No doubt there are exceptions, but I guess that the natural habitat of the species maestro conductorus is the concert hall or opera house with live audience. Apart from anything else, when he strays into the rather different ambience of the recording studio he is invading the territory of a quite different species, technicus technicus, who is in possession and, albeit in the most deferential manner, in a very real sense actually holds sway. Of course, there is tension in the concert hall, but in the recording studio there is stress as well as tension. In concert, you start at the beginning, play through till the end, acknowledge the inevitable applause, and then go home. In recordings, usually the number and timings of sessions is pre-determined, so the pressure is on to create the best possible performance within the time available. Inevitably, with a few notable exceptions it hardly ever happens that the work can just be played through as the composer intended. Some conductors like to record short takes, others prefer long takes, but each method has its problems. Someone has a slight problem with timing or intonation of a short phrase? In concert, that's just part of the immediacy of the performance, very often forgiven (or at least patiently tolerated) by the audience if they like the performance as a whole. In recording, however, that must be repeated perhaps many times, until it is just right. What can be particularly frustrating in recording is when, after perhaps several takes of a passage, there is a particularly good take, musically speaking, that the conductor and all the players are specially pleased with, only for the engineer to ask for another take because of some technical problem. Usually there will then be a pause, waiting for the red light to come on again, instead of which an assistant will emerge from the control box, make his way to some obscure microphone somewhere, make some imperceptibly minute adjustment to it, and retreat back to the control box. The musicians will then have to try to reproduce exactly what they have just done, all over again, entirely for the benefit of the minutely adjusted device, and hope that this time the gods of technology have been appeased. It is hardly any wonder that so few recordings are able to match the vital spontaneity of a live performance. On the other hand. Some recording projects are very special occasions. There could be all sorts of reasons for that, of course. Perhaps it is a premiere recording, or one with a rare combination of great artists, or one that has never been done in that way before, or one that is not likely ever to be done again for some time to come, or even where the venue is special, whether it's the Beatles returning to Abbey Road or the Quatuor Pour La Fin Du Temps recorded at Auschwitz. Putting such a performance on permanent record can be anything but a routine engagement. There is a special responsibility involved in bringing something new, definitive and quite possibly unique into the world. With apologies to Orwell, one can say that all musical occasions are unique, but some are more unique than others. Concerts come and go, great concerts are remembered by those who attended them, but a great or important recording is something else. Alan Moss [log in to unmask]