In spite of the unfortunate sleeve design—shades of a Hollywood promotion and voluptuous in a cinematic way—Slatkin's is a very considerable Carmina burana, notable for offering what is perhaps the finest trio of soloists in any available version.
John Aler and Hakan Hagegard are on their finest form, rich and resonant of timbre; the song of spring is matched by the opening of the Tavern scene, the Abbot's song, too, is vibrantly projected and the Ballad of the roasting swan tellingly managed. But it is the gently sensuous response of Sylvia McNair, that one especially remembers. Her portrayal of the girl in the red tunic is sheer delight, ravishingly seductive in the most disarming way, the initial virginal ambivalence nicely conveyed, and her submission brings a real sensuous frisson, so sweet is the ardent final phrase.
The choral singing is consistently sophisticated, aptly rhythmic and vigorous in the dancing music for the village green (yet with the orchestra in the highest spirits, with roistering horns). There is a nice variety of lyrical feeling here, with the female voices appropriately flirtatious (''Peddler give me paint to make my cheeks red, so that the young man's thoughts will turn to love''), and with the closing section taken fast and with real zest, this part of the work is more memorable than usual.
Slatkin's reading, spacious and rather grand in the opening and closing pages, certainly brings out the music's diversity of mood, but at the climax of the Court of Love sequence his trebles seem curiously innocent and unknowing. Their ''Oh, Oh, Oh''s are without the racy pubescent feeling of some other versions, notably Previn's old EMI account. (The RCA translation appropriately chooses the phrase ''I am all in bloom'' rather than ''I am bursting out all over''.)
This remains a very enjoyable performance and the recording is full, vivid and has a warm ambience. The chorus is not sharply defined at lower dynamic levels, but this is a natural effect within the acoustics of the St Louis Powell Symphony Hall and climaxes expand powerfully. Not a first choice perhaps: Blomstedt's San Francisco version conveys rather more passion and Previn's more uninhibited exuberance, but Slatkin is very competitive, above all for the superb solo contributions and the overall feeling of spontaneity.'