Relative to the C1, the piano is more three-dimensional, substantial and planted, sitting in a more expansive soundstage with a welcome increase in separation between it and the (rather intrusively bombastic) orchestra. The added low-frequency authority reflects a more defined and muscular bottom end. The C1 was no slouch in this regard, but the C1.2 makes it sound bloated and indistinct in comparison – with a commensurate increase in clarity and overall musical purpose. This isn’t about adding weight. In fact, quite the opposite. In some ways, the C1.2 does more with less. It’s more defined and linear bass reaches deeper, getting more of the energy in the right place more of the time. The result is felt and heard in the increased openness of the mid-band and the easy, unforced extension at the top. (It’s also felt in a greater sense of weight and impact when required, but back to Mitsuko’s more delicate demands.) The spaces between Uchida’s notes are more clearly defined, the artistic choices more apparent. But what is really impressive is that this increased temporal separation actually results in increased musical articulation. In the same way that the extra information that populates the soundstage helps define and clarify it, creating a more coherent and understandable whole, the C1.2’s temporal alacrity brings both clarity and shape to the notes and phrases that Uchida has so clearly agonised over. That overall sense of flow and unity elevates the communicative qualities of the replay, moving the listener substantially closer to the original event, its delicate power and emotional impact. The result is so musically profound that you almost wonder how Uchida will lift herself for the 3rd Movement. Few audio sources of any type can achieve this level of connection between the original and the reproduced event, but the D1.5/C1.2 combination is one of them.
What both the Uchida and the Jordi Savall discs demonstrate is that this lift in performance is due to not just the ability to retrieve additional information from a given recording, but to better integrate that information to create a more meaningful whole. The challenge facing any high-resolution audio source is not the amount of detail it can display, but whether the resulting ‘picture’ makes sense. All too often, timing and spatial integrity have been sacrificed on the alter of resolution. The problem is that far from being a benefit, if all that extra information doesn’t arrive exactly where and when it should, then it becomes an embarrassment. All too often we hear the results in disjointed or sterile replay – a hyper ‘digital’ sound that trades obvious detail for any sense of musical coherence or communication, individual notes at the expense of the relationship between them. But the clue is in that ‘digital’ descriptor. The timing and displacement errors that afflicted early digital systems are what characterise that ‘digital’ thumbprint. Modern, higher-resolution systems (whether disc or file replay) might make things sonically more impressive but actually, in terms of musical communication they all too often make things worse. If that sounds like an unlikely proposition, just consider the enduring musical appeal of filter-less DACs. What the C1.2 demonstrates – and demonstrates so emphatically – is that it is possible to have high-resolution sound and musical integrity, a combination that places it in a very select group indeed.
Right on time…
There are plenty of instances where musical coherence comes at the price of resolution and transparency. It’s one of the traditional conflicts or trade-offs between solid-state and tube electronics – the idea that somehow, you have to decide between the space between instruments and their dimensionality, speed or attack as opposed to harmonic development. Those contrasts are simply different error mechanisms. You can (and should) have it all. The Víkingur Ólafsson disc, Debussy-Rameau (DGG 483 7701) is a perfect case in point. Not only is the instrument perfectly proportioned, dimensional and complex, but the playing is both wonderfully fluid and articulate. Slower passages have all the pathos of the Uchida recording, while the pauses, the decay of chords and their damping is beautifully natural and evocative. Left hand chords have weight and sonority, while the right hand possesses a quicksilver lightness and precision that bubbles and sparkles like a stream in spate. But what’s really impressive is the way that the relationship between left and right hands is maintained, the way that the contrasting pace, tempo and dynamics coexist and integrate. Ólafsson’s control of these temporal and dynamic factors is exacting. The clarity with which the C1.2 reproduces them gives a depth of insight into not just what is being played but the how and the why of that playing; a human agency that all but escapes the C1. It’s the difference between a nice performance and one that’s truly great, a performance that you can concentrate on and one where concentration simply isn’t necessary. Listen live and this pianist holds you spellbound. Listen on the C1.2 and it approaches that same, captivating quality. Ólafsson is a pianist who can really make the instrument dance: my kind of pianist. The C1.2’s musical fluency captures that character perfectly – and it does so both through its temporal security and it’s spatial and harmonic resolution. It’s this combination of factors that brings the music and the performance so vividly to life. Who says you can’t have it all?
