There's a scarcely believable freshness and virtuosity in the playing…

On the evidence of these performances - a vibrant, glowing Seventh and a poorly thought-out, run-of-the-mill Fifth - Dudamel is a born conductor but an unpractised interpreter. His style suggests a longing to return to the glory days of an era which ended with the deaths of Bernstein, Karajan and Solti. The sound is full-bodied and carefully groomed; there is no antiphonal division of the violins; repeats are in short supply. Yet who can entirely object when the playing is as glorious as much of this? The Fifth is bedevilled by a lack of a through pulse in the first movement development and coda, and otiose broadenings of the motto at the end. ...the Seventh... brings out the best in Dudamel's conducting; it's visceral energy, its generosity of spirit (and phrasing), its heart-warming nurturing of a belief that every note matters. The orchestra responds nobly to his demands. The finale is a dead ringer for Karajan's 1983 Berlin version, which is saying something. For these young musicians to come within hailing distance of so fabled an ensemble is an earnest of just how special they are.