The Fi Gets Higher

they shall have music

BY HERBERT KUPFERBERG

The common denominator in Madama Butterfly, Ravel’s Bolero, Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean, and Hernando’s Hideaway may not be apparent to the naked eye or straining ear. But all are among the compositions selected by RCA Victor to inaugurate a new refinement in recorded sound, which has been sent forth into the world with a massive publicity fanfare, the fond hopes of its producers, and the commercial name of Dynagroove.

For a public which has survived both the LP upheaval and the advent of stereo, the prospect of still another sound development may evoke something less than rapture. But RCA disclaims all intent to suggest that a new revolution is under way with Dynagroove. True, Victor can be persuaded to admit that its new sound is a “breakthrough,” but this is a modest expression which means hardly more in the record trade nowadays than “colossal” used to in the movie business. Equally true, Dynagroove was introduced with the fullest possible panoply, with the press flown from New York to the RCA laboratories in Princeton, New Jersey, by chartered helicopter — a mode of transport which made sure that the reporters and reviewers arrived at the unveiling not only palpitating but vibrating.

But all these trimmings notwithstanding, Victor officials concede, privately at least, that Dynagroove will rank somewhat below the wheel and the internal-combustion engine in the history of human invention. They even emphasize — perhaps with a tinge of regret — that it is not the sort of development which requires new listening equipment or an increase in retail record prices. Nevertheless, they insist that Dynagroove has achieved its stated objective, which is to produce a recorded sound, both stereo and monaural, which is more consistently clear, distortion-free, and true to life than any attained hitherto.

In part, at least, Victor’s new sound is a reaction to advances made elsewhere. No major — or, for that matter, minor — record company will ever admit publicly that its sound has in any way, shape, or form lagged behind that of anyone else. All the same, Victor’s listening rooms have been known to re-echo at times to such records as Command’s “Persuasive Percussion” and London’s “Phase 4” releases, both of which are generally conceded to have reached spectacular levels in sound achievement.

Whatever the impulse, a massive effort was begun by RCA some two and a half years ago to establish new sound standards for Victor records. “Our sound had always been good,” says a Victor executive. “Nobody was complaining about it. But nobody was talking about it, either. So we restudied the whole recording process — pre-session planning, microphone placement, acoustical environment, positioning of the performers and the rest of it. You’d be surprised at the things you can do by tightening up all along the line.”

But the basic improvement of Dynagroove represents something far more measurable than rearranging the drapes on the recording studio’s wall. It involves a new groove-cutting process which was designed by RCA engineers to compensate for the disparity between the chisel-shaped recording stylus in the studio and the round-tipped playback stylus in the living room. Victor engineers are ready to expound, with appropriate charts, diagrams, and graphs, upon the electronic procedures and principles involved. But the home listener — or, anyway, this home listener — is likely to find it far more rewarding to contemplate the process in terms of the results achieved, which include impressive clarity and brightness of instruments and voices, tonal fullness and color even at low-volume playback, and, perhaps most noteworthy of all, an almost total lack of distortion, even when the needle is in the final grooves of the record.

This last is a particular boon to those listeners who, like this one, have been known to be dilatory in the little matter of stylus replacement. Indeed, it is revelatory (though not especially recommendable) to play a Dynagroove record with a somewhat worn stylus; the music on the inner grooves, invariably the most prone to distortion and attenuation, comes through with astonishing clarity. Equally striking is the consistency that seems to be one of the hallmarks of the Dynagroove sound. It is possible to cite other recent recordings of similar clarity or brilliance, but it is extremely unusual to find ten simultaneous releases on which the sound is so uniformly impeccable.

The musical level reached in the first set of Dynagroove records is somewhat less rarefied than the acoustic. Five of the ten releases fall into the “pops” category, and the remaining five, loosely listed as “classical,”are of uneven interest. The Boston Pops Orchestra produces one of its most musically meager records in a collection of vaguely Latin numbers grouped under the title Jalousie (LSC-2661, stereo; LM2661, monaural). The Robert Shaw Chorale’s This Is My Country (LSC2662, stereo; LM-2662, monaural) is a parade of patriotic airs, sung for the most part in contrived and pretentious arrangements. An all-Ravel record containing Bolero, La Valse, and the Pavane for a Dead Princess (LSC-2664, stereo; LM-2664, monaural) does not represent Charles Munch and the Boston Symphony at their best.

The two prize entries in the first Dynagroove release are Puccini’s Madama Butterfly and Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 in D Major. A new Butterfly is not exactly a crying need; the latest Schwann catalogue lists nine others, including a previous Victor release only three years old. But the new Dynagroove model (LSC-6160, stereo; LM-6160, monaural: three records) has Leontyne Price as Butterfly and Richard Tucker as Pinkerton, and the sound sets off their voices with vivid clarity. The distinctive timbre of this fine tenor has never been captured on records more accurately. Miss Price, as always, sings beautifully and expressively, and manages to create a girlish and innocent character without seeming in the least bit arch or simpering, Even though sound quality is one of the strong selling points of the album, no attempt is made to introduce exaggerated effects, stereophonic or otherwise. It is a temptation for a sound engineer to make Butterfly’s entrance begin almost inaudibly on the opposite side of Nagasaki Harbor, but the Victor sound crew has resisted sternly, and every one of Miss Price’s opening notes is clear, bright, and warm.

The orchestral sounds are no less beautiful than the vocal in this handsomely recorded production, conducted by Erich Leinsdorf in Rome last summer just before he took over the Boston Symphony. Mr. Leinsdorf presents an intelligent, orderly, musical Butterfly. He secs it clear and he sees it true, but there is something just a bit dry-eyed about his conducting—Puccini without tears — which may not altogether satisfy those listeners to whom Butterfly means, among other things, a good cry.

Mr. Leinsdorf also is the conductor of the Mahler Symphony No. 1, sometimes known as the Titan (LSC2642, stereo; LM-2642, monaural), The music is played with brilliance and excitement; the Boston Symphony has taken on new precision and crispness in Mr. Leinsdorf’s hands, without losing any of its characteristic sound or sensitivity. The kind of Mahler which emerges is very much up to date in its swift and dynamic concept.

It happens that two other versions of the Mahler First have been issued competitively with Leinsdorfs, one by Paul Kdetzki and the Vienna Philharmonic (Angel S-35913, stereo; 35913, monaural), the other by the late Bruno Walter and the Columbia Symphony Orchestra (Columbia MS-6394, stereo; ML-5794, monaural). Kletzki’s is a cursory reading, distinguished by no notable interpretive insights. But Bruno Walter’s recording is the testament of a great conductor who knew Mahler as well as his music at firsthand. In the famous third movement of the symphony, a funeral march based on a slowed-down canonic version of the old French round “Frère Jacques” Walter attains a sinister, sardonic quality which no other recording approaches. His finale conveys a similarly unique sense ol spaciousness and nobility. Walter’s Mahler may be old-fashioned and personal, but it stands apart from all others. Perhaps the perfect recording of the Mahler First would have combined the Columbia interpretation with the Victor sound.

The Mahler Symphony No. 1 and Madama Butterfly herald a continuing series of Victor releases in Dynagroove. There is even a possibility that the new cutting process will be applied to reissues of such ancient catalogue items as Toscanini recordings— a procedure for which the name “Dynosaur” has already been irreverently proposed.

It is possible, too, that additional refinements may become desirable in the sound itself. Dynagroove’s most spectacular results to date seem to lie in the upper range of the register; while the bass is by no means neglected or minimized, it has not gained in richness quite as much as the treble has gained in brilliance. Fashions in listening have undergone a reversal in the last twenty-five years; whereas a booming bass was once regarded as the sign of quality reproduction, today most audio manufacturers direct their attention to the upper frequencies. The fi keeps getting higher.

Aside from its effect upon one line of records, Dynagroove’s development is likely to encourage new attention to sound standards throughout the industry. Columbia, having got wind of the RCA announcement, promptly issued a statement saying that it had begun employing a new groove-cutting technique six months previously — though without specifying its relationship to the Victor advance. In any event, technological exclusivity lasts no longer in the record industry than it does elsewhere, and if RCA has devised a new way of cutting a better groove today, there is no reason to doubt that someone else will be slicing it still thinner, so to speak, tomorrow. In fact, experiments are said to be under way which may one day make it possible for an hour’s worth of music to be carved on a disc no larger than a poker chip. The benefits this will bring to music are problematic. But its effect on poker may well be incalculable.