It’s no secret that if there’s one name that’s been on the rise for several years now, it’s that of Klaus Mäkelä. An absolute prodigy, a pupil of Jorma Panula, an orchestral sound of total fullness, a joy no doubt linked to something intuitive, but do we really need to go over all that again? Yet Mäkelä is still not unanimously convincing on all levels. On record, in particular. After a complete Sibelius recording of – very – high quality – to be compared with the tour de force of Santtu-Matias Rouvali – of extraordinary refinement and naturalness, although the conductor does not accentuate the intrinsic strength of the Finnish composer’s symphonic works, the conductor followed this up on Decca by failing to live up to the expectations placed in him. Having heard him once in concert, in Brahms’s First Symphony, I found the same faults as on the record: a kind of surface as silky and smooth as a mirror, but too little flesh, so controlled that the life necessary for natural expression was lost. Nevertheless, there were moments of anthology in this performance, which was teeming with ideas. Yes, but moments. On record, Shostakovich was more alive than an overly formal Stravinsky. And now, at the helm of his Orchestre de Paris, Klaus Mäkelä brings us his Symphonie Fantastique. Berlioz. Astonishing, isn’t it? Surprising, because Berlioz, who indulges in refinement and control, can really be a double-edged sword. The great French conductors generally throw themselves into it with a liveliness that borders on urgency, as in the case of Münch, Argenta – who I think belong to the French tradition – and Paray of course, but also Monteux and Cluytens. Some seek greater breadth, but accentuate the rawness, like Mitropoulos, Szenkar or Bernstein – with Paris. Others, finally, take on the refinement and finesse of the analysis, and play on the accentuation of every detail, like Celibidache or, in an even more surprising version, Stokowski. Mäkelä, on the other hand, seems to fall into a stranger in-between category. There’s drive, a real naturalness, but a total attention to detail. And sometimes, in fact, too much control. Some passages are absolutely fabulous in their formal beauty, such as the introduction, the ‘Rêveries’ and the ‘Passions’, which become such through an interplay of gleam and broad expressivity. The orchestra’s colours are miraculous!

Orchestrally, the ‘Scène aux Champs’ is simply breathtaking in its virtuosity. But isn’t there also a certain exteriority here? Once again, the sound is totally rich. The sweetness of the woodwinds! The dialogue is certainly very well directed, but shouldn’t it go beyond all mastery in order to emancipate itself? Mäkelä’s gesture still seems to hold back a little too much passion. But at the same time it amplifies the scope of the ‘torment’ that follows. Once again, the intentions are brimming with ideas. Each chord is characterised. And the rubato is very well felt. The sound planes are immensely clear, and the fullness of sound lends great intensity to the discourse – lacking the almost unbearable tension we experienced with Münch. But we can already feel, particularly in the woodwinds, the beginnings of what prevents the sense from carrying us away fully: control. And again! This is all the more noticeable in the Finale, where Mäkelä never seems to really want to let go, and where the tension is amputated by woodwinds that are too clean and smooth, and where the accelerations are too linear and therefore predictable. On the other hand, the fullness of the fortissimo is once again breathtaking in its virtuosity. Above all, Mäkelä uses his mad mastery to create a real atmosphere, a global climate that surrounds us and sweeps us away. This is truly admirable. The dialogue between the different sound levels, particularly in the strings, is absolutely exhilarating. The interplay of voices that intersect and respond to each other at a crescendo! Once again, only the winds seem to be holding back. A welcome touch of wry humour comes just at the right moment. It’s a very fine performance, bringing a whole new approach to the work with a flood of welcome ideas.

Ravel’s ‘La Valse’ concludes the disc, with a very clear opening. Something awakens and takes shape. We seem to see a raw material taking shape, with great mastery – once again, however, it’s a question of control, with Mäkelä not escaping her demon. Melody is the order of the day, carried along by shimmering colours. Admittedly, this is not necessarily a very gritty Ravel, but is it emotionally neutral? Perhaps we shouldn’t go that far, but it’s worth noting that there’s little detachment in the content. This waltz, with its dazzling virtuosity, rounds off a very fine disc.