It seems a poor thing, in the face of Beethoven's sublimities and the fine work of (probably) some 200 singers and players, to turn to the shelves so as to set this version against that, and both against a third, fourth, fifth. Of course it's a duty the record critic mustn't shirk, and frequently the duty is also a pleasure. But it often happens that the more satisfaction a recording gives, the less inclined one is to compare. In this instance, though the recording would not be a first choice, any inclination to 'compare and contrast' was, I found, minimal. ''Lord, teach us to sit still'': there is something in T. S. Eliot's Ash Wednesday piety after all.
But of course even in listening, the comparisons and contrasts are at work. Little of Toscanini, for instance, in the feel of this; still less of Gardiner. Choir and orchestra participate in a large-scale performance, recorded live, recalling Levine's at Salzburg in 1991, but less sumptuous than that, either in recorded sound or in the quality and placing of the soloists. Speeds are moderate, generally (though not in the Kyrie) slower than Levine's, nearer to Solti's, mostly quicker than Giulini's, almost always (though surprisingly not at the start of the Gloria) decisively quicker than Davis's recent RCA version. Balance, often difficult to get right in this work, has the chorus less well forward and sharply defined than one would like or than some older recordings achieved (notably Klemperer's). The soloists, without being especially prominent, are well heard, with the tenor (John Aler) sounding rather less powerful in ensemble than the others. As to the quality of the singing, Aler is the most uniformly steady in production, the women sometimes developing a tremulousness under pressure, and the bass, Robert Holl, impressive in the upper and lower regions of his voice, is not always so cleanly focused elsewhere. In the Benedictus, Samuel Magad plays the violin solo with sweetness of tone and without being thrust by the sound engineers into unnatural prominence.
All of this still tells little about the real experience of listening, in which one is taken up not by the recording but by the work—though perhaps the features of the work that impress most deeply also tell something about the performance. For instance, though the vigour of Gloria and Credo are in no way diminished, it is the tender concern within the ''Qui tollis'' section in the one and the rapt ''Et incarnatus est'' of the other that most renew themselves here. The Sanctus's solemnity, and then the profound stillness of the Praeludium, the blessed melodic grace of the ''Dona nobis pacem'': all these find eloquent expression, throwing into relief the real terror of the soloists' cries to the Lamb of God as that blessedness is confounded by the trumpets and drums of war. Here, then, is a genuine experience of the masterpiece: not perhaps one of the 'essential' recordings, but certainly one that earns gratitude.'