In its original form, 
                Night on Bald Mountain (or Night 
                on Bare Mountain, Night on the 
                Bare Mountain, or St John’s Night…) 
                is an extraordinarily original tone 
                poem, riddled as it is with bizarre 
                and provocative writing. Unfortunately, 
                it is seldom heard or recorded in this 
                version nowadays, probably for the same 
                reason that Rimsky-Korsakov took to 
                it. Mussorgsky’s score is crudely finished 
                orchestrally, and includes, especially 
                given its early date, 1866, baffling 
                modernisms such as whole-tone scales, 
                which don’t easily register with an 
                unsuspecting audience. You may have 
                noticed that I’ve listed the piece recorded 
                here as "arranged and orchestrated" 
                by Rimsky-Korsakov, whereas the CD, 
                indeed everyone, as a general rule, 
                refers to it as merely "orchestrated" 
                by him. But be aware that Rimsky’s piece, 
                for it is his piece, not Mussorgsky’s, 
                bears little resemblance to the original. 
                The always-progressive Mussorgsky’s 
                discordant, rough-hewn thinking is ironed 
                out by the essentially conservative 
                Rimsky with a glossy, more gentlemanly, 
                orchestral and harmonic palette. To 
                crown it all there is a completely different 
                ending! 
              
 
              
I have a minor problem 
                with Ravel’s orchestration of Pictures 
                at an Exhibition too. Not that it 
                doesn’t work. Far from it: it’s about 
                as resourceful and as effective as orchestral 
                writing can be! It’s more a matter of 
                respecting a composer’s wishes. A strong 
                case can be made for the original piano 
                version, which needs and deserves no 
                apologies - simply because it is uncharacteristic, 
                or because it unduly stretches the performer. 
                There really is no more logic in performing 
                Ravel’s orchestration of Mussorgsky 
                as often as we do than there is in routinely 
                playing Schumann’s filling out of unaccompanied 
                Bach, Mahler’s touchings-up of Beethoven, 
                Mozart’s version of Messiah, 
                or Stokowski’s Bach, rather than the 
                well-proven originals: and yet none 
                of these has become ‘standard’ in the 
                way that Rimsky’s or Ravel’s arrangements 
                of Mussorgsky have. However, whether 
                you agree or don’t agree with me, I 
                accept that it’s good to have these 
                pieces, even in these manifestations, 
                on our CD shelves. 
              
 
              
In many ways, this 
                kind of disc is a reviewer’s greatest 
                challenge. It’s a good collection of 
                pieces, although hardly generous - especially 
                for a reissue - at five-eighths capacity; 
                it’s well played; and it’s well recorded. 
                But it doesn’t particularly excite me. 
                Is it the mood I’m in? Is it where I’m 
                sitting? The time of day? Or am I allowing 
                myself to be irritated by the appearance 
                of yet another non-Mussorgsky disc? 
              
 
              
The facts. The Atlanta 
                orchestra play with real distinction 
                throughout. They have fine wind players, 
                a glowing brass department, and a string 
                section which matches the great European 
                capital ensembles: Ravel’s saxophone, 
                euphonium and muted trumpet solos are 
                all one could possibly want. Levi is 
                loyal to all of the composer’s, sorry, 
                arrangers’, markings, and sews everything 
                together most persuasively. I especially 
                enjoyed the various linking ‘promenades’ 
                in Pictures: they’re all nicely 
                characterised. In terms of balance, 
                accuracy, pacing or the painting of 
                individual pictures, it’s impossible 
                to fault. And - as we find so often 
                with this label - Telarc’s recording 
                illuminates every detail as well providing 
                weight, depth and ambience. 
              
 
              
There are perhaps half 
                a dozen rivals (say Sinopoli, Reiner, 
                Abbado, Karajan, Jansons and Gergiev?) 
                which, here and there, offer more frisson, 
                more glamour, more delicacy or more 
                virtuosity than Levi: but you may have 
                to buy all six to be absolutely sure. 
                There may be some as spectacularly recorded 
                (e.g. Maazel, also on Telarc); or more 
                generously filled and even cheaper (e.g. 
                Dutoit). You may even find an alternative 
                which includes as atmospheric a Khovanshchina 
                Prelude as we have here. 
              
 
              
No more beating about 
                the bush: this deserves a recommendation. 
                I enjoyed it: and you’re unlikely to 
                be disappointed. But do please give 
                the originals the time (and financial 
                outlay) they deserve: try Abbado (DG 
                445238-2) for an incomparably 
                spooky St John’s Night on the Bare 
                Mountain, and Pogorelich (DG 437667-2), 
                Bronfman (Sony SMK89615) or - 
                best of all? - Ogawa (BIS CD905) 
                for Pictures at an Exhibition. 
              
Peter J Lawson