Ingolfsson inhabits the balletic world of Stravinsky with as much commitment as the hermetic space of Shostakovich. There are some strange recording perspectives.

Stravinsky's Divertimento is an arrangement of the music from his ballet The...

Recordings of performances with a dark historical backdrop are fairly plentiful – think of Václav Talich conducting Má vlast in Nazi-occupied Prague, Rostropovich braving Dvořák on the day the Soviets entered Prague, the maverick pianist Maria Yudina playing Mozart for Stalin, harpsichordist Wanda Landowska performing Scarlatti in Paris with anti-aircraft fire exploding in the distance, Gieseking playing the Emperor to the unsettling accompaniment of falling bombs, and so on. Now, to add to this disquieting but uplifting catalogue, Sir John Barbirolli conducts the Berlin Philharmonic in Brahms's Second Symphony, the location the rebuilt Coventry Cathedral, the date June 1962, the whole affair facilitated by the City of Berlin and the Federal Republic as a gift of reparation in memory of the original cathedral, which the Luftwaffe had razed to the ground in the early 1940s. Testament has released a transfer of the Brahms and although the recording is in mono and the cathedral acoustic more ample than is useful for specific instrumental detail, careful microphone placement means that the overall balance is actually rather good. As to the performance, the immediate impression is of a vast dynamic range and a superb instrument playing to the ample spaces available to it, the horns in particular quite overwhelming in their impact. Barbirolli's interpretation is broad and loving, with predominantly dark textures (so much for this being the 'happiest' of Brahms's symphonies!) and, for the finale's blazing last page, a massive slam on the brakes. You can hear an audience presence but, rather than end with applause, the performance closes to respectful silence.

Coincidentally the Barbirolli Society has released another live Brahms Second, recorded at Boston's Symphony Hall with the city's Symphony Orchestra, part of a concert given three years before the one from Coventry. It's likely that the faster overall pace in Boston is due at least in part to the drier acoustic and the reduced need to avoid converging lines. Still, the effect is quite different, more silken and energised, though the underlying warmth remains. The rest of the programme is fascinating; in fact, we're offered two versions of it: one from January 30, 1959, the other from January 31 (with radio announcements and in marginally inferior sound). Barbirolli's own Elizabethan Suite features superb strings and horns in 'The King's Hunt', there's Delius's The Walk to the Paradise Garden (rather more restrained than expected), and a colourful reading of Wait on's Partita. All the recordings are in stereo.

Another comparison arrives, again involving Testament, which has released a Berlin Philharmonic Concert given at the Salzburg Festival in August 1960 under the direction of Joseph Keilberth. The main item is Bruckner's Ninth Symphony and anyone who recalls Keilberth's 1956 Telefunken recording with the Hamburg State Philharmonic will already know that he had the full measure of the work (that same recording was reissued on CD bizarrely coupled with part of Bruckner's Te Deum!). Prior knowledge of that recording will not, however, prepare you for the impact of this live performance which, in a word, is stunning, the Berlin brass presenting a welter of tone, powerfully projected, the Adagio's crowning peroration as devastating as any on disc – and I do mean any! If perchance you need convincing that Keilberth could come up with the goods in symphonic music, then look no further. The couplings are a buoyant account of Schubert's Rosamunde Overture and Alban Berg's Violin Concerto with Christian Ferras as the soloist, an occasionally rough-edged performance full of intense expression but which doesn't quite gel as an entity. Turn then to a broadcast performance put out by Audite from four years later, when a more mature Ferras was partnered by the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra under Massimo Freccia (a Franz Schalk pupil), and the overall impression is of a performance that's more confident, more skilfully shaped from the rostrum (the work's rhythmic aspects come across with greater clarity), and interpretatively better integrated. As to Audite's coupling, Ferras's 1951 Berlin Philharmonic recording of the Beethoven Concerto under Karl Böhm is the work of a precociously gifted teenager; yet, rather than opt for outward virtuosity, Ferras really plumbs the depths, his playing invariably quiet and softgrained, with some daringly broad tempi yet with real bite in the finale. Böhm's conducting is a model of discreet accompanying, with a firm pulse, neatly pointed phrases in the outer movements and a warmly sustained Larghetto. But there's a significant problem in that the surviving tape, although perfectly adequate sound-wise, lacks the opening measure of the Larghetto. The solution would have been easy: just record the surviving second measure and repeat it (they're musically identical) but, no, Audite decided that this would have invalidated the recording's authenticity. Personally, I would have copied the motif, but there you are ... you can't complain that the people at Audite lack musical integrity.

This is a lovely recording (made in 1993), played with delicacy and rigour. The three-manual instrument at St Martin's Riegel, tuned to Werckmeister III, is excellent for this programme of song variations and music with the stylus phantasticus elements of the German Baroque. Particularly noticeable are the high quality flutes. The theatricality and colourful gestures of the stylus phantasticus are kept under control – nothing too flamboyant here – and what is remarkable about the playing is the transparent clarity. Not a note is uncared for, and each line is a delight to hear, even in the midst of rich contrapuntal textures. A gently paced account of Sweelinck's Mein junges Leben hat ein End keeps something of the tender melancholy of this song, which can be lost in brisker versions, while Bach's Toccata, Adagio, and Fugue is vibrant: there is real spring and drive in the second half of the Toccata. The Fugue is more monumental than some versions, though clarity is finely retained in a piece that is not the tidiest of Bach's contrapuntal writing. I have rarely heard echoes in the pedal solo before, but the pedal mixture goes on and off to some effect here. Other music includes a sensitive account of Bach's partita on O Gott, du frommer Gott, Georg Böhm's variations on Jesu, du bist allzu schöne, and Sweelinck's variations on the student song More Palatino. The instrument includes a Vogelgesang stop – birdsong – from which we have a delightful 17 seconds as the mood-setter at the beginning. A disc well worth hearing.

This CD juxtaposes north German stylus phantasticus pieces with variations, on a fine modern 3-manuaI 35-stop organ tuned in Werckmeister III temperament. The Praeludia/toccatas by Bruhns (G major), Buxtehude (BuxWV 155), attrib. Böhm (G minor) and J.S. Bach (BWV 564) are given lively, imaginative performances, with the unequal temperament bringing the diatonic keys and their harmonies vividly alive. The intimate colours of the organ are well demonstrated in Sweelinck (Mein junges Leben and More Palatino), Böhm (Jesu, du bist allzu schöne) and Bach (O Gott, du frommer Gott), although Mein junges Leben lacked creativity and charm.

It is easy to overlook the many original features in Grieg's music, especially in his most famous works. The Piano Concerto, for example, which everyone knows, was the first in musical history to end slowly and, prior to his Peer Gynt music of 1874-75, did any composer conclude an orchestral movement with a passage for unpitched percussion , as Grieg did?

Because of the familiarity of his music, exemplified above every other factor by its melodic appeal, such innovations as these – and there are others – simply go by the board. Yet the truly intelligent conductor, perceiving these remarkable departures from the norm (and perhaps spurred by the admiration for Grieg's music evinced by the likes of Debussy – his String Quartet is based almost entirely on Grieg 's in the same key, despite his later derogatory comments – and by Bartók, Busoni and Stravinsky, whose first job for Diaghilev was to orchestrate several of Grieg's piano pieces: these have never been recorded) will pay greater attention to details in the scores than most of his confederates. The results can often appear surprising: but such details are in the music, silently awaiting rediscovery.

The Norwegian Eivind Aadland falls into the investigative category of conductors, for this new CD, boldly headed 'Complete Symphonic Works, Vol. 1', should really be heard not only by all admirers of this composer but also by his detractors, who may thereafter find their views in need of revision. Here we have the two Peer Gynt Suites and the Symphonic Dances. Exceptional among conductors of this music, Aadland is a stick er for the correct observance of repeats, with the result that the four-movement Symphonic Dances comes across virtually as the composer's second symphony (the much earlier C minor Symphony was mistakenly withdrawn by Grieg after several performances). As such, Grieg's Op. 64 displays a rise in tonality from G to A across its four movements – by no means unusual either in music of the time (1898) or in his own earlier works (the First Peer Gynt Suite follows the identical tonal progression).

Indeed, in terms of choice of tempos and of internal orchestral balance, Aadland places this music on altogether a higher artistic plane than it usually occupies, and obtains really fine playing from the West German Radio Symphony Orchestra of Cologne. This is notable music-making, and if one has a comment, rather than a criticism as such, it is that on occasion Aadland tends to anticipate changes of tempo a shade too soon, but such is the overall excellence of this performance that that is the only query one can raise: otherwise, this is a very fine performance indeed.

Much the same can be said of the two Peer Gynt Suites; I particularly admire Aadland's observance of the attacca joining the final movements of the Second Suite. I cannot recall hearing this feature so correctly conveyed as it is here. Elsewhere, this music is played with considerable love and consideration of detail, but it is the account of the Symphonic Dances which deserves special attention.

Although this is the first volume in the series, it will not be the first integral recording of Grieg's orchestral music, for the composer's own Bergen Philharmonic has issued such a collection on BIS – the first by a Norwegian Orchestra – which is very fine indeed, under Ole Christian Ruud, and which has justly won several international awards, including that of the Grieg Society's Record of the Year more than once. The couplings are different, but this music is so good, so original, so well loved and ultimately so immortal, as to warrant new recordings by dedicated musicians, such as this outstanding new Audite CD exemplifies.

An exceptionally good programme essay for this disc by Wolfgang Rathert points to the problems that lurk in wait for the performers in Schumann's first two piano trios, lying as the music does between 'expectations of virtuosity and brilliance and his own compositional ambitions of reflection and constructive concentration'. High among the qualities of these excellent performances is the ability to make the most of the brilliance of the writing without losing a grip on the lyrical, and indeed the highly personal, inward nature of the music. Melodically, both works are difficult, and the players (helped by a very lucid recording) keep a clear hold on not only the unusual nature of the melodic material but on how it is conveyed between the instruments and how it is so skilfully developed. The great striding theme opening the First Trio seems initially straightforward, owing much to Mendelssohn and in particular the D minor Trio which Schumann so much admired: 'the master Trio of the day', he wrote, as in their day had been the Trios of Beethoven and Schubert. It turns out to have many pitfalls in this long, complicated movement, and it is to the players' greatest credit that they never lose their grasp on the directions it takes. They keep the textures light in the Scherzo; and without overemphasis, even with understatement, the beautiful return to the opening music at the end of the slow movement is the more effective.

The Second Trio is in some ways even more elliptical, and if Mendelssohn is again largely the inspiration in the first movement, here the material is much more personal. Rathert points out the importance of the song allusions which Schumann incorporates: the subtle manner in which out of a previous theme there emerges 'mention' of the song 'Intermezzo' in the Eichendorff Liederkreis praising the portrait of the beloved ('Dein Bildnis') and its answer at the end of the third movement from Frauenliebe und -Ieben, as the gesture of love is returned from the woman to the man. In this subtly allusive music, one cannot be sure whether or not there is perhaps a further Eichendorff 'Dein Bildnis' reference in the slow movement, at any rate a melodic line drawn from it. It is fascinating music, played here with great perception, and with the suitably outward virtuosity indeed concealing much inward thoughtfulness.

Despite the avalanche of Hans Knappertbusch reissues that has occurred during the last 15 or so years, collectors of that most individual conductor's work will want to acquire this magnificent new set of radio recordings with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, for three principal reasons.

Firstly the majority of the recordings were made between 28 January and 1 February 1950, with the Bruckner Eighth from a year later, and the Beethoven Eighth and Strauss 1,001 Nights Intermezzo from the year after that. The 1950 recordings most interestingly include both studio and public performance accounts of Schubert's Eighth and Bruckner's Ninth Symphonies, thus enabling the listener to compare directly two performances in the hands of an at times controversial conductor. There is Iittle difference to be detected, apart from a slightly greater sense of urgency in the public performances. But in general Knappertsbusch in the studio is as effective as in the concert hall, judging by these particular sound documents.

A second reason for acquiring this set is its range of programming. The typical heavyweight works for which Knappertsbusch was famous as an interpreter are on this occasion admirably balanced by two CDs of lighter fare. Admittedly Karel Komzak's irresisitible Bad'ner Mad'ln sounds more like a Liszt tone poem than a piece of spa music, but in a way that's part of the attraction. That Knappertsbusch could be just as swift as the next conductor is well evidenced by his mercurial account of the Die Fledermaus Overture, so it's the sheer variety of musical voice and inflection of tone that fascinate here.

The third reason for acquiring this set is the very fine engineering. Although several of the recordings have seen the light of day on both LP and CD, there can be no question that in these newest incarnations – which make use of the original radio broadcast recording tapes – they sound better than ever. The quality never drops below solidly respectable early 1950s mono, and throughout there is a reasonable amount of acoustic space around the orchestra, though even a bit more would have been desirable for the Bruckner Eighth. Add to these favourable factors Audite's excellent presentation, complete with a very informative and extensive note by Habakuk Traber, and the set becomes self-selecting. No matter how many Knappertsbusch recordings you may have already, I recommend this new set most warmly.

This set contains all the surviving RIAS recordings by Ferenc Fricsay of Bartók's music (a 1958 recording of Bluebeards Castle was woefully destroyed). All the works listed above were recorded commercially by Fricsay and his orchestra for DG except the Cantata profana. The 1951 radio recording of this work has been issued before as part of a 1994 DG Fricsay Bartók collection in its "Portrait" series (C 445402-2). The sound in Audite's transfer is a little clearer, though this strange, complex composition does need more modern, stereo sound. Fricsay evokes a pungently dark, heavy atmosphere in a performance whose only defect is that it is sung in German instead of the original Hungarian.

Though the radio recordings of the remaining works all date from 1950-53 they are all more than adequate in sound – sometimes they are startlingly good. Varga's live recording of the Second Violin Concerto is the only failure in Audite's set. The soloist's playing is frankly very poor, since it is technically fallible, with bad intonation and an unpleasantly insistent, rapid vibrato, and as recorded Vargas tone quality is squally and scratchy. (In their "Portrait" issue DG offered Varga's commercial recording, made some months earlier. Here the playing is more accurate, but the unpleasant vibrato and undernourished tone are again in evidence.) It is a relief to hear Rudolf Schulz's solo violin performance in the First Portrait, for he plays most beautifully.

Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, with its separate instrumental groups, does really need stereo recording, but Fricsay's lithe, intense performance is superlative. In common with the Violin Concerto the Divertimento performance derives from a concert performance, rather than one prepared in the radio studio. Fricsay uses a big string group and neither intonation nor ensemble are accurate, but the performance is characterful – strong, poetic and full of energy. In the Dance Suite Fricsay, as opposed to Dorati in his equally authoritative but very different performances, is more flexible, less insistent rhythmically, and his tempi tend to be a bit faster. Two equally valid views of this appealing work.

Audite's third disc comprises works for piano and orchestra played by three pianists famous for their Bartók. Andor Foldes is given a forward balance in the Rhapsody, but not even his advocacy can convince me that this early, derivative work is an important item in the composer's output. Géza Anda's commercial stereo recording of the Second Concerto with Fricsay is familiar to Bartók admirers. In his 1953 performance the younger Anda chooses quite fast tempi in the outer movements, but Fricsay follows willingly, and the result is a fine combination of virtuoso playing and conducting. Both the poetic sections of the middle movement and its quicksilver elements come to life vividly. It's good to have such an important souvenir of Kentner's Bartók in the Third Concerto. He brings a satisfyingly tougher than usual approach to the work as a whole – nothing is 'prettified', and his performance and that of the orchestra are quite brilliant.

De verbintenis tussen Otto Klemperer (1885-1973) en het RIAS-Symphonie-Orchester...