It does seem hard that, after a gap of 16 years, two new recordings of Berlioz's remarkable imaginative distillation of Shakespeare's play should appear almost simultaneously, since each must inevitably affect the other's sales. It would be over-facile to generalize by saying that Muti's reading reflects the rounder, more romantic atmosphere of the tragedy's Italian setting, while Dutoit's has the more pointed, lithe and incisive flavour of Berlioz's music; but the distinction is not entirely inapposite. The playing of the Philadelphia Orchestra, which of course bears the main weight of the work, is, predictably, splendidly polished and fine-toned—passages such as the cellos' recitative in the love scene or the oboe solo in ''Romeo seul'' could scarcely be more eloquent—though the overall sound, warm and full as it is, emerges rather less sharply defined than in the rival Decca version: the Queen Mab scherzo, for example, is more veiled and less tingling (but with a most startling mischievous fortissimo chord midway). The ball scene has vigour, and the love scene an intense stillness (less impassioned than in some interpretations); the scene in the tomb is quite superbly handled by Muti—a frenzied entrance for Romeo, a wonderfully evocative awakening of Juliet with the subtlest possible clarinet nuances, an utterly chilling moment at the lovers' collapse, and a ferocious bite from the brass at their death. The biggest difference from Dutoit's reading occurs in the movement representing Juliet's funeral procession: Muti makes this deeply expressive, with the persistent chant on one note as a mournful thread in the texture; Dutoit fills this with a sense of numb grief, the monotony of the chant (anguished in the foreground) heightening the feeling of desolation.
There is assured singing from the chorus throughout, even if its words are not often distinct—a matter of microphone placing rather than of enunciation, it would seem; the choral close of the work is given fine breadth in the recording, but there is some miscalculation in the positioning of the revellers departing from the Capulet party, who are altogether too distant. Of the three soloists in this work, two make only brief appearances: John Aler's light voice is admirably suited to the Mab scherzetto, which he throws off with sparkle; and Jessye Norman is much preferable to her Decca counterpart (Florence Quivar), whose intonation is the chief disappointment in that version—but if one is to be ultra-critical, even one or two of Norman's notes might have been more exactly placed. However, the finale of the symphony (occupying nearly a quarter of its lenght) features the bass role of Friar Laurence; and here it has to be said that Simon Estes is mis-cast. Despite Berlioz's influence on Wagner (which the latter acknowledged), this is not Wagner (in which Estes has made a name for himself); and stylistically and linguistically he fails to measure up to the otherwise very high standard of this performance. His French vowels are conspicuously unauthentic, and his delivery of Laurence's explanation of the two deaths and exhortation of the Montagues and Capulets is surprisingly wooden and lacking in colour; and the forceful, abrasive tone he employs in no way suggests the kindly friar whose attempt to help the star-crossed lovers had so tragically misfired and who now seeks to reconcile the feuding families.'