At its best, this engagingly theatrical Petrushka could score points off most of the competition. Rattle's CBSO on EMI or Haitink's Berliners on Philips can both outstrip the Orchestre de Paris in matters of panache and virtuosity, but Bychkov is plainly persuasive when it comes to characterization: at all times this is eager, aware and watchful playing—there's an honesty about it, it draws you in. He doesn't miss too many tricks: rhythm and texture might still be brighter and sharper over the opening pages (I can always hear the vivid articulation of Rattle's violins, the rosiny incisiveness of his string basses as the scene bursts into life at around 20'00'') but Bychkov has caught the darting light of the harp, he hears the wheeze of the hurdy-gurdy, and he makes much of the peremptory rush of adrenalin as the showman finally unveils his puppets (a whiplash chord, an unceremonious grunt from the bassoon). Stravinsky's inter-scene drum links are unusually vigorous (actually startling)—at once moments of dramatic release and anticipation.
Backstage, the shadowy puppet-world-within is beautifully observed, the Paris woodwinds excelling in each of their guises. Success here is entirely in their hands, of course: the rubatos animate, entice, humanize; as in all good performances of this piece the notes take on an emotional life of their own. ''Petrushka alone'' is a pathetic figure, his panic just before the Blackamoor scene is graphically communicated. Other perceptive touches include the hesitant bassoon awkwardly coming to grips with his accompaniment to the waltz, and the corny trumpeter proudly displaying his corny tune. The final tableau rarely fails: success is virtually written into the various sideshows—keep them rhythmic, maintain the energy level (Bychkov does), and the colours will come up like new. Bonuses here include a corpulent, unbuttoned solo horn to lead the ''Dance of the Wet-nurses''. Of course, in this of all scores there are always problem pages, but Bychkov does not succumb. The Masqueraders and 'scuffle' (an awkward few bars) can fall horribly flat—not here. Bychkov is especially to be commended for the sensitivity with which he negotiates the final minutes, the icy pallor that falls across the score at the moment of Petrushka's 'death'. Clarinet and solo violin mourn the hapless puppet (the clarinet in particular is a most beguiling player), whereupon he effectively points up the contrast in the ensuing bars (suddenly very animated—a false jocularity) as the showman vainly tries to shrug off the incident. One final touch: the concluding pizzicato, disconsolately limp, speaks volumes.
So, a good, sporadically exceptional Petrushka, warmly and ripely recorded, though with less analytical immediacy than the Philips-engineered Haitink version (if that kind of sound-picture is to your taste). An alert, supple Divertimento, full of self-evident affection, completes the disc—though this is the moment, of course, where I remind you that Rattle offers the considerably more substantial attraction of a stunning Symphony in Three Movements.'