It would be ducking one's responsibility to any reader contemplating the purchase of Berlioz's ''dramatic legend'' not to say, quite categorically, at the outset that Sir Colin Davis's electrifying Philips performance of La damnation de Faust is not only unsurpassed but likely to remain so—an inspired reading of the utmost insight and commitment. But if financial considerations weigh heavily, these two reissues are not to be ignored. Though both were recorded in the Symphony Hall, Boston, they differ very much in acoustic ambience, the later one (DG) being so reverberant as to cause considerable problems both of balance (the orchestra swamps the revellers in the Leipzig beer-cellar as well as the demons' hideous paean) and of clarity: the chorus is too distant and mushy, and its words throughout are so obscure that, for all one can tell, it might be singing in Choctaw. A pity, since it's a good choral body; nor does any attempt seem to have been made to use it to dramatic effect—the chorus of Marguerite's neighbours is not heard off-stage so as to lend verisimilitude to the picture, and when the praying women and children are mown down by the nightmare daemonic ride, they do no more (like Munch's chorus too) than emit a polite ''Ah!'' on high F. The saving grace of the issue is the artistry of the soloists. Stuart Burrows is altogether admirable in the title-role, never histrionic but effectively conveying Faust's weariness of spirit, and singing with a fine sense of line; Donald McIntyre is characterfully mocking, and particularly sinister as his moment of triumph approaches; and Edith Mathis makes a gentle Marguerite, just a little stagey however in ''D'amour l'ardente flamme'': only the bass singing the part of Brander is ineffectual. Ozawa produces an attractive ''Danse des sylphes'' over a firm bottom D suggesting that they are under the control of Mephistopheles (was this where Strauss got the idea for the 'flying horse' episode in Don Quixote?), but his tempos are not always well chosen—too fast for the ''Roi de Thule'' ballad and Mephisto's song of the flea, too slow for his ''Voici les roses'', and he adopts vulgarly unnecessary accelerandos to whip up excitement in the Hungarian March and the Ride to the Abyss.
Munch also resorts to this questionable practice in the Hungarian March, and it is particularly illogical of him to speed up the end of the double chorus of soldiers and students, only to slacken pace for their march out. But on the whole his performance shows a greater grasp of Berliozian nuance than Ozawa, and the playing of the Boston Symphony Orchestra is more pointed: there is a fine viola solo, but the brass tend to be over-enthusiastic. (Did they have to blare out the Retreat so fiercely at the start of Part 3?) The chorus is efficient but reluctant to sing softly, and seems to be responsible for a few shuffles, rustles and noises. David Poleri, though not entirely at home with French vowel sounds, impresses with his thrillingly ringing tone, perhaps making Faust more heroic than he deserves: he also brings a winning lyricism to ''Merci, doux crepuscule'' and ''Ange adoree'' but ignores the ppp marking in the latter, and was allowed, most inappropriately, to sing ''Que j'aime ce silence'' forte. Martial Singher is excellent in Mephisto's serenade, but at times elsewhere sounds uneasy on Ds and E flats, and makes an unsettled start to ''Voici les roses''. That fine artist Suzanne Danco presents a totally pure and innocent Marguerite, immensely touching in ''D'amour l'ardente flamme''. The one real blot on this performance, which for its age still sounds well, is the replacement of the group of basses in the epilogue by a single voice, over-loud, with poor French and quite unable to maintain pitch.
This RCA issue adds a generous extra in the shape of the Debussy cantata (or, as he himself described it, ''poeme lyrique''). The plus points in this performance are the tender orchestral prelude and the ecstatic singing of Victoria de los Angeles at her vision of the angels' rejoicing and at the climactic ''Ensemble, moi et lui'': the minus point is the almost comically schoolgirlish singing of the female chorus, who give equal weight to every syllable (their enunciation certainly very clear) without suggesting the smallest comprehension of what it all means. The digitally remastered recording does show its age a little, but is reasonably acceptable.'