The obvious advantage of DVD with a work as dense as 
          Notations I-IV is its capacity to help the listener pick out 
          individual threads of texture, but the necessary concomitant of a sound 
          quality to match the pin-sharp visuals is not met here. Focusing on 
          the first desk of the first violins as they twitter elegant trills near 
          the start of Notation II is not much use if you can’t hear what 
          they’re playing; leader Samuel Magad could be playing Ying-tong iddle 
          I po for all I can tell. The sound is selectively detailed, with percussion 
          and bassoon emerging vividly and this suggests poor microphone placement 
          rather than bad engineering. 
        
 
        
You can hear enough to enjoy an elegant, almost nonchalant 
          performance of the Notations which rather underplays their moment-to-moment 
          switches of harmony and texture. They have almost become a ‘20th 
          Century Classic’ now, and I’m not sure that the status is good for them. 
          Barenboim plays them in the unusual order of 1-2-3-4; the composer, 
          Rattle and others switch 2 and 3 so that slow and fast pieces alternate. 
          Not only does this tactic give rest to the listener’s ear with the cool 
          sensuousness of no.2 but it accentuates the thrilling staircase of motifs 
          that rises through no.4 until its almighty final crash. 
        
 
        
La mer is similarly detailed, sensitively played 
          and lacking idiom. De l’aude à midi sur la mer rocks becomingly 
          but the tempo changes and hesitations are just too obvious to be ardent. 
          Dialogue du vent et de la mer’s cheesy tune is resplendent enough 
          but there’s too little excitement generated prior to the peroration 
          to generate cumulative satisfaction. 
        
 
        
That comes with an affectionate treatment of the dancing 
          Baroqueries in Falla’s Three-Cornered Hat, to which Elisabéte 
          Matos contributes assertively. Danza del corregidor has a rather 
          heavy tread, though its pulse is always maintained and Barenboim keeps 
          the textures light enough to highlight some superbly characterful solos. 
          His grunting, however, can’t quite keep the orchestra together at one 
          or two points in the fiendish cross rhythms of the final Jota. 
          Fans of the classic version by Ansermet may well be turned off by Barenboim’s 
          comparative lack of rhythmic bite and rounder-edged orchestral sound, 
          but I found his evident enjoyment of the music infectious. He also pitches 
          it at just the right level, halfway between local fun and Stravinskian 
          edginess. 
        
 
        
The encore? Spanish fluff. The filler? No filler but 
          a display of intellectual fireworks from Pierre Boulez, with Barenboim 
          as a slightly otiose interlocutor. Its 10-minute duration is tantalisingly 
          brief and yet within that time Boulez throws off enough insightful observations 
          and reflections to provide food for thought for hours. Did you know 
          – would you expect? – that, ‘like all the French’, the Wagner Boulez 
          is most immediately attracted to is Tristan and Meistersinger? 
          Given his exclusive association until very recently (when he has programmed 
          the Prelude and Liebestod in concert) with Parsifal and 
          the Ring, it seems extraordinary. Boulez wears his years lightly 
          in spry intellect and appearance; by contrast Barenboim appears prematurely 
          aged. ‘We have to be aware of the past but we must not be prisoners 
          of the past’, concludes Boulez, and he appears to have learnt from his 
          words better than any of his contemporaries. 
        
 
        
        
Peter Quantrill