened to and considered. The slow movement is quick, to my mind too quick to make some of the musical points that are important; it seems a little unnaturally pressed forward. In the Minuet, Norrington sustains the first note somewhat, almost as if slurring it across the bar-line; this tends to de-energize the music slightly, in spite of the lively tempo. In the finale too there are little oddities, for example in the way the recurring two top Ds are articulated. As usual, then, these performances of Norrington's are alive, provocative and original, showing all the time the effects of his enquiring musical intellect; and they are finely played by his admirable band.
John Eliot Gardiner's are much more conventional in tone. One could be forgiven for taking this for a modern orchestra, at least for a minute or two, if one switched into it unknowingly. The string sound is full and quite glossy, and the emphasis tends to be on the first violin line to a degree unusual in period-instrument performances. Tempos are traditional too, and the recorded quality suggests a larger acoustic than on the EMI disc. The first movement here is still molto allegro, though not as molto as Norrington's; there is, however, a very strong rhythmic drive and a resulting breadth and spaciousness that are very persuasive. The development section is done with particular force. In the Andante there is plenty of room—Gardiner's timing is 13'50'' to Norrington's 12'09'' (they each take both repeats)—for shaping the music, and the result is a reading of great eloquence and distinction. The firm and relentless rhythm of the minuet provides an almost Beethovenian sense of anger and striving; and the finale has tremendous vitality, with the salient string lines, basses as well as violins, cutting brilliantly through the texture.
Here, again, the second repeat is taken, but it is not in the first movement; nor is it in the last movement of the Jupiter (it is not called for in the first two). This is, I think, to be regretted, and is a departure in period-instrument readings. In a CD already containing 74'44'' one should not perhaps be too greedy, but these two great movements do genuinely gain from performance at full measure and it might have been wiser not to try to couple these works (others have done it, of course, but with fewer repeats, or with speedier tempos). The Jupiter, anyway, receives a very fine performance. The opening is quite moderate in tempo, with the soft answering phrase somewhat stretched; and I regret the piano-crescendo-forte in bar 21 (which Mozart would certainly have asked for had he wanted anything so eccentric). But that is a passing detail within a performance of exceptional nobility and stature. The Andante is played at almost an adagio tempo, and justifies it in the expressive richness of the performance, which has both grandeur and tenderness. There is a fine swing to the minuet, and a reading of the finale of great vigour, with many thrilling things in it, perhaps especially in the development and the recapitulation (which is partly why I could have done with it twice over!) as well as the wonderfully climactic coda. These two CDs, then, are full of fine and stimulating things, both of them excellently recorded (and indeed recorded almost as differently in style as they are performed).'