I noted in my review of the first volume in this Landon Ronald 
                  series that there was another fine example of the conductor’s 
                  Tchaikovskian credentials in the next disc. It’s his 1925 early 
                  electric recording of the Fourth Symphony, again with the Royal 
                  Albert Hall Orchestra. For the time this was a fine recording, 
                  with good frequency response in all orchestral sections. Ronald 
                  was not as incendiary a conductor in this repertoire as his 
                  colleague Albert Coates, and he didn’t enjoy the reputation 
                  of Beecham or, from a later generation, Constant Lambert in 
                  the Russian muse. But he did nevertheless possess significant 
                  gifts of his own. The performance is taut, no-nonsense, and 
                  possesses some highly personal touches, though they’re hardly 
                  Mengelbergian in their extremes. There are some rather vitalising 
                  metrical moments, as well as decelerandos, and a corpus of luscious 
                  portamenti, though quite discreetly employed – they’re actually 
                  more pervasive in the New World Symphony which shares 
                  disc space with the Tchaikovsky. The strings have to count hard 
                  in the pizzicato passages but they emerge relatively unscathed. 
                  Some of the brass playing is a bit sticky. The conclusion is 
                  powerful. It demonstrates again Ronald’s buoyant strengths as 
                  a symphonic conductor. This is an important document for at 
                  least one reason. There were no acoustic recordings of the symphony. 
                  Isolated movements, yes – by Cuthbert Whitemore for Vocalion, 
                  Henry Wood for Columbia and Karl Muck for Victor – but no complete 
                  recording, so this Ronald inscription is the first ever set 
                  down. For many people this makes it a mere curiosity, but for 
                  the archivally minded it’s rather more than that. As well as 
                  the two Symphonies curated by Historic Recordings, Ronald recorded 
                  the Sixth in 1923 (acoustically), the Piano Concerto No.1 with 
                  Mark Hambourg (now on Pristine Audio PASC223), as well 
                  as other isolated movements and various smaller pieces. 
                  
                  Collectors of a serious bent – and I stress the seriousness 
                  of the obsession – will know that Ronald recorded Dvořák’s 
                  Ninth on two occasions. The first, with the RAHO once more, 
                  was recorded between 1919 and 1922. It was the first complete 
                  recording of the symphony to be issued, though as with the Tchaikovsky 
                  single movements of the Largo had appeared. In January 1927, 
                  taking advantage of the new advances made in recording techniques, 
                  Ronald set down his electric remake, again with the RAHO. In 
                  the meantime Hamilton Harty had set down his very brisk Columbia 
                  version. Ronald’s approach is stern, brusque in places, cultivating 
                  a stygian response from his quite Germanic bass-up string sound. 
                  These he contrasts powerfully with the yielding wind statements. 
                  The strings play with plenty of portamento – there’s one passage 
                  in the first movement, and another in the finale, where the 
                  sliding in a single phrase is fantastically co-ordinated – though 
                  occasionally they could be tidier. The brass playing is rugged 
                  and strong, the whole ethos dramatic. This is a far graver, 
                  more measured and sepulchral interpretation than Harty’s. 
                  
                  The Tchaikovsky transfer is excellent. There’s one evident side 
                  join (it’s at 4:03 in the finale) but otherwise it preserves 
                  the fine sound of the HMV electric, and though it’s hissy with 
                  one or two clicks it’s very listenable indeed. It demonstrates 
                  just how good electric recording could be, even at this early 
                  date. I was disappointed however with the Dvořák which 
                  has utilised a very different transfer technique. HMV shellac 
                  hiss has been computer-curtailed but a steely swish has replaced 
                  it. It’s a torrid sound. 
                  
                  There are no notes, as usual from this source. Acknowledging 
                  the caveat about the New World, this disc conjoins two 
                  historically important recordings, very well worthy of investigation. 
                  
                  
                  Jonathan Woolf