By Jonathan Blumhofer

Orchestral splendor meets interpretive risk in two Mahler releases.

The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra’s Mahler cycle with music director Semyon Bychkov has been one of the post-pandemic era’s recorded pleasures: nothing says “social distancing is over” like hour-plus-long, fin de siècle symphonies for huge orchestras that were taped in the luminous confines of Prague’s Rudolfinum.

And, to be sure, few ensembles sound as good in this fare as does the Philharmonic. That reality is borne out on the collection’s final volume, consisting of the Symphonies Nos. 6-9, from Pentatone. Originally released exclusively as part of a box set, the four works are now available individually.

Each performance is a masterclass in orchestral color and tonal blend. The Sixth, for instance, offers a terrific degree of textural clarity (one can tease out, remarkably, some of the finale’s divisi string writing). In the Ninth, the Philharmonic’s horns and woodwinds make the Ländler’s closing pages into something quite special; the oboe-horn dovetailing and doubling that goes on after the first breakdown in that symphony’s first movement is, likewise, on-point.

Yet the excellence of the orchestral performances doesn’t always overcome the set’s interpretive quirks.

Bychkov has a distinctive take on Mahler that, at its best, is firmly convincing. When it’s not, though—and sometimes this happens movement-to-movement rather than symphony-to-symphony—things tend to go sideways.

Take the Sixth Symphony. True, there are great moments to be had in it, chiefly in the Andante (played with unsentimental clarity) and the finale (whose last third sounds invitingly fresh). Yet the first movement is structurally choppy and the Scherzo tends to plod (especially in the “Altväterisch” and “etwas zurückhaltend” spots).

More problematic is the Ninth which, though again wonderfully played, never feels urgent. Certainly, there’s a sense of narrative and atmosphere at work here—the first movement moves from serene and naïve to frenzied before collapsing in on itself—but it’s not a particularly persuasive tack. Much of the problem seems to come down to choices about tempo and character: though hardly an overly slow performance, this one is, ultimately, turgid and earthbound in its outer parts, stiff and lacking the requisite bite in the middle ones.

On the plus side, the orchestra’s performance—especially in those first and last movements—reveals something approaching the full richness of Mahler’s genius as an orchestrator (and in robust, full-bodied sound).

The last quality also marks their account of Symphony No. 7, which further benefits from a strong sense of underlying musical purpose. Though some first movement phrasings feel a touch insistent, the larger reading doesn’t stint on color or sweep. The middle sections are particularly flexible and lucid while Bychkov’s brawny approach to the finale suits the music perfectly.

His account of Symphony No. 8 is even better. Brilliantly sung, thrillingly directed, and taped with astonishing depth and precision, the reading is the highlight of the entire project, suggesting a fusion of opera and symphony that rarely emerges in this music. The soloists—sopranos Sarah Wegener, Kateřina Kněžíková, and Miriam Kutrowatz; mezzo-sopranos Stefanie Irányi and Jennifer Johnston; tenor David Butt Philip, baritone Adam Plachetka, and bass David Steffens—are flawlessly matched and the contributions of the Prague Philharmonic Choir, Czech Philharmonic Choir of Brno, and Prague Philharmonic Children’s Choir masterful.

It’s not too much to say that this is a superb performance and one of the finest recorded Eighths I know, right up there with Solti’s and Tennstedt’s. As such, it’s a fitting capstone to a project that, whatever its interpretive ups and downs, is one of the best-recorded Mahler cycles on the market.

Meanwhile, in Zürich, Paavo Järvi and the Tonhalle-Orchester continue their Mahler cycle with a new recording of Symphony No. 7.

Their previous installment in the series was a dynamic account of Symphony No. 1 and this Seventh is cut from a similar cloth: it’s exceedingly characterful (especially in the three middle movements) and very well played. Järvi favors lively tempos throughout and there are times—notably in the opening movement—where taking a step back and allowing the music some room to breathe wouldn’t have hurt, especially in lyrical spots.

But he’s got a firm grasp of phrasing and a good sense of Mahlerian musical space. This means the first Nachtmusik’s plays of character come out vividly and the diabolical Scherzo is a delirious, phantasmagorical ride. The second Nachtmusik is a reverie after a fashion: more driven than usual but still with moments of repose. It may not be to all tastes, but the climax is conspicuously lively and Järvi’s larger approach puts one in mind of Bruno Walter’s non-too-indulgent readings of Mahler slow movements.

His take on the finale is likewise athletic and crisp, at least until the section before the end where echoes of the first movement intrude on the jolly proceedings. Here, the music’s change of tone is underlined effectively, if, given the context of pushing through everything else beforehand, maybe a touch too obviously.

That said, conductor and orchestra manage to draw out the tension of expressive contraries in motion during the symphony’s coda with aplomb. The results are impressive and insightful.

Jonathan Blumhofer is a composer and violist who has been active in the greater Boston area since 2004. His music has received numerous awards and been performed by various ensembles, including the American Composers Orchestra, Kiev Philharmonic, Camerata Chicago, Xanthos Ensemble, and Juventas New Music Group. Since receiving his doctorate from Boston University in 2010, Jon has taught at Clark University, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, and online for the University of Phoenix, in addition to writing music criticism for the Worcester Telegram & Gazette.