Despite several abortive projects, it was not until Roger Norrington's London performance and new recording of the Symphonie fantastique that anyone alive had heard anything approaching what Berlioz really wrote. The issue is at least as important as that concerning baroque music, say, since Berlioz conceived his extraordinary symphony, in all its pictorial detail, for exactly chosen instruments and exactly heard sounds. Nicholas Temperley's foreword to his edition of the work for the New Berlioz Edition sets out in great detail all that is involved, including the fact that a definitive version is not attainable in every detail since different sources show changes. But certainly there are special tone-qualities and instrumental groupings which were required by the composer, and which the conventional modern orchestra have to miss. One sensational addition—or rather, restoration—is the ophicleide. It does not sound as if there is also included the serpent which Berlioz, rather doubtfully, suggested. But the ophicleide adds its stertorous borborygms to the ''Marche au supplice'', and further depraves the character of the vile Dies irae in the finale (about 3' 26''). Norrington uses no fewer than four harps in the Ball: Berlioz is inconsistent about what he wanted, pace Norrington's note on the subject, but the effect of his little Erard harps is delightful. Close adherence to what Berlioz asked for in the matter of timpani sticks is effective: I have never heard the end of the ''Scene aux champs'' so eerie, as the cor anglais (following dynamic markings that suggest an urgent but unmet plea) calls across the distant thunder. This is most sensitively recorded. And the cor anglais used is the so-called cor anglais moderne patented by Henry Brod, who played at the first performance: probably the actual instrument was made later, but it is beautifully played here by Lorraine Wood. There is also some beautiful playing, by Lesley Schatzberger, of a clarinet that sails cleanly through the textures with a delightful woody resonance. The instrument is not identified; and it is a fault of the otherwise well-prepared booklet that though the players are, very properly, named, their instruments are not.
The most striking clarification to the score is in the brass section. Horns are correctly stopped (with a suitably appalling effect at the start of the ''Marche au Supplice''), and the combination of instruments crooked differently can be heard as intended. The neat, fresh sound of the first horn, in particular, can clear the rest of the orchestra with ravishing effect (for instance, in the development of the first movement, about 9' 30''). The valveless trumpets adjacent to the modern cornets are quite different in sound; the narrow-bore trombones make a staggering effect in the March. Norrington is not overstating his claims when he writes, ''With all this wonderful range of sounds the habitual 'blare' of a Berlioz brass section gives way to a kaleidoscope of colours''.
There are other matters which represent a serious and musicianly attempt to return as nearly as possible to Berlioz's conception. The speeds are rethought, and it is especially good to hear the March played at such a menacing, steady advance. The orchestra is seated according to Berlioz's disposition (which is also described in the sleeve-note: it includes the pairs of timpani set stereophonically, as is certainly authentic). Trouble has been taken to restore a style of playing known to have obtained in Berlioz's day. This applies especially to the strings, though on a point of detail it is excellent to hear the 'impossible' woodwind glissando played with such eerie effect—a weird droop down to a sudden plunge to the lower note. The pitch is A=435.
All of this would be of academic interest were the performance not worthy of all the scholarly and technical effort. Norrington does not startle, except in that Berlioz's masterpiece is made to startle of itself anew. The opening is clean, poised, fresh; and without losing his grip on the sonata form (or Berlioz's version of it), Norrington responds to the score's marking with some accelerandos that are both impulsive and controlled and some ritardandos that seem to draw the music naturally back. The Ball lilts delightfully and unaffectedly. The ''Scene aux champs'' gains immeasurably from the clarity of the textures, a bright, clear, serene obverse to the dark obscenities of the ''Songe d'une nuit de Sabbat''. Prepared, and recorded, with the greatest attention to detail, it is a performance of imaginative sweep and excitement, and a record by which future performance of the work will have to be measured.'