Where does this new-found sense of presence, immediacy and drama stem from? A lower noise floor and quicker, wider and above all, more precise dynamic response. The two-box L10 is already astonishingly quiet, crisply controlled and dynamic, but doubling up the box count and dedicating an L10 to each channel raises things to a whole new level. You hear far further into the recorded space, with greater clarity. Notes start (and stop) more precisely, their harmonic development is more natural, their level and shape not just more precisely mapped but more easily heard and related to those around them. The soundstage is more illuminated, almost as if somebody found the light-switch in the recording venue – but this light isn’t stark, harsh, cold or spot-lit. The management clearly paid extra for warmer, daylight balanced bulbs! The result is an astonishing clarity that also manages to be forgiving. Back to the Batiashvili Sibelius and the four-box L10 lays bare the source of that thickened and congested sound so familiar from lesser systems, revealing a clumsy and slightly over-voiced percussion section. Yet it does so without destroying the performance or intruding on the experience. It’s actually less intrusive than poorly timed or weighted percussion is in a concert context (the bane of live orchestral music), the L10 seemingly exerting its own, welcome measure of restraint.
Trains, Planes and automobiles…
The other really impressive result of that low noise floor and lively dynamic response is orchestral crescendos that impress with both power and complexity. They aren’t just loud; with each instrumental contribution precisely located and mapped, you are drawn into the why and how of the orchestration, which adds even greater impact to what is already physical impressive in terms of sheer level and intensity. The four-box L10 doesn’t just bring vivid immediacy and vivacity to the lower end of the dynamic scale. It does a beautiful job of capturing the personal energy and emotional expression that goes into a solo performance, with all the intimacy and timbral definition to bring the technique and intent to life. Listening to Batiashvili you can almost picture not just her bowing but the controlled intensity of the physical effort that goes into it. But at the other extreme, it also captures the massive human energy that drives an orchestra playing at full chat, from the lumbering urgency of heavily bowed double bass to the red-faced exuberance of a brass tutti, the concentrated vibrance of massed strings to the explosive physical effort and impact of the big drums. Listen to the steadily mounting power and density of Honegger’s Pacific 231– surely as physical a manifestation of orchestral substance as you are likely to find – and you’ll get my point. You can almost see the sweat breaking out as the orchestra struggle to meet the unrelenting and concerted demands of a score that builds… and builds… and builds. If most orchestral scores are more like an orchestral interval session, this is a six-and-a-half minute ramp test – and the big CH line-stage lets you appreciate every ounce of effort that goes into playing it, as well as delivering a sound of compelling power and intensity!
