Universal Music - Europe, Australia and USA

Truly, everything you ever wanted to know about Alexander Borodin (but were afraid to ask?) is included in this "Double Decca" collection. The reissue producer (unfortunately not identified) has chosen recordings made during an incredible span of 38 years to create a definitive primer - and, for some listeners, the last word - on this remarkable Russian chemist, who happened also to be a composer of loveable, tuneful music.

Solti's Prince Igor Overture and "Polovtsian Dances" have been a staple of the Decca catalog since they were recorded in 1966. I'm never quite prepared for just how assertive Solti is in this music; his animal high spirits make me jump every time. The LSO plays radiantly, particularly in the Overture, and even though Solti drives the music hard, pure happiness suffuses every aspect of the musicianship. Solti has a chorus available for the "Polovtsian Dances" - another reason to like these recordings.

Martinon's 1960 recording of the Second Symphony is another jewel. I was unfamiliar with this recording - it hasn't generally been available in the United States for many years - until Seaford Music brought it to my attention. Martinon brings a lot of color to this beautiful score, and he gives it more character than most conductors do. To my ears, his strongest competition is Svetlanov, who is a little more relaxed. The Russian's engineering, however, is prehistoric next to Martinon's.

The latter's recording originally was issued in RCA Victor's "Living Stereo" line, and the sound continues to put most digital recordings to shame. For engineering and performance, then, Martinon's Borodin Second is peerless.

The Borodin Quartet recorded the String Quartet No. 2 several times. This 1961 recording also features the best engineering, and a performance whose refinement doesn't preclude excitement and, in the famous Nocturne, Romantic chills down the spine.

The remainder of the program is good too. Ansermet's recordings show their age, particularly in their anemic string tone, but he makes the most of the two extant movements of the Third Symphony. In the Steppes of Central Asia is more pageant than reminiscence. Ashkenazy's digital recording of the First Symphony is dependable, and it is good to have Nicolai Ghiaurov's thick but authoritative bass voice in two arias from Prince Igor, plus a song (to a text by Pushkin) as bonuses.

All in all, this is a coherent package, in spite of the varied performers and recording dates. Borodin's music is full of pleasures, as anyone who has seen the musical Kismet knows: in it, Forrest and Wright cheerfully plundered Borodin's tunes. You will find most of them here, no worse for wear!

The performances more than hold their own. At this price, they become even more attractive. Kubelik draws a firm, middle-European sound out of the Vienna Philharmonic without becoming overly heavy. He opts out of playing the exposition repeats. His tempos are on the slow side, but not exaggerated; Brahms's invention flows with inevitability, and also with flexibility - Kubelik was not a rigid time-beater. He is most creative in the First Symphony, which may seem a little languid to those who demand a more overtly dramatic or masculine approach.

By the way, you will notice that the playing time of the first CD is well over 80 minutes. This is without a doubt the longest CD I have yet to encounter. Decca has managed this with no compromises except for a brief pause between the two symphonies. Even my most finicky CD player handled this exceptionally well filled CD without difficulty.

"Eloquence" is a quality that Kertész's Shostakovich has in abundance. The recording is almost 40 years old, and many conductors have tackled the Fifth Symphony since then, but Kertész's integrity gives this version its staying power. The conductor respects Shostakovich's tempo indications more than most of his colleagues do, and he refuses to turn the symphony into a series of cheap effects. What this means is that other conductors have brought more power to the climaxes of the first and last movements, but few have given the symphony more continuity than Kertész has; he is a story-teller. He relishes the grotesqueness of the second movement, and he realizes the despair of the third movement without exaggerating it. Although the tempos are on the fast side - the orchestra scrambles once or twice - they are not objectionable. The Orchestre de la Suisse Romande plays with a great deal of character.

The concerto is even better. Fans of the late John Ogdon will want this CD just for his contribution, and they will not be disappointed with the nose-thumbing brilliance of his playing. Marriner, not the first conductor I'd associate with Shostakovich, captures the spirit of this concerto very well - this is fun that snarls, and silliness that teeters on the verge of threat. Ogdon and Marriner equivocate with panache. The trumpeter is not identified, but the engineers seem to have liked him (or her), because he (or she) is placed far forward. The sound, then, is not entirely realistic. It's warmer than in the symphony, though, and it matches the in-your-face character of the concerto.

Out of fairness, I must mention that I wrote the booklet notes for this release. I get no direct benefit from its sales, though, so there's no self-interest associated with my giving this CD such a positive review!

Anna Bolena (Anne Boleyn) is the most popular of the "Three Queens" operas. As with the other two, it plays fast and loose with English history. For example, the operatic Anna has an effective "Mad Scene" and dies before the headsman can get to her. In essence, the opera is about a queen who inadvertently ruins those who love her most; the body count as the final curtain rings down is not small, and even Giovanna (Jane) Seymour, her successor in Enrico (Henry) VIII's bed, is far from triumphant. This is a long score, and it is common for it to be cut drastically. Sills's set is an hour longer than Callas's live La Scala performance, as reissued on EMI Classics, and even the Sills, I believe, is not as complete as Sutherland's studio recording. (The Callas, then, is wonderful theater, but it does Donizetti no favors.)

Donizetti's music is not consistently first-rate, but it never bores, and there are several superb arias and scenes. Among the latter, one must count the Act I duet for Giovanna and Enrico, and the Act II duet for Anna and Percy. This latter duet culminates in Enrico's discovery of Anna's supposed infidelity, and the succeeding sextet rivals the parallel ensemble in Lucia di Lammermoor if nor for melody then for skill of construction. The Mad Scene, already noted, is masterful, as the moribund Anna's gentle distraction turns to righteous anger against Enrico and Giovanna. "Coppia iniqua" (Wicked couple) she calls them, to dramatic vocal fireworks. This is writing that cries out for 20-minute stamping, standing ovations.

This set was recorded in 1972 (the last of the three) and what a cast it has! Sills, as always, is touching and brilliant, and if she makes some strange sounds now and then, there's no doubt about her involvement in the title role. Shirley Verrett matches her blow for blow; what a fine singer she was then; there is no hint of the vocal deterioration that would plague her in the succeeding decade. Giovanna's coloratura holds no terrors for her, and the assurance of her technique - every note is hit dead on - is matched only by her assured interpretation. Her Act II duet with Sills is a singers' orgy of sympathy, betrayal, and forgiveness, and it is one of the set's highlights.

Burrows is a mellifluous Percy, and his aria in the Tower of London scene make one wonder why he didn't record more of the Italian repertoire. (Admittedly, his stratospheric high notes in the cabaletta are not comfortable, but he gives them a good try.) A young Paul Plishka is a sinister Enrico, and the smaller roles are handled well. Patricia Kern even does a creditable job with Smeton's frequently cut aria in the third scene of Act I. Conductor Julius Rudel is dependable and sympathetic - certainly equal at least to Sutherland's Bonynge - and the chorus sings with dramatic involvement. All in all, everyone makes a bid to push Anna Bolena into the standard repertoire. If only a cast like this could be assembled today!

The confrontation between Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour pales between that of Maria Stuarda (Mary Stuart) and Elisabetta (Queen Elizabeth); in public, the Queen of Scotland impugns the Queen of England's legitimacy with words so strong that the censors stepped in to protect the public. The two singers who first took on these roles hated each other offstage as well as on, and one rehearsal ended with Elisabetta punching Maria, who in turn knocked her rival down and pummeled her. (And you thought "Celebrity Death Match" was just a sick fantasy!) As in Anna Bolena, Donizetti is given the opportunity to write an extended scene for a queen on the verge of execution, but here, Maria loses her head but not her wits, and prays that her unjust execution may "soothe the wrath of outraged heaven," rather than calling down God's vengeance. It's another great moment for a reigning soprano. Musically, Maria Stuarda is only a little less distinguished than Anna Bolena, possibly because the libretto is inferior. Again, there's a culminating sextet, and highly effective duets for Leicester and the two queens. Maria's so-called "Absolution Scene" also contains yards of Donizettian cantabile writing at its best.

Sills's Maria Stuarda was recorded in 1971. She and Burrows are as strong as they were in the later recording; the soprano summons up even greater reserves of power and vehemence for the outraged heroine, yet elsewhere her singing has a melting tenderness wedded to a solid care; the same can't consistently be said of Sutherland in her recording of this work. Farrell, who, inexplicably, hardly ever recorded a complete opera (yet this was not her first, regardless of what the libretto's bio says), spits fire as Elisabetta, and her confrontations with Maria and Leicester are thrilling.

I was startled by Deutsche Grammophon's assertion (on the jewel box's back cover) that Roberto Devereux is the best known of the Three Queens operas; I would have said the opposite. Nevertheless, it was the first of the three to be revived by the New York City Opera, and the first to be recorded by Sills (in 1969). If you've ever seen Bette Davis and Errol Flynn in The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, you'll know what happens in this opera: Elisabetta (Queen Elizabeth) agonizes over whether or not to pardon her younger erstwhile lover Roberto (Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex) for his disobedience to her in Ireland.

The situation is complicated by Roberto's love (returned but unconsummated, we are made to believe) for Sara (Sarah, the Duchess of Nottingham). In Act II, Elisabetta and Nottingham discover what their respective lover and wife have been up to - or so it seems -- and their rage and jealousy drive the action to its end. In this opera, it is Roberto, the star tenor, who goes to the block, but it is Elisabetta who loses her wits, at least for the moment, imagining Roberto's decapitated ghost running through the palace with a bloody, severed head in its ghostly fist.

This (you guessed it) is another excuse for soprano fireworks, and Donizetti rises to memorable heights here. Elsewhere, the music in Roberto Devereux is a little more routine than in the other two operas, but it is not hard to be swept away by the action, which is more concentrated. This is the most intimate of the Three Queens operas; even the chorus seems to be tip-toeing around most of the time.

In this opera, the soprano is less the martyr and more the wronged woman, and Sills responds with effective use of her chest voice and venom-spitting characterization. The coloratura element is not shortchanged, however, and the pseudo Mad Scene contains thrillingly florid writing and a final high D that Sills nails. She prepared extensively for this role, and just as ads in the 1960s proclaimed "Callas is Carmen," Sills "is" Queen Elizabeth. Robert Ilosfalvy's singing makes one wish that Burrows (or Plácido Domingo, Sills's partner on stage) had recorded Roberto's role instead.

Ilosfalvy's light, flexible voice has approximately the correct timbre for this role, but he is not dependable about pitch, and his sliding between notes is a sloppy excuse for legato. Still, he is dramatically apt. Mezzo-soprano Beverly Wolff joins Verrett and Farrell in going head-to-head with Beverly Sills -- both vocally and dramatically -- and not sounding like a second fiddle. Wolff is most impressive at the end of Act I, when she and Ilosfalvy take their leave of each other. Her singing is rock-solid and exciting, and she seems to have an endless supply of lung-power. (I was not surprised to read that she once was an accomplished trumpeter.)

Glossop doesn't make as much as he might have of Nottingham's switch from Roberto's supporter to his foe; more Renato-like vindictiveness would have made his portrayal more vivid. Kenneth MacDonald is a nasty Cecil, and Don Garrard a sonorous Raleigh. Gwynne Howell and Richard Van Allan, both major singers, appear in minor roles. Mackerras is a sympathetic and understanding conductor.

This recording has the most extreme sound effects; Roberto clanks around in the Tower of London, and when his cell door opens, you expect the host of "Inner Sanctum" to be on the other side. There's also a highly unnecessary general scream, more appropriate for natural catastrophes, as Roberto loses his head offstage.

Deutsche Grammophon decided to reproduce the original LP cover art and libretto material for all three operas. This might appeal to the nostalgia-bitten; no doubt it was an inexpensive decision. However, the typographical errors are distressingly numerous, what is sung is not always what is printed, and the artist biographies trail off circa 1973.

Sills's contributions to the arts have been so notable in the last thirty years that it seems mean not to credit her for them. Most of her fellow singers are no longer active, and it also strikes me as an injustice that their full careers have not been reviewed, even briefly, at this time.

A slip-case sized booklet is new, however. It contains an essay by reissue producer Anthony J. Rudel (conductor Julius Rudel's son?) and lots of photographs. Among the latter, my favorite is one of Sills rehearsing Roberto Devereux at the New York City Opera with a young and decidedly plump Plácido Domingo, who is wearing a most impish grin.

I think it was ham-fisted of Deutsche Grammophon to release all three operas together. (Perhaps they will be made available separately later.) Nevertheless, if you want one, you'll probably want them all, so break open the piggy bank and revel in the royalty of Beverly Sills and Gaetano Donizetti.

Brittens Music Eastbourne