VERDI ANNIVERSARY

Most of the best-known singers from the first half of the twentieth century are included here. Among the sopranos, you will find Nellie Melba, Amelita Galli-Curci, Rosa Ponselle, Claudia Muzio, and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. (Surprisingly, Maria Callas is absent, although Hardwick reminds us that these are introuvables or hard to find recordings, and Callas hardly has been forgotten in the CD era.) Other prominent female singers who appear in this collection are Louise Homer, Clara Butt, Ebe Stignani, and Fedora Barbieri. The famous tenors include Enrico Caruso, Beniamino Gigli, Tito Schipa, Jussi Björling, and Giuseppe di Stefano; lower-voiced representatives include Mattia Battistini, Giuseppe de Luca, Ezio Pinza, Boris Christoff, and Tito Gobbi.

What makes this collection truly remarkable, however, are the singers whose names are known only to a handful of specialists. Turn your attention, then, to Olimpia Boronat, who sings "Tutte le feste" from Rigoletto (1908) with heartbreaking yet girlish intensity, or, from the same opera, "Caro nome" (1914, and in Russian!) sung Lydia Lipkowska, whose plangent coloratura establishes a vivid character even through the limitations of the recording medium. (And, compare Lipkowska's "Caro nome" to Maria Ivogün's even more plaintive 1917 recording of the same music to hear how she creates a completely different character!) Francesco Navarini's 1907 "Il lacerato spirito" (Simon Boccanegra) is utterly imposing and powerfully grieving, and what a voice! Hardwick follows it with Kipnis's 1931 recording - a perfect contrast because of Kipnis's restraint, which is no less effective. Who was Maria Kousnezoff, whose circa 1920 recording of "Ah fors'è lui" (La traviata) distills unbearable longing into three minutes and eight seconds (a questionable high note notwithstanding)? Who was Paul Franz, whose French "Celeste Aïda" (1912) is so sexily heroic? Natalia Yushina? Hertha Stolzenberg? Melanie Kurt? Margarete Arndt-Ober? Paul Payan? Leonce Escalais?

Intelligently, Hardwick has grouped the selections by opera, not in chronological order, and not by voice. Disc Two, for example, contains 16 selections from Rigoletto, ranging from Alfred Piccaver's 1912 "Questa o quella" to Titta Ruffo and Graziella Pareto's 1908 recording of the final scene. In effect, one gets a potted version of the opera, and aural fatigue is avoided by varying voice types, as well as by breaking up blocks of more difficult acoustic recordings with electric ones. The transfers make use of the most modern technologies. Pitches have been corrected (Hardwick reminds us that "78 rpm" records frequently were cut at higher or lower speeds, and that speeds could vary even over the course of a single side.) Computer technology has allowed Hardwick to minimize surface noise, thereby allowing the music on even the most faded acoustic discs to jump out into high relief.

The booklet contains a track listing (with recording dates/locales and matrix numbers), photos of some of the singers (not always well reproduced) and essays by Hardwick (in English and German) and André Tubeuf. Finally, it should be noted that this expanded edition of Verdian introuvables has been made possible by the inclusion of recordings currently under the control of Polydor, Teldec, and RCA. Thanks to them! Also, if one has enjoyed this set, which deserves to win many awards this year, there are similar sets of introuvables devoted to Wagner and Mozart singing. They are as enthusiastically recommended as the present one.

The earliest recording here is that of Verdi's Requiem Mass. Recorded in 1939, it was not released outside of Italy until the end of World War Two, but it has been a well-loved performance ever since. It is an unashamedly operatic one too. There's nothing wrong with that (the soprano and mezzo who sang in the premiere were Verdi's original Aïda and Amneris). Still, perhaps Gigli's bawling "Kyrie eleison" and crooning "Hostias" are not precisely what Verdi had in mind back in 1874. He dominates his colleagues (including the chorus) almost every time that he opens his mouth. Still, one can't deny that this is beautiful singing - something we don't often hear the likes of more than sixty years later - so if Gigli sings like an overly enthusiastic teenager, it is hard to remain angered by that. Pinza sings remarkably, and with genuine authority in the "Mors stupebit" and "Confutatis."

My only regret is that he didn't record the Requiem again ten years later when his voice had darkened. Caniglia is very good here (better than she is in Ballo - see below) and Stignani, although she is not terribly imaginative, is solid. She and Caniglia blend together better than most soprano-mezzo pairs. Serafin conducts some of this work too quickly for my tastes; the Sanctus should not sound like the finale of Rossini's William Tell Overture, for example. Most of the time he brings a Toscanini-like intensity to Verdi's "sacred opera", but not the corresponding discipline. The chorus (its director is not credited) shows more discipline than anyone else on this recording. Hearing this spectacular work in less than modern sound can be akin to eating a candy bar with the wrapper still on, but it is surprising how much the ear and the brain can "fill in" when the music is familiar and the performance is exciting . . . as it is here.

Gigli was a natural for the part of Riccardo, the ebullient but doomed Governor of colonial Boston (or, if you prefer, the King of Sweden) in Verdi's Un ballo in maschera. From the moment he appears "on stage," he cuts a likeable if somewhat reckless figure. Although his voice isn't as fresh on this 1943 recording as it was 10 or 15 years earlier, his honey-toned singing still spells excitement and romance. As in the Requiem, he isn't the subtlest singer (his laughter in "È scherzo od è follia" quickly grows tiresome), but no one can accuse him of vocal or interpretive stinginess on this recording. Caniglia used her voice hard during the 1930s, and the unfortunate outcome can be heard here; her production is squally, and high notes frequently screech out of control. Still, she was one of the era's more important sopranos, and she commanded respect if not love in this repertoire.

Bechi is one of the finest Renatos on record (I find him superior to the generally admired Tito Gobbi), and Fedora Barbieri's Ulrica, recorded at the beginning of the mezzo's career, is excellent. As Oscar, Elda Ribetti, all coloratura and little imagination, is rather annoying. Serafin's conducting is brisk and just somewhat better than routine.

The Don Carlo was recorded in 1954, and has long been a staple of the catalog, mostly because of the singing of Boris Christoff. The Bulgarian bass's portrayal of the conflicted King Philip II of Spain has never been surpassed, and he is the main reason why this set continues to be available nearly fifty years later. His memorable voice, so full of expression - and, when needed - power, capture the sufferings of a king whose family and political situations are on equally shaky ground as his middle age wanes. Nearly as good is Tito Gobbi's Rodrigo; his "O Carlo ascolta" in the final act is sung with a tenderness that leaves no doubt as to his feelings for the Infante. His pitch is not infallible, however, and when he pushes for more volume he tends to go flat.

Filippeschi sings heroically, but with no great interpretive distinction, and Stella is in the same league; her voice is not the prettiest, but she gets the job done. How wonderful it would have been if Maria Callas had taken this role instead! (She sang it at La Scala at about the same time.) Nicolai's Eboli is fine, but she would have been more attractive if her notes spread less. Neri is an effective enough Inquisitor, and the other small roles are done dependably. The biggest challenge here is the cut score, and Santini's conducting, which knows three speeds: slow, slower, and slowest. It emphasizes the opera's majesty but not its drama. Good mono sound is offered here, with the voices almost too far forward.

Christoff is no less powerful in the psychologically complex role of Fiesco in the 1957 Simon Boccanegra, and Gobbi, not obligated to play a romantic hero as he was in Don Carlo, ascends to greater heights in the title role. The closing moments of this opera team these stalwart lower voices with those of de los Angeles (born to sing this role on record, if not on stage) and Campora, a dependable tenor who distinguishes himself in a thankless role. (His aria, if it can be called one, is over before he blinks.)

For listeners raised on Trovatore and Traviata, Simon Boccanegra can be slow going. It is known chiefly for Fiesco's "Il lacerato spirito" and Amelia's "Come in quest'ora bruna," and perhaps also for the Council Chamber scene, which is gripping when sung by a great singing actor such as Gobbi (or, in the generation before his, Lawrence Tibbett). Again, Serafin's slow tempos emphasize Simon Boccanegra's dark colors, not its incipient excitement; I find them less distracting than I did in Don Carlo. I am not sure why this recording was not done in stereo; the technology certainly was in place in 1957, and only two years would elapse before Santini and de los Angeles recorded Madama Butterfly in the same location. At any rate, the monaural recording has enough impact, and this new digital transfer shows it off. Again, the voices are given top priority, and the orchestra scores points when it can.

All four recordings come with a booklet that includes texts and translations, as well as background to the recordings. Congratulations to EMI Classics for continuing to take care of their legacy, and for giving it its due respect.

This program would challenge any one singer. The distance between Gilda and her lyric-coloratura twitterings in "Caro nome" and Leonora's dramatic "Pace, pace, mio Dio," or Aida's "O patria mia" is enormous. Few sopranos would dare to attempt all three roles, and it remains to be seen whether Gheorghiu will do so on the stage. (Callas recorded them, but not even she sang all of them in the opera house.) Gheorghiu defies the stereotypes, though; her Gilda is no ingenue, and even in this aria, one feels the shadow of death creeping over her. The "little girl" voice is clouded over with sadness. Her Aida is not a Ethiopian Valkyrie, but a woman pressed down by fate and already broken. One feels the terrible vulnerability in all of these characters --- vulnerability is the thread that stitches this program together. Vulnerability is not the same as weakness, however, and Gheorghiu makes each of these characters into women with a distinct and powerful identity, even if the identity is based on oppression.

Her voice is interesting, replete with colors and shadings that are uncommon today. It's not always a classically beautiful voice, but, like Callas, Gheorghiu has made a virtue out of necessity. (One hopes that Gheorghiu's resources hold out longer than Callas's!) She has what is needed to be a great Verdian singer, however: excellent breath control and legato for the spinning of long lines, power, and expressivity at any volume. Gheorghiu reveals her artistry in the passages that other sopranos just push aside: for example, in Leonora's conversation with her confidante Ines (leading up to "Tacea la notte placida") and in Desdemona's nervous asides to Emilia as she prepares for bed.

Chailly is an excellent partner for Gheorghiu, taking nothing for granted in Verdi's music. He has prepared the orchestra (and, I assume, Gheorghiu) with tremendous care, but without removing an iota of excitement from the music or from the performances. Ten years ago, I thought him an overrated conductor, but his recent operatic recordings show that he could "own" the Puccini and Verdi operas in the coming decades.

Decca's engineering is ideal, and the booklet contains texts and translations of all the arias. For the love of Verdi, do not miss this CD.

Bocelli has some credentials. He won singing competitions when he was still young, and later he studied with retired tenor Franco Corelli. In preparing for this CD, Zubin Mehta -- no stranger to Verdi's music -- worked hard to coach Bocelli in Verdian style. There's no doubt that Bocelli's savvy increases from one disc to the next. However, if Bocelli wishes to be accepted as an opera singer, his case is not strengthened by engineering that treats him very much like a pop star -- it sounds as if he is swallowing the microphone. On the basis of this CD, it is not easy to make definitive statements about the size and power of his voice. All one can say is that more natural engineering would be desirable.

Bocelli is more successful in slower arias than in faster ones. "Di quella pira," for example, is compromised by his approximation of the eighth-note "shakes" in each phrase. The effect is smeary. His Barcarolle from Un ballo in maschera is as ungainly as they come; this Riccardo is too eager to reveal that he really is not a sailor!

On the plus side, Bocelli's voice is very attractive. One has to go back to the young Pavarotti to hear a tenor voice that caresses the ear like this. One hears him and one immediately wants to like him. He can act with his voice, although he still has some progress to make in this area. Finally, he has ringing high notes; try the end of "Di quella pira." Not all of them are so beautiful, however; if he doesn't have adequate time to prepare them, they can be screamy.

Mehta conducts well, but without any particularly imaginative touches. (Compare this Verdi recital with the Gheorghiu/Chailly disc recently reviewed, and you'll see what a difference a strongly invested conductor can make.) Whoever programmed this disc has some explaining to do. Why start the disc with "Di quella pira" and continue it with "Ah sì, ben mio"? Why omit the orchestral postlude to "Celeste Aida"? And why, if you are going to have a soprano sing Leonora's interjections in "Di quella pira," would you not identify her? Mysterious.

Philips is scheduled to release Bocelli's complete recording of La bohème (with Mehta and soprano Barbara Frittoli) in November. I predict every reaction from ecstasy to rage, and the print will burn off the page of all the classical record magazines. In the long run, however, it is the public who will vote.

Brittens Music Eastbourne