Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition

High Fidelity Review, UK
March 29 2004

`Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition’
An SACD review by Mark Jordan

It depends. That’s my answer to the inevitable question this review
will raise: Who will want to rush out and buy this disc? Fans of
Mussorgsky may not find any new ground covered in this reissue of
Leonard Slatkin’s conservative performance of `Pictures at an
Exhibition’, and devotees to modern digital sound might find that
this analogue recording is smoother than an orchestra really sounds
live in concert, but aficionados of fine analog sound will be in
heaven to hear the creamy richness of this 1975 recording engineered
by the legendary Marc Aubort.

Aubort has engineered many recordings over the years, particularly of
the Saint Louis Symphony, mostly in partnership with one producer,
the late Joanna Nickrenz. They oversaw a long string of recordings
that changed the reputation Vox Records had in the 1950’s and 60’s
for indifferent sound. Many early Vox recordings of Horenstein and
Klemperer were great performances marred by rough recording
conditions. Neither of those maestros ever had it as good as what we
hear on this disc. The Nickrenz/Aubort recordings did, however, do a
great deal to establish the reputation of American conductor Leonard
Slatkin, who, as Aubort points out in his technical addendum to the
notes, was familiar with the recording production process due to his
musical family (his father Felix Slatkin was also a conductor who
frequently recorded in the 1950’s for Capitol). Thus Leonard Slatkin
was able to work efficiently and effectively under pressured studio
conditions.

As Aubort describes it, he used a pair of Schoeps CM 66 microphones
for the main front channels in an omnidirectional pickup pattern,
along with a few cardioid spot mics to highlight detail. For the rear
channels, he set a pair of Schoeps M221b microphones about thirty
feet apart in the twelfth row of Powell Symphony Hall in a cardioid
pattern to pickup hall sound for the original quadraphonic recording.
Many recordings were made during the period with a similar setup, but
few end up sounding like Aubort’s. The immediate attraction of this
recording for me is the comparatively close pickup of the front
channels. Throughout the 1980’s and 90’s, the pursuit of more and
more epic sound led to a prevailing trend of ever more distant
microphone placement, and frequent slatherings of electronic
reverberation. The more intimate sound captured here may not have the
exaggerated drama of those latter day recordings, but it retains a
freshness that they do not, making it likely to age like a fine wine,
whereas the splashiest `epic’ recordings of the succeeding decades
are already starting to sound quite quaint. Both the close pickup and
the analog technology mean that it has a smaller dynamic range that a
typical digital recording, but that feature in itself will attract
some listeners. Indeed, those who enjoy listening in the car, where
extreme dynamic range isn’t ideal, would be well served to buy this
hybrid disc just for its CD layer, which handsomely conveys the
recording better than any previous reissue. The stereo Super Audio
layer increases the depth and texture of the recording noticeably,
and the 2/2.0 multichannel layer brings a widened scope to the
soundstage, with only light bounceback from the rear channels.

The analog provenance of this recording contributes to the buttery
warmth of the sound – as is typically the case, the aggressive,
ringing high end of percussion, trumpets, piccolos, and violins
doesn’t register well on analog tape, thus creating the oft-cited
`warmth’ and `comfort’ of such recordings. What usually was also lost
in analog was bass depth, although Aubort evidently caught a good
amount on the original tapes and the Mobile Fidelity Sound Labs
technicians were able to draw it out in this remastering, because it
captures the sort of bass that makes the air pulse around you when
you play it at a robust volume, a feature more common with audiophile
digital recordings than old analog tapes! One slight caveat is that
there is a low hum which is discernible in places, probably machine
noise or room interference picked up during the original sessions. I
also looked askance at the highlighting of the timpani in places, a
common technique that aids in clarity, though it removes the natural
throaty boom of well-played kettledrums and distorts orchestral
perspective. In sum, though not for everyone, this is a gorgeous
example of how rich and sweet an analog recording can sound after a
high definition remastering. Those desiring the velvet plush of
analog warmth would be well advised to investigate this release;
those more accustomed to live orchestral sound should be aware of its
limits. No one who picks this title up for sonic reasons is likely to
be disappointed.

In terms of performances, things are not so clear-cut. The poles of
interpretive style in the Ravel orchestration and arrangement of
Mussorgsky’s `Pictures at an Exhibition’ (or as my friend Don in
England points out, it should be more aptly translated as `Pictures
from an Exhibition’), were largely defined in the early days of
stereo LP’s by Fritz Reiner on RCA and Herbert von Karajan on EMI,
and Karajan again later with a remake on Deutsche Grammophon. The
1955 Reiner recording was one of the gems he made with the Chicago
Symphony for RCA’s `Living Stereo’ series, and it still remains a
reference point fifty years later. His approach is straightforward,
brilliant without exaggeration. The virtuosity of the Chicago players
under Reiner is still impressive, and though the finest modern
orchestras can match or surpass them in accuracy, few have the rich,
noble tone they displayed. The Karajan approach is brilliant in a
more glamorous manner, with broad tempos and the obsessive finesse
for which the old wizard was known. I don’t know if the EMI recording
has ever made it to Compact Disc, but the Deutsche Grammophon is
currently available in their `Originals’ series at mid-price. The
Reiner was one of the first CD’s RCA put out in the 1980’s, and as a
matter of fact, it was the very first CD I ever bought, way back in
1985. It has remained in the catalogue ever since. The RCA tapes have
aged more gracefully than the Deutsche Grammophon tapes, although the
Deutsche Grammophon remains sufficiently impressive to give a glimpse
of the glamour Karajan was after. Most subsequent performances have
tended to follow Reiner’s straightforwardness or Karajan’s
brilliance. Slatkin here aligns himself more closely to Reiner,
although he presided over a flashier remake in the late 1980’s on RCA
with the National Philharmonic, one of those recordings from the peak
of the CD boom which was available to the public for at least a good
fifteen or twenty minutes before the corporate accountants deleted
it. But this earlier performance is Reiner-like in its pursuit of
accuracy and detail with warmth but without moustache-twirling
theatrics.

Among more recent digital recordings, my favorites are Giuseppe
Sinopoli and the New York Philharmonic on Deutsche Grammophon, and
the controversial but engaging performance by James Conlon and the
Rotterdam Philharmonic on Erato, which is not currently available.
Sinopoli’s is strong on characterization, but without the waywardness
that crept into some of his renditions. It features electrified
playing from the New Yorkers, recorded effectively though
flamboyantly with a boatload of microphones and a sea of reverb. The
Sinopoli also includes a version of Rimsky-Korsakov’s arrangement of
Mussorgsky’s `Night on Bald Mountain’, which is of a much higher
voltage than Slatkin’s on this disc. The Conlon is a similarly
probing performance of `Pictures…’, but it offers a distinctive
angle: Conlon restores the changes that Ravel introduced (some
changed notes, altered dynamics). The only problem is that Conlon
doesn’t restore everything (the cut promenade, for instance). It is
nonetheless a fine performance with a reasonably brilliant sound,
though it is admittedly bass-shy. The Conlon disc also includes a
suite of orchestral excerpts from Mussorgsky’s unfinished opera
`Khovanshchina’, in the somber orchestration by Dmitri Shostakovich.
Slatkin’s disc includes these items (in a slightly different order)
in the more colorful orchestration of Rimsky-Korsakov. The
Shostakovich orchestration sounds more appropriate for Mussorgsky’s
style, but Slatkin emphasizes the music’s lyricism, thus keeping the
focus from moving to the orchestration.

Competitors to the Slatkin `Pictures…’ on SACD include the Philips’
multichannel hybrid disc by Valery Gergiev and the Vienna
Philharmonic, and the old Telarc recording by Lorin Maazel and the
Cleveland Orchestra, which was recorded with DSD technology back in
1978, thus allowing us to have a stereo SACD of it now. I have not
heard the high-definition incarnation of the Gergiev recording but
the regular CD version is reasonably effective, though lacking any
real sense of depth (both acoustically and psychologically!). I just
don’t find myself responding to Gergiev’s interpretation. Though he
is certainly electrifying and dramatic, his performance seems rushed
and impatient. One could imagine Gergiev having his sites set on the
flight of Baba-Yaga’s hut from the very beginning of the `Promenade’,
and everything is hurried along to get to that wild ride up and into
the Great Gate of Kiev. Though Gergiev also includes a crisp `Night
on Bald Mountain’ and the `Prelude’ from `Khovanshchina’, it doesn’t
capture the genuine melancholy that underlies `Pictures at an
Exhibition’. Maazel’s Telarc stereo SACD is predictably brilliant and
clear in recording, but Maazel takes the piece even less seriously
than Gergiev. Maazel offers maximum flash: Great for demonstrating
your sound system, but weak for demonstrating Mussorgsky and Ravel’s
combined genius. The filler performance of `Night on Bald Mountain’
is similarly flashy; however, that piece can take it. Speaking of the
Cleveland Orchestra, I might also add that there is a Sony stereo
SACD that features George Szell’s Columbia recording of `Pictures at
an Exhibition’, but surprisingly it did not seem to engage Szell nor
the orchestra to any great degree, and is deployed by Sony as filler
for a program of various composers instead of as a headliner.

In addition to all this Mussorgsky, the Mobile Fidelity disc also
includes Slatkin’s performance of Borodin’s `In the Steppes of
Central Asia’, an old chestnut that was once so commonly played,
everyone apparently got sick of it and stopped playing it. Now it
doesn’t pop up nearly as often as it ought to. Not only is it
musically evocative, it bears a simple but unforgettable lesson in
how disparate groups can weave around each other harmoniously without
losing their personal traits. Slatkin’s performance is typically
straightforward but warm. He gauges his tempo effectively, not
dragging the tempo for emphasis the way Svetlanov did, nor does he
rush it with impatience. Indeed, the performance rivals my
long-standing favorite, which is by Armenian conductor Loris
Tjeknavorian and the National Philharmonic on RCA (no longer
available).

In sum, though this is not one of the finest performances of
`Pictures at an Exhibition’, neither are any of the others on SACD.
Thus, if the solidness of Slatkin’s likable performance is
sufficient, and especially if one loves rich, creamy analog sound,
this disc is recommendable and will bring pleasure. A truly great
Super Audio CD `Pictures…’ still waits to be born.

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