Believed to have been composed between August 1775 and January 1777, the Concerto In E Flat Major for two pianos technically counts as being the tenth of Mozart's twenty-seven concertos, that huge and prodigious body that would set the standards for all piano concertos from Mozart's time forward. Although it is not performed with the same frequency as his later works (especially the final eight concertos, 20-27), this "Double" piano concerto, believed to have been composed by Mozart for performance by him and his sister Maria Anna ("Nannerl"), is nevertheless a fascinating experiment of Mozart's, one that requires a pair of solid keyboard virtuosos to do (and for the composer's Seventh piano concerto, you needed three soloists).

Claudio Arrau, one of the greatest piano masters of the s. XX, leaves us astonished with this intense and majestic version, showing his immense knowledge of German Romanticism of which he was an excellent exponent. Excellent temps and wonderful nuances. Here Bernard Haitink shows us why he became a benchmark in conducting by one of the best ensembles on the planet: the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra.

Claudio Arrau, one of the greatest piano masters of the s. XX, leaves us astonished with this intense and majestic version, showing his immense knowledge of German Romanticism of which he was an excellent exponent. Excellent temps and wonderful nuances. Here Bernard Haitink shows us why he became a benchmark in conducting by one of the best ensembles on the planet: the Amsterdam Concertgebouw Orchestra.

Though there are many recordings of the popular Symphony No. 7: 'Leningrad' (for good reason, as this is one of the finest of Shostakovich's glowing works), the catalogue listing for recordings of the Symphony No. 12: The Year 1917 is less lengthy. This would probably come as no surprise to Shostakovich himself, as this particular work represented inner conflicts in his own view of his homeland political milieu, views more nebulous on the surface but suggested in the context.

In this version, Ashenazy's approach is conservative. He builds his climaxes with a measured understanding of what one could call the "architectural grandeur" of the piece. Bernard Haitink and the Concertgebouw provide great accompaniment to Ashenazy's playing throughout, yet the combined energies of orchestra and soloist come through in an absolutely thrilling finale.

Vladimir Ashkenazy’s way with the Rachmaninov Second Piano Concerto noticeably mellowed in the years between his blistering 1963 premiere recording on Decca with Kirill Kondrashin and this 1986 reading. That’s not to say it became mushy or dull, but it is certainly heavier, characterized by a prevailing darkness that calls to mind Stravinsky’s description of Rachmaninov as a “six-foot scowl.” Ashkenazy’s rich tone and emphatic phrasing assures an overall somber cast, while Bernard Haitink draws similarly-countenanced playing from the Concertgebouw Orchestra–the low strings especially. However, there is a respite from the gloom in the quite touching rendition of the lyrical slow movement.

Originally released in 1966, Bernard Haitink's vivid recording of Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 3 in D minor is coupled here with a 1973 performance of Das klagende Lied; since these are among the least performed and least familiar works in Mahler's catalog, the pairing is mutually beneficial to each, and listeners who have neither in their collections would do well to consider snapping up this affordable set. Perhaps the only flaw should be mentioned up front: though virtually no tape hiss is audible, there is a bit of an acoustic "vacuum" around the sound of the musicians, suggesting that the analog masters have been cleaned up a bit too efficiently and some resonance seems lost.

Ashkenazy and Previn are broadly agreed on choice of tempos throughout the work. At the very opening, after the magical silvery flutes, Ashkenazy is a shade more volatile and he certainly echoes the words "sparkle and dash" in the evocation of the "sledges dashing in a row, their bells jingling". Here his tenor soloist, Ryszard Karczykowski, brings an added degree of temperament to the singing. In the slow movement too, Natalia Troitskaya's contribution has all the freshness of Armstrong, yet there is a natural slavonic feeling too—the singing opens up that bit more, yet without a hint of crudeness.

Conductor Wilhelm Furtwangler already enjoyed a worldwide legendary standing during his lifetime - he was considered the German conductor and performances were greeted with rapturous applause. Today, more than 50 years after his death, Wilhelm Furtwangler is still an icon and his work has become an integral part ofthe music scene.

The Second Concerto is more unitary in manner. There are still occasional moments of hard tone from Ashkenazy, but they are less noticeable here. It’s a nice performance if you like a pretty broad first movement, an energetic but controlled Scherzo, a mellow Andante and a Finale which aims more at grace and good humour than anything climatic. The recording is lively with a touch of glare at times.

Johannes Brahms was not a composer who showed much confidence early on in his career, at least as far as large-scale orchestral forms were concerned. Take for instance what we know to be his Piano Concerto No. 1, which premiered in 1859. This work began as a sonata for two pianos, and then Brahms considered developing it into a symphony. But the shadow of Beethoven's nine essays in the symphonic form dogged Brahms so much that his First Symphony didn't appear for almost two decades. It finally emerged into this turbulent and elongated D Minor concerto and, despite receiving a fairly frigid reception at its premiere, it is a work that has come to be seen as Brahms' first true large-scale orchestral masterpiece.

The two Serenades, Op. 11 and Op. 16, represented two of the earliest efforts by Johannes Brahms to write orchestral music. Recorded with Bernard Haitink at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam with its own wonderful unique acoustic these serenades never sounded better. First of all, Haitink is supremely competent with a superb baton technique and an almost unmatched ability to balance an orchestra and shape a movement. Second of all, Haitink is a supremely tasteful conductor who never imposes his will on the music through his interpretations, but rather allows the interpretation to arise from the music.

This is a fine Testament release taken from the archives of Netherlands Radio and enshrines some magnificent Barbirolli performances in somewhat opaque sound. The Satie Gymnopedie's have a delicate and loving sound that reveal Sir John's deep and intrinsic love for the miniaturistic charm of these enchanting pieces. Britten's 'Sinfonia da Requiem' was another Barbirolli speciality and this is one of many recordings available. However it is intriguing to observe the special attention and alertness that the Concertgebouw players impart to the music that takes on an added grandeur. However it is the Dvořák Seventh that is the real highlight of the disc as it is a version to die for! Sir John handles the music with real imagery and heart-on-sleeve emotion that almost rivals Kertész and Sejna, my other preferred versions in this landmark work.

Bernard Haitink’s 1980 Manfred was the prize of his Concertgebouw/Tchaikovsky symphony cycle. Riccardo Chailly’s 1987 effort with the same orchestra, while very good, doesn’t quite live up to that standard. In both recordings you get the sense that Tchaikovsky composed Manfred expressly for the Concertgebouw Orchestra. The very sound of the ensemble in its own hall conjures the dark, fantasy world described in the music. To this add lively and colorful playing, rich sonority, and utterly impeccable musicianship and you’ve got a uniquely compelling aural experience. Where the performances part company is in Haitink’s embrace of Tchaikovsky’s passionate dramatic ethos, a quality that Chailly, by contrast, tends to shy away from. (Of course, for a truly passionate reading you have to hear Muti’s rendition on EMI.) In his favor Chailly does have Decca’s vivid, high-impact digital recording, which, though having less warmth than the analog Philips production, better conveys the massiveness of the Concertgebouw Hall’s acoustics.