Holland’s rise to superstardom seems highly improbable. His instrument is the bass, and few even of the masters of this instrument have made successful leaders. Ray Brown, to be sure. Christian McBride certainly has been faily successful. Ron Carter, although an extraordinary bassist, has recorded many albums and led many groups, but without huge success as a leader.

Then, there is David Holland. He has been on a remarkable roll. He emerged on the international jazz scene after being “discovered” by Miles Davis, and joining that elite company (in fact, replacing Ron Carter in the Davis band). This was the time of major transition for Davis, and Holland played on such breakthrough albums as In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew. With Davis he demonstrated an incredible ear, intonation, and flexibility, playing both electric and upright bass. In idioms as diverse as free jazz and jazz-rock.

After leaving Davis, his projects included a time with Chick Corea in the group, A.R.C. He played, recorded, and toured with many other artists, and lead a variety of recordings of his own. But, to my ears, he really started to come into his own with a series of small group recordings made for the ECM label.

There were other great albums but I would point to the 1996 album, Dream of the Elders, as perhaps the catalyst, the launching pad. This album continues to sounds fresh, and demonstrated many of the consistent characteristics of Holland’s work. Compositions with strong melodies and a framework that was ideal for improvisation. A willingness to experiment, and embrace odd time signatures.

I long have been a fan of unusual time signatures, back to the pioneering work of David Brubeck (e.g., “Take Five,” “Unsquare Dance,” etc.), through the big band of Don Ellis (perhaps best exemplified when he made the time signature part of the title for his “3-3-2-2-2-1-2-2-2″). But these musicians (particularly Ellis) drew considerable attention to these time signatures.

In contrast, Holland seems completely at home in any time, any format, any genre. And he writes music in standard time signatures like 4/4 or 3/4, as well as pieces in 5 or 7, or 9. His writing seems so natural that it is doubtful whether the average listener even is aware of the complexity posed by these time signatures (and other compositional elements).

One of the distinctive characteristics of the Elders disk was Holland’s choice of having Steven Nelson on vibraphone. In fact, Nelson has become the musician I most associate with Holland. His vibraphone adds such color to these various groups.

Nelson continued to be featured on Holland’s quintet albums (e.g., Not for Nothing, Points of View, Prime Directive). In addition to Nelson, these quintet albums featured Steve Potter on saxophone and Robin Eubanks on trombone. Because these musicians played together so frequently over the years, they achieved a cohesion that is rare today.

A trombonist myself, I love the work that Robin Eubanks has done in Holland’s group. (In fact, I play the same model trombone played by Eubanks, a Yamaha Zeno.) I frequently have marveled at his range, his ability to play the full range, from high to low, with absolute clarity.

Showing his commitment to experiment, Holland began expanding his ensemble several years ago, taking the bold step of forming a big band. This band has been featured on two albums, What Goes Around and Overtime. Both are highly recommended, and show the same mastery Holland has demonstrated in the small group format. What is amazing is that these truly sound like big band charts without sacrificing a sense of small group intimacy.

Holland continued his experimental ways by forming an sextet, featured on the album, Pass It On. I would not call this a failure, but this fell short of Holland’s best work. One of the Principle problems was the absence of Nelson. Holland chose to move away from the vibraphone to the traditional piano. While the pianist he used, Mulgrew Miller, is a long-time favorite of mine, nothing in this album sounds right.

With Pathways, Nelson returns the group, and everything seems back to normal. This features an octet, giving Holland the ability to write and arrange for a rich assortment of instruments while maining that distinctive small group intimacy. In addition to Potter, Nelson, and Eubanks, Pathways features the trumpet of Alex Sipiagin, the alto saxophone/flute of Antonio Hart, and the baritone saxophone of Gary Smulyan.

This is a great recording, one of Holland’s best. Music lovers need to support men like Holland, who continue to hold up high standards, to record music of such excellence. Needless to say, this album is highly recommended.

Such is the symbolic importance that Voltaire continues to occupy, more than two hundred years after his death. Through this well-written, highly readable book, Voltaire emerges clearly from the mists of history. As Ian Davidson comments, Voltaire’s “name is still internationally renowed.” Yet the irony is that “his life and work are now comparatively unfamiliar.”

By focusing on Voltaire’s final 25 years, Davidson deals with a confine time period. Yet Davidson also gives an overall sense of his life. How, during his lifetime, much of his fame was based on his plays, a poet and “the author of half a dozen weighty volumes of history.” Yet, “Voltaire’s literary fame during his lifetime are now largely neglected or forgotten. His plays are no longer performed, and his poems and histories are no longer read.”

But he became, and remains, a larger than life figure. A man with the boldness to stand up to the King and the Church, to defy convention, to defend the rights of those who had been unjustly accused (and even unjustly tortured and executed). Davidson neither defends Voltaire nor attempts to justify his excesses. However he does provide the context for his life. His personality quirks.

One of my favorite quotes concerns a letter that Voltaire wrote to Antoine Auget, baron de Montyon, the senior Foreign Ministry official who was responsible for judging contraband cases on January 9, 1767. In his brilliant summation, Davidson comments, “It is a bold, wretched letter, full of lies and half-truths, pathetic denials and abject sniveling; it is very Voltaire. For if Voltaire was spiritually bold, he was not personally at all brave.” This, in two sentences, tells us much about Voltaire, and about why this book is so insightful.

His was a life of contrasts and conflicts, not as simple or as stereotypic as one might think. Voltaire had strong views about the church. But he continued to proclaim his belief that in God. He even built a church near his home in Switzerland. His problem was with the unlimited power exercised by the church in combination with the government.

Davidson draws on Voltaire’s passion as a letter-writer. Letters filled with passion and insight, as well as letters that are emotional and highly subjective. Letters about affairs of state and revolutionary ideas. Letters about business and his own plays. Letters that not only reveal insights about Voltaire’s personality but also the people with whom he dialogued. How fortunate we are to be able to examine these letters.

He became a hero to many in the French revolution, that many sensed that he helped inspire. Yet, as Davidson makes clear, Voltaire remained politically conservative. Supporting traditions and the order of things, while simultaneously demanding and seeking change. What a complex man, and what complex times.

It was his legacy and example that helped de Gaulle realize the importance of freedom of speech for men like Sartre. History had proven that Voltaire wasn’t always right. In fact, he held views that, in retrospect, are highly suspect or simpy wrong. We think of his anti-semitism, for example. Or his often crude language or double standards.

This book is recommended to anyone with the least interest in Voltaire or his time.

Butch wrote and produced an outstanding set, including a full-length single. It was so impressive that we actually bought radio airtime to play the whole piece . . . not just the typical 30 or 60 second spots.

Through working with Butch, I learned that he was more than a jingle producer but also had produced a number of albums.  At the time, most notably ‘Fantasy’ by Ramsey Lewis.

At the time, this album was quite a shock to my ears. Like many people, I first had become exposed to Ramsey Lewish through his early 60’s hit, “The In Crowd.” Later, I worked for three summers with the Washington, D.C., recording company that recorded that album. I had followed Ramsey’s career, and sampled many of his albums. He was noted for that soulful style, not very adventurous but always entertaining.

But Fantasy was completely different. First, most of the tracks were vocals, and it seemed to be vocal-centric. The sounds were, for 1986, very contemporary, and Ramsey’s presence was mostly in the background, or an occasional solo.

Clearly, Butch Stewart had been hired by Columbia Records (now Sony) to try to make Ramsey more contemporary. To attract a newer audience. I immediately loved the sound.

Today, I find that this album still sounds relevant, a far cry from many albums recorded during that era. Today, I hear Ramsey’s influence and playing more clearly. And, in a way, this has become a kind of “guilty pleasure” album. Hardly something typical of Ramsey’s career. Not something I would recommend for everyday listening. But a testimony to one of those steps outside the norm that actually worked. At least for me.

Born in Vienna on April 8, 1902, Krips took the traditional route to conducting stardom. As a violinist. Chorus master and répétiteur under Felix Weingartner in Vienna. Work in regional opera houses. Named a resident conductor at the Vienna Staatsoper in 1933 and, later, a professor at the Vienna Academy in 1935. But everything changed after the Nazis came to power. However, having survived that tragedy, he was in an ideal position after World War II to fill important posts in Vienna and later in London. In America, he became music director in Buffalo and later in San Francisco.

Time Magazine featured a story about Krips after he took over in San Francisco. He was described as a “master of cajolery and charm” with “a bulging pocket of ambition.” With his ideal pedigree and classical training, he seemed ideal for the orchestra: “In his singing, legato style, he is one of the world’s most admired conductors.” He called himself a “builder.”

In the notes to his recording of Schubert Symphonies 8 and 9, Krips is described as having “the reputation of being a benevolent despot.” But, in terms of recordings, I had never heard anything I regarded as special or distinctive until I heard his Mozart symphony recordings.

A Gramophone review described his Symphony 40 as falling flat. Certainly none of the Krips Mozart recordings have the crispness or razor-sharp execution I came to associate with these symphonies from the recordings of George Szell and the Cleveland Orchestra, for example. They don’t have the urgency or freshness of the many fine period instrument recordings.

However, for whatever reason, I’ve always loved Krips and geneal approach. In his hands, the music breathes, and the Concertgebouw, which certainly can play the notes in their sleep, sounds like they just loved playing the music. No one is trying to prove anything. Everyone involved seems relaxed, and the Mozart that emerges has a kind of glow that I love to experience. And, for me, it never gets tiring.

Yes, there other great Mozart symphony recordings. But, for me, Krips recordings have stood the test of time. Recommended to anyone who loves Mozart.

There are two logical complaints. First, the frustrating length of this 1980 recording, lasting barely 50 minutes. We are left to wonder why she did not play more. To think of all the other great pieces of Bach we would have loved to hear under her masterful hands.

To the same point, Argerich plays only three pieces: The Toccata in minor, BMV 911. The Partita No. 2 in C minor, BMW 826. And the English Suite No. 2 in A minor, BMV 807. Surely, there are many other great recordings and performances of these works. I turn, for example, to Rosalyn Tureck’s complete recordings of the complete Partitas. To Murray Perahia’s recordings of the English Suites. But nothing I’ve heard can match the Argerich’s breathtaking display of perfection.

Actually, the Partita No. 2 was included in her staggering, live recording, Live from Concertgebouw, 1978 & 1979. That, too, is urgently recommended for a broader snapshot of her all-too-rare, live solo performances.

I am left to remember that, even in a recording lasting just 50 minutes, this is a piece of pianistic heaven. 50 minutes in which Bach literally comes to life. Unforgettable, and utterly recommended.

In fact, it can be said that he both positively and negatively influence on the history of Christianity. A very realistic and fairly balanced portrait of Constantine emerges from Paul Stephenson’s new biography.

In some ways, I felt that Stephenson was excessively negative toward Constantine’s Christian convictions. But Stephenson is neither a sychophant or a biased critic. Overall a balanced portrait emerges.

Stephenson brilliantly details Constantine’s rise to power. His family and personal background. But Stephenson also has given an enlightening portrait of the Roman Empire at the time. The political and social forces. Its enemies and conflicts. The growing importance of Christians within the empire. And why, in many ways, Constantine converstion was influenced and motivated by practical concerns. How his embrace of Christianity helped solidify his position of power. In fact, how, when he embraced Christianity, he was following the tradition of honoring the “god” that led him to victory.

This is an excellent book. Written with scholarly accuracy, and pedantic overtones, yet still readable for the general public. There are excellent photos and maps. Highly recommended.

In one way, this is a dual biography. There have been many excellent biographies of Churchill but Herman’s approach allows a rather more complete picture to emerge. He describes Churchill’s family heritage, his complex relationship with his father, his rise to prominence, his fall during World War I, and his emergence as leader during World War II. But, in Herman’s realistic portrait, we see his idiosyncracies. Views that, in retrospect, often could be seen as racist and anachronistic. His passionate, almost blind commitment to the British Empire, and, in particular, to retaining British sovereignty over India.

Herman provides the same kind of realistic portrait of Gandhi. In the eyes of many, he has a saintly reputation, but Herman details his background in law and politics. How quixotic he could be at times. How unrealistic. Yet why he emerged as such an important figure in India.

Herman provides a solid overview of the time both men spent in South Africa, essentially fighting different issues, but issues that would help shape their confrontations over India. Gandhi fighting for freedom for Indians, often against colossal odds. Churchill the adventurer, the reporter, the man who rose to fame for his bravery and distinction during the Boer War. But who remained committed to British sovereignty over South Africa.

But more than a dual biography, this book articulately examines shapes and forces the creation of our modern world. The Hindu-Moslem conflicts in India that led to the creation of Pakistan, and the conflicts that exist to this day between India and Pakistan. The rival parties and religions that still exist in India, along with the struggle between the advocates of modernization with the ancient religions and philosophies that still are so important to so many in the region. The rise of militant Islam.

Herman provides countless examples of the often lofty aspirations and visions of the British in the region, and the often tragic repurcusions (and the unintended consequences that frequently resulted).

While focusing on Gandhi and Churchill, Herman provides accounts of their rivals for power, in the UK, and in India. The rival political philosophies. The rival parties and personalities.

This is an excellent book. Very readable. Well written. Well researched. The kind of book that helps make more sense of the world today. Highly recommended.

Norrington has made a specialty of seeking historical accuracy in his performance. Seeking to play music as it originally was played (and written). His Mahler 9 has all these character traits. This approach doesn’t always work but it certainly works for Mahler 9.

One of the characteristics of a Norrington performance is the absence of vibrato. In a recent article (”Time to Rid Orchestras of the Shakes,” New York Times 2/16/03), Norrington described how “vibrato did not become common in European or American orchestras until the 1930’s.” Audiences simply have become accustomed to this sound, assuming that this is the “correct” and only acceptable approach.

Vibrato, he contends, is but one of the interjections that masked the true intent of composers and muted the true power and impact of many compositions. “Players and listeners alike seem to have become entirely used to an orchestral sound that not one of the great composers before that time would have expected or imagined.”

Norrington has been bold in applying his insights to the entire range of the orchestral literature. Far beyond Mozart and Haydn, into Berlioz and, more recently Bruckner and Mahler. For one, I have been somewhat skeptical about this philosophy. This approach. In fact, I owned Norrington’s recordings of the Beethoven symphonies and was so underwhelmed that I gave it away.

But, to my surprise, I have been impressed with his Bruckner symphony recordings. And now I am overwhelmed by his recording of Mahler’s 9th. The music evolves naturally from the simple opening bars. Building measure after measure. Block after block. His orchestra clearly is convinced that he is right for they play with conviction. As if they had stepped back in time, and played this symphony just as Mahler must have conceived it. Filled with contrasts. Mystery. Melancholy and yet triumphant. Gentle yet strong. This is a glorious confirmation that Norrington’s approach really works.

However, I certainly am not ready to relinquish my other favorite Mahler 9th recordings. For this is music that can be approached in many ways. Leonard Bernstein called it four ways to approach death. It is about resignation but also defiance. It is about weakness and surrender, and yet also strength. It is violent and tender. It is about resignation and yet determination. It is simple yet complex. It takes 80-90 minutes to perform yet doesn’t seem long.

Mahler’s 9th has been the centerpiece for many important moments in history. Not just musical history but world history. Perhaps most memorably when Bruno Walter conducted the Vienna Philharmonic in February 1938 just prior to the Anschluss, when Adolph Hitler forced the union of Austra with Germany, and thus inaugurated a new wave of persecution of Jews. Walter’s recording is considered classic, but the dated sound makes this too irritating for my ears.

Herbert Van Karajan’s second (live) recording with the Berlin Philharmonic must be counted as among the most important in history. First, it helped establish the Compact Disk. But it also is an overwhelming performance. In his book about Karajan, Richard Osborne provided background for the live performance from which this recording is taken:

“A performance of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony at the 1982 Easter Festival left the audience shocked and drained, not so much reluctant to applaud as more or less incapable of doing so. [Hans Heinz] Stuckenschmidt, who had had his disagreements with Karajan, described it as the greater performance of a piece of music he had ever heard; a striking accolade from a man whose career as a writer had begun in Germany in 1920. Restaurants that evening remained strangely deserted. Tables reserved for 8.30 or 9 p.m. (the Mahler had finished a little after remained unoccupied until 9.30 or 10 as concert-goers, braving the chill of the April air, wandered by the Salzach or through the city’s labyrinth of streets and squares.”

Karajan himself commented, “Coming to the end of this symphony is one of the hardest tasks in all conducting.” This was a performance of a lifetime for Karajan, in a career with many such performances. A recording I would not want to be without.

I also have deep emotional attachment to the recording Carlo Maria Giulini made with the Chicago Symphony. Here we have Giulini’s characteristic gentleness, but this gentleness and care somehow provides a disarming backdrop to allow just the right measure of violence and pathos to punctuate the calm.

Other favorite recordings include Simon Rattle and Claudio Abbado, both with the Berlin Philharmonic. Norrington’s joins this pantheon. Highly recommended.

There were so many wonderful moments in this symphony. I took particular notice in the third movement as the upper trombones engaged in glissando exchanges while lower trombones punctuate a riveting tune that eventually merges with the glissandoing trombones. In that same movement, I loved the moments when the horns play a melodious chord, while the harp strums a dissonant relative. What a powerful juxtaposition! What a marvelous ear!

In his own way, Hovhaness was a daring revolutionary, blending East and West. Infusing tonal melodies with exotic colors, introducing the modern into the ancient world that he loved so dearly.

That first recording of his fourth symphony featured the Eastman Wind Ensemble under A. Clyde Roller. It still sounds fantastic (Mercury CD 434 320-2). It has the excitement of discovery, much like my own discovery of Hovhaness. Keith Brion has led another fine recording of this symphony, directing the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama Wind Orchestra (Naxos 8.559207). I still prefer Roller and his Eastman band.

While the fourth symphony was my introduction to Hovhaness, perhaps the music that most put Hovhaness on the music map was his second symphony, Mysterious Mountain. Written for a commission by Leopold Stokowski, this music has been recorded several times, most famously by Fritz Reiner and the Chicago Symphony (RCA 09026-61957-2). This is recording that has been in the catalog for more than 50 years, and still sounds great.

While I was a freshman in college, a neighbor in the dorm came into my room as I listened to this recording music. He had heard the sounds and was irresistibly drawn. To the triumphant trumpet solos, played magnificently by Adolph Herseth. To the tender string melodies. These were troubled times. The years of the Vietnam war. The civil rights movements. The assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Race riots. Student protests.

In those turbulent years, Hovhaness sounded like the balm we all needed. It certainly was a soothing retreat for me in my college years. As it was to my dorm neighbor who introduced Hovhaness in the middle of his studies.

While Reiner’s recording still sets the standard, Mysterious Mountain has been recorded several other times. In his discography of Hovhaness recordings, (http://web.uvic.ca/~kunze/hovdiscog.pdf), Eric Kunze identifies twenty-three recordings. After Reiner, perhaps the most notable interpreter has been Gerard Schwarz, who recorded Mysterious Mountain twice, first with his Seattle Symphony for Delos and then with the Liverpool Philharmonic for Telarc. Both are wonderful recordings. And both are recommended.

A prolific composer, Hovhaness wrote in nearly every idiom, for every size ensembles, from solo works for piano to chamber music, from choral works to symphony, of which he wrote 70. The level of inspiration and quality is not always consistently high, and some, clearly, are better than others. One of the criticisms of Hovhaness is that his music can be long and winding. Expansive without decisive development. That is true. His music isn’t every day material but an occasional respite from a weary world.

Among the more important recordings of his work, special praise goes to the recording Rudolf Werthen and I Fiamminghi made for Telarc. Beautifully played and perfectly recorded, this features Hovhaness’ 6th symphony, Celestial Gate, and the Hovhaness composition that has been most recorded, his Prayer of Saint Gregory, for solo trumpet and orchestra.

Gerard Schwarz has recorded several other Hovhaness works. But of particular note is his recording of Symphony No.50 (“Mount St. Helens”) and Symphony No.22 (“City of Light”) in which he leads his Seattle Symphony. His Delos of Mysterious Mountain also includes a recording of one of Hovhaness’ novelty piece, And God Created Great Whales, featuring actual whale songs. Not great music but an interesting piece to hear on occasion.

“Whales” actually had been commissioned in the 1960s by Andre Kastalenitz, whose pioneering recording has not been available for years. That recording also featured another of what might be considered a novelty piece, Hovhaness’ Rubaiyat, for speaker, accordion & orchestra, Op. 308, based on the famous poem by Omar Khayyam. Unfortunately, the original recording hasn’t been available in many years. This featured Douglas Fairbanks as the narrator. This is far superior to the newer recording with Michael York as the narrator. Fairbanks sounds so authentic whereas York sounds like an actor, trying to sound authentic.

Explaining his philosophy as a musician, Hovhaness once said, “My purpose is to create music, not for snobs, but for all people – music which is beautiful and healing, to attempt what old Chinese painters called ‘spirit response’ in melody and sound.” While his music received several recordings, yet he never seemed accepted by the elites. I always sensed that they looked down at his musical esthetic. That he fell short of the standards they expected in great composers.

But Hovhaness kept writing music that often was deceptively simple, with a focus on beauty. And he attracted a cult of followers, who appreciated his style, his ear, his commitment. The critics who rejected his music as simplistic, might have been the target for this comment: “Simplicity is difficult, not easy. Beauty is simple.”

It is all too appropriate that Hovhaness died in 2000, at the age of 89. For he was one of the outstanding composers of the 20th century. A man seemingly out of step with the complexities of that long, confusing century. Yet a man who seemed to speak to so many of its troubled souls. Who breathed a sense of eternal values in times dedicated to change. Who relentlessly pursued beauty at a time when so many treasured violence. Who celebrated simplicity when so many worshipped at the altar of complexity and chaos. Who constantly strived to find beauty. In the process, he lived a rich life and enriched the lives of countless listeners.

To answer these questions, I have been engaged in a mini-Bolero binge. Listening to recordings in my collection, and downloading some new ones. This is one of the few classical music compositions that really is well known to the general public. In fact, it is widely considered to be the most frequently performed music in all of classical music literature.

The special web site dedicated to Ravel (www.maurice-ravel.net ) reveals important insights into the background of this work. “Just before departing on his American Tour in 1928, Ravel received a commission from Ida Rubinstein for a ballet, to be called Fandango. His intention was to orchestrate some pieces from Iberia by Albéniz, but as he was beginning work on it in July, he discovered that the rights to the music were already assigned to the Spanish composer Enrique Arbós. Ravel was initially dismayed and at a loss how to fulfil his commission. However while continuing his holiday in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, he developed a Spanish-sounding theme.”

The re-named work “lasts approximately 15 minutes, and repeats each of the theme’s two parts 9 times in the same key, using different orchestrations to vary the texture and to create a gradual crescendo. (The pattern is AA BB repeated 4 times, and then a single repeat of AB, leading to the modulation which gives the piece its cataclysmic ending.)”

Over the years, this music has been played in many styles, with many interpretations. But Ravel provided clear directions for his own personal concept. He insisted “that the work should be played at a steady and unvarying tempo (as his own recording demonstrates).”

It has been conceived as a work of seduction (best demonstrated by its use in the movie “10”). However, Ravel seems to have conceived of the piece as “an outdoor scene in front of a factory whose machinery provides the inflexible rhythm; the factory workers would emerge to dance together, while a story of a bullfighter killed by a jealous rival was played out.” Nonetheless, the music itself makes possible multiple interpretations, clearly enhancing its appeal.

It is music that makes audiences rise to their feet. That causes even the most somnambulant listeners to pay attention. Although the work of a master of orchestration, its basic design is simple and easy to follow. Its melodies are memorable, even unforgettable.

This also is music of contrasts. These contrasts are central to its appeal. This is the music of a European classical master, yet it is tinged with American jazz. It is both seductive and calculating. Seasoned yet measured. It must be played tactfully, yet requires a kind of ecstatic abandon. It demands restraint and yet must be played without restraint. In moments it conveys ultimate relaxation and ease, yet rises to the depths of intensity.

Ravel played demands on the orchestra that require the utmost in virtuosity. As a trombonist, I have always been drawn to the famous trombone solo. Written in a jazz idiom, yet it must be played by a classical instrument, in the high range. It is a killer solo, in more ways than one, with many a soloist finding this the ticket to infamy, or exile.

As Ravel dictated, the tempo must be just right. But even the “right” tempo can sound and feel too slow, or too fast. It must feel natural. Not rushed but not dawdling either.

Yes, I enjoyed Dutoit’s Bolero. Yet, for my ears, it just lacked that extra level of virtuosity. That slightest degree of abandon. A little too “classical.” A little too much restraint. Not enough edge.

Of all the Bolero’s I listened to, perhaps I enjoyed most the recording Pierre Boulez made with the Berlin Philharmonic. Boulez is known for his obsession with clarity, with a kind of clinical precision. Yet here, as so often under his direction, the music is allowed to take its own course. To evolve effortlessly. To crescendo into its mammoth, overwhelming conclusion.

I have a fondness for Solti’s Chicago Symphony recording, and, listening to this performance against did not cause me to change my mind. I had hoped that the legendary volatility of this conductor-orchestra combination would sweep the board. They don’t achieve the overwhelming impact for which I hoped but it still is a performance of great energy. Great enjoyment.

The recording Barenboim made with this same orchestra is similar, with playing a little more refined than under Solti. This was a testament to the earlier years of Barenboim’s work with Chicago. I suspect that had they recorded this later in their partnership the performance would have had more intensity. More electricity. (You Tube has a video of a later performance by the combination, recorded in Carnegie Hall: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfjjacYsWx8.) A fine recording but a little short of the best.

Twice in recent weeks, I listened to Simon Rattle’s recording with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra (on a disk shared with Ravel’s Daphnis and Chloe.) After that first listen, I was so unhappy that I decided to eliminate the recording from my collection. Rattle’s tempo is among the slowest. It just seemed too slow. Too artificial. For example, a full two minutes longer than Haitink’s recording with the Concertgebouw for Philips. But, before discarding it, I listened again. My reaction was more positive.

The slowest of the recordings I sampled was that of Stanislaw Strowaczewski with the Minnesota Orchestra (17:20). At moments, this seemed ponderous, impossibly slow, almost static. But in some moments this approach made great sense, allowing the players to relax. To throw themselves into the music. To relish each note. In fact, the slower pace enables more personality to emerge. In particular, the saxophone soloist adds some extra sassy seduction. Knowing that the climax is coming, it still seemed to take forever to arrive. Yet, arrive in triumph it did. An approach I enjoyed as an interesting contrast.

Haitink’s recording (at 14:48) is quite a contrast to that of Strowacewski. While the tempos are brisk, Haitink allows the music to flows naturally. The music doesn’t feel rushed. The performance is filled with colorful touches, as Ravel the orchestrator emerges the star, not the conductor or his virtuoso orchestra. In the final minutes, Haitink really allows the powerful percussion to generate incredible energy, as the music buils to its triumphal climax. Here was a great ending. And a great recording.

Herbert van Karajan recorded Bolero several times. I sampled his EMI recording with the Berlin Philharmonic. It, too, is relatively slow (16:06). In Richard Osborne’s book, Herbert von Karajan: A Life in Music, flute player Gareth Morris describes playing Bolero under Karajan’s direction, in particular focuses on his stillness:

“He hardly moved. As you know. Bolero works by a simple additive process. With the eyes closes and the hands barely chest high, Karajan gave us the beat with a single finger, and even that barely moved. With each new addition, the hands moved fractionally higher. It was a form of hypnoses, I suppose. What we sensed was the power of the music within him, and that was bound to affect us. So with each slight lift of the hands the tension became even greater. By the end of the piece, the hands were above his head. And the power of that final climax was absolutely colossal.’”

One could say the same thing about this recording. Listening, one even can almost visualize Karajan’s effortless, hypnotic direction. Perhaps even more than Haitink, Karajan unleashes the percussion, driving this to the kind of colossal conclusion Morris described.

Ozawa’s recording with the Boston Symphony is slightly slower than Haitink’s, but still feels rushed. With playing at a very high level, I could be content if this were the only recording in my collection. But, after listening to so many other performances, it is hard to escape the conclusion that Ozawa could have done more, and brought this in at an even higher level.

Jesus Lopez-Cobos’s recording with the Cincinnati Symphony had marvelous touches. An excellent recording by a virtouoso ensemble.

In their recording, neither Loren Maazel nor the Vienna Philharmonic seem particularly comfortable, as if they are trying very hard to be at ease. Good, but not great.

Is there a definitive recommendation? Boulez, perhaps. Haitink. Karajan. Solti, in its own way. But best to keep listening, to these and other recordings. To let Ravel’s magic seduce our ears, and bring us the best of classical joy.