It’s a lasting regret that so few of Busch’s operatic performances have survived. Acts II and III of Lohengrin are apparently in poor shape but this one, the first Act, sounds good. I infer from Richard Caniell’s note about this performance that his heart lies rather more in Leinsdorf’s exciting vitesse rather than with Busch’s Old World nobility; he prefers a hawk to a swan, maybe. Granted there was youthful drive in Leinsdorf’s adrenalin-pumping stage appearances at the Met but Busch clearly has a more measured, long-term goal. He has Torsten Ralf not Melchior but it’s a suitable opportunity to salute the former. His Nun sei bedankt is ardent if controlled and proves eloquent and powerful in Nun hört. It’s Janssen however who makes the greatest impression; his coiled tone, firmly centred, immovable and powerful, shines through Dank, König and indeed he illuminates the Act with real artistry. Busch unleashes the sinuous oboe and other winds in Wer hier generating a fine sense of orchestral unease and a palpable sense of direction. The first disc includes some small extracts from a 1939 Act III presided over by Seidler-Winkler with Lemnitz and Ralf and a snippet from Stockholm in 1945 led by Leo Blech with the excellent Ralf. The former receives a good transfer and the live latter is in good sound.

The Beecham has unfortunately survived in poorer shape: recessed and indistinct voices, a rumbling noise (turntable rumble?) and acetate damage. Still, we can listen through to Beecham’s romantic helmsmanship. He colours and tints the orchestral passages as adroitly as Thorborg colours Doch deine Schmach. His sheer buoyancy survives the subfusc recording as does his expressive power and the sheer generosity of his conducting – and generosity in opera was not a quality he was known to exhibit, not to singers at least. Melchior’s affection is likewise here – what a shame there’s distortion in the scene beginning So Stürben wir and that Cordon is not an adequate replacement for the mighty Kipnis; mind you listen to Beecham’s largesse toward the bass clarinet behind him in Die kein Himmel.

We end this disc with the Wesendonck Lieder, a performance given with the RPO in 1952. There are other extant performances by Flagstad of course – notably the Knappertsbusch/Vienna Philharmonic recording of 1957 and the (original) piano accompanied 1948 recording with Gerald Moore. The sonics on the Beecham are somewhat compromised – you can hear nothing like the miraculous string choir separation one can on the Kna – but otherwise quite reasonable. Flagstad is in excellent voice and she and Beecham take consistently fleeter tempi than she was later to do in the studio in Vienna. Beecham encourages some swoony portamenti in Der Engel and there’s real effulgence and radiance in Stehe still – theirs is a thoroughly convincing and notable collaboration.

The Szell-Meistersinger is also rather problematic. The sound is compressed and distant and there are some acetate breaks along the way. Still Caniell has the mot juste for Janssen and that word is wisdom. There’s a wealth of nobility and sheer beauty of tone in Was gibt’s – breathtakingly good singing – and with Szell’s horns backing him up he rightly spins out the line. Steber has rather a tight, quick vibrato but she conveys a real onrush of feeling and an impetuous, almost improvisatory dizziness. List, well, it can’t be denied, is not in quite the voice one recalls from other broadcasts in this series or on disc. The sense of rhythmic exactitude with Szell is heard most particularly in Könnt’s einem Wittwer and in the way he clips through the broad humour of Pechner’s Beckmesser. It’s a shame there’s blasting in some choral passages (the brawl, mainly) and there’s also a screechy, untamed quality that grates. But there are some perfectly serviceable extracts from Act III Scene IV included – about a quarter of an hour’s worth and well worth the hearing, showing Janssen yet again at the top of his very, very considerable form.

The booklet is again a pleasure to look at; Guild admits the sonic liabilities with candour. There are no patches or interpolations, which is how I prefer it. Maybe, yes, this is a conductor-led purchase and not everything is an easy listen but Janssen, well, he’ll live with me for a long time.

Artykuł Great Conductors at the Metropolitan Opera <br />Lohengrin Act I 1945 <br />Tristan & Isolde Act II 1943 <br />Die Meistersänger Act II 1945 pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

The sound is, of course, just this side of tolerable in parts and quite clear in others, as singers are near or far from the microphone and as the surface of the original discs on which the sound was recorded back then was free or not free of static and slight defects.

The booklet by London Green gives a very nice account of the stars and of the plot. Rene Maison was the last of the French spinto tenors; and while his vocalizing has a few annoying qualities, he certainly throws himself into the part more than any other Hoffmann on subsequent recordings. As Offenbach hoped it would be, all four female roles are sung by a single soprano, Vina Bovy – and vocal teachers should be most interested in hearing how she tries to differentiate each of the characters.

For many, the big attraction will be American baritone Lawrence Tibbett as all four villains. There is not much differentiation here, and he is allowed to take several liberties with the score (as is Maison); but this is the only record (in both senses of the word) of his portrayal of all four nemeses to the luckless Hoffmann.

Maurice Abravanel conducts a spirited accompaniment, choosing or being obliged to conduct a somewhat abbreviated version (but without any major cuts). And how good it is to hear Milton Cross’s voice welcoming his radio audience and describing the curtain calls.

Look into the Guild website at www.guildmusic.com
or e-mail the lovely people at: info@guildmusic.com
Frank Behrens
A splendid night and its restoration on disc has been accomplished with skill and care …
MusicWeb International
This was a splendid night at the Met’s French Wing. The two leads were both Belgian – the veteran René Maison, or so we like to think of him but he was actually only forty-two at the time – and Ghent-born Vina Bovy who was in the middle of her very short two-year engagement at the Met. In later life she became Director of the Ghent Royal Opera. Then there’s Tibbett whose French pronunciation is bluff to say the least but whose powerful projection is secure at all times. The Italian comprimario Angelo Badà makes a fine showing and the Russian Irra Petina (who lived to be ninety-three, dying over a decade ago) spent many years at the Met and was a reliable and able musician. Supervising all is Maurice de (the de was dropped later) Abravanel, at one time the youngest ever conductor at the Met.
Firstly, the sound quality. It’s good: maybe slightly recessed and occasionally scuffy but basically unproblematic. There are moments of aural distortion and other ancillary concerns that should be noted. In the Prologue (track 4 Dans les roles) there’s a bit of a blizzard of acetate damage for a little while and there’s more of the same and a complete break up in Act I Tu me fuis? (Track nineteen) and more scuffs in Act II Morbleu! (CD II track 3). There are in fact similar small occurrences throughout but veterans of operatic broadcasts of this vintage will have heard much, much worse. The pleasures far outweigh the problems. This is a set that was released not so long ago on Naxos and derived from Bovy’s acetates; this one comes from an alternative source, NBC’s own 16″ transcription discs. The Guild, as is company wont, also includes commentaries and curtain calls, giving period flavour to the proceedings. It’s something I happen to like but other companies, such as Naxos, generally don’t.

Maison floats his top notes with great skill (Il etait une fois) but can get Wagnerian metal into the voice when required as in Je vous dis moi to conclude the Prologue. The voice itself I find exceptionally sympathetic in this role – forward, focused, subtly deployed. Bovy is superb – it’s remarkable to think her Met career was so short. Her dynamics in Les oiseaux are compellingly deployed, the technique is cast iron and the trill is immaculate; her impersonation is theatrically and vocally highly impressive. Listen to their duet in Act II Malhereux, mais tu ne sais donc pas where helped by the conductor’s energising warmth the two display increasing urgency of declamation. Maison’s ardency is matched by Bovy’s clarity and incremental increase in theatrical pressure; really fine musicianship. Tibbett takes a little time to warm up and he tends to bark early on but grows in command and menace and by the time we reach Pour conjurer le danger in Act III he’s exhibiting all his accustomed power and theatrical menace. Angelo Badà raises a laugh with his hoarse games as Frantz in his Act III Jour et nuit and the excellent Petrina impresses with her immaculate trill and clarity of projection. It’s a shame that the recording tends to cover Bovy’s exquisitely soft singing toward the end of Act III but certainly enough remains to mark this down as a memorable impersonation.

As I said this was a splendid night and its restoration has been accomplished with skill and care, notwithstanding the obvious aural considerations. And how amazing, and regrettable, is the fact that the two leads have sunk so low in the race memory of operagoers. As we have discovered from Maison’s Wagner at the Met it is high time for a reappraisal.
Jonathan Woolf

Artykuł OFFENBACH<br /> Les Contes d“Hoffmann<br /> Rene Maison, Lawrence Tibbett, Vina Bovy<br /> The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, Maurice Abravanel pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

Artykuł The Golden Age of Light Music – An Introduction<br /> Andre Kostelanetz, Mantovani Orchestra, Morton Gould and His Orchestra, Melachrino Strings Orchestra, The Percy Faith Orchestra, Frank Chacksfield and His Orchestra pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

Sixty years ago the score (unrevised) was a peg for a theatrical show. It’s not just a question of cuts, though these become increasingly ferocious as the opera goes on, so that in the latter half of Act 2 we get not so much a performance as a whistle-stop tour. Against these are to be weighed frequent added lines, particularly by Baccaloni as Bartolo who ends most of his lines with a leering “eeeeh!”, mimics Rosina’s lines before actually replying to them and generally keeps up a sort of muttered commentary while others are singing their parts. But if Baccaloni is an extreme example, the others are not far behind. Whether these are personal gags on the part of the individual singers, or traditional accretions, I don’t know, but I am sure the basic practice was normal at the time.

And then the notes themselves of the recitatives are scarcely respected. Entire sections are actually done as dialog, and in others the singing is a kind of Sprechstimme reminding us of Noel Coward or even of Rex Harrison’s performance in “My Fair Lady” which succeeded in raising “non-singing” almost to a noble art. But “My Fair Lady” wasn’t an opera. Furthermore, this style of comic non-singing even continues in the ensembles, much of the finale of Act One being resolved as semi-pitched “parlando”.

One other “liberty” was traditional at the time; when Rosina has her singing lesson the music she takes out of her portfolio is not the aria Rossini wrote for inclusion at this point but Proch’s “Deh torna mio bene”. This lends unusual point to Bartolo’s comment that “the aria, all things considered, was pretty boring; music was something else in my days”.

So where does this leave us?

The set is claimed as valuable above all for Baccaloni and Pinza. As a theatrical performance Baccaloni must have been terrific – the public rock with laughter whenever he’s on stage. The voice is a firm and authoritative one though the singing as such – not that there is much – does not seem particularly remarkable. Pinza certainly was a great singer with a great voice and his account of “La Calunnia” is both histrionic and musical. It is perhaps the finest I have heard and rightly brings the house down. But, apart from this, Basilio does not have all that much to do in this opera.

John Charles Thomas (1891-1960) was a Met stalwart, much appreciated as Germont and Amonasro. He is thoroughly at home in Italian and gives a comic pantomime performance along similar lines to Baccaloni’s. The voice itself seems a bit rough and cavernous.

Bruno Landi (?1905-1968) was a genuine “tenore di grazia” with a sweet, honeyed line in lyrical passages and untroubled high notes (as we also hear in the Flotow extracts). Had he been born a generation or so later when the Rossini-Donizetti revival was in full swing his early training would have included agility too; as it is he pecks around the edges of many passages where modern ears demand accuracy.

Today’s taste prefers a mezzo Rosina, though since Rossini provided variants and transpositions for a soprano Rosina we cannot actually say the latter is inauthentic. A soprano Rosina is better suited to the essentially frivolous conception of the opera current at the time and the Italo-American Josephine Tuminia has a bright and shallow soubrettish voice with easy coloratura and an ability to hold top Cs and Ds almost indefinitely. In its way it’s an attractive assumption of the role but others have given so much more and Tuminia, having sung Gilda and Rosina over two seasons, was not called back to the Met. Irra Petina is a caricatural Berta.

The conductor Gennaro Papi was an old hand at the Met and his rough and tumble approach suits the pantomime conception well enough. Besides, it would have taken a Toscanini to impose order on his principals and insist on observance of the score, though the Leinsdorf recording of a decade or so later shows that the Met Barber Show, if still not quite embracing authenticity, was to get a beneficial spring-cleaning.

Two things have to be said, though. The first is that this performance does enshrine an approach to the business of performing a comic opera the roots of which, if not the substance, go back to Rossini’s own days. In other words, he might have been sarcastic about some of the ways in which his notes were being treated but he might not have disowned the general style. The other is that people maybe enjoyed their evening at the opera much more than we do today. The Met public plainly never have a dull moment. This is a point to be weighed against the serious refinement of an Abbado. All the same, it belongs to an epoch when Rossini was patronised as the composer of a few good tunes rather than a musical dramatist not so far behind Mozart and deserving of the same respect. Still, the very fact that you are unlikely to hear a performance anything like this today is justification for hearing this one. The recording catches the voices reasonably well and is really remarkably good for what it is. The less said about the soprano in the Flotow duet the better and in Guild’s place I’d have issued only the aria.

The booklet, like others in this series, has a detailed essay and mini-biographies of the singers and conductor. It’s a pity they manage to spell Rossini’s name wrongly (“Giaocchini”!) twice over, on the back cover and under his portrait, but there is a mystery to clear up since both the Concise Grove and the Italian Garzanti encyclopedia spell it “Gioachino” while the Ricordi score prefers “Gioacchino”. The double C is normal in modern Italian (the name is equivalent to the German “Joachim”) but was not so in Rossini’s own days.
Christopher Howell

Artykuł ROSSINI,\<br />Il Barber of Seville<br />John Charles Thomas, Ezio Pinza, <br />The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, Gennaro Papi pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

Among the seven broadcasts of Nozze between 1940 and 1950, this 1943 performance offers the best sound and the best cast: Pinza at his personable best, Sayão utterly charming – the perfect Susanna; Steber’s first portrayal as the countess and among her loveliest performances of the decade; Novotna made Cherubino her role in this era and Baccaloni was unparalleled as the jovial, scheming Dr. Bartolo. The performance, prepared by Bruno Walter, was conducted by Paul Breisach. Scintillating, good sound; this particular performance will be the one you reach for when you want to recall this Mozartean decade at the Met. Includes a booklet replete with photos of the singers on stage, notes on the performance and biographies of the singers. GHCD 2203/4/5

La Scena Musicale / the Music Scene – Summer 2004
This is another issue of historic Met broadcasts on the Guld label. It is unavailable stateside – a pity, since this is a gem. This 1943 performance was chosen for its superior sound, even though the conductor was the relative unknown Paul Breisach in place of Bruno Walter, who conducted most of the performances. With minor patching from an alternate performance with the same cast, this Nozze is an unalloyed pleasure. Top honours go to the delectable Susanna of Bidù Sayao, for her uncommon tonal beauty and vivid persona. Equally fine is the creamy-voiced, youthful Eleanor Steber (Contessa), then at the beginning of her career. Jarmila Novotna makes a lovable Cherubino. Of the men, Ezio Pinza (Figaro) may sound a bit mature, but his command of the role and strong personality are special. Salvatore Baccaloni is at his best buffo self. Only John Brownlee (Count) sounds uninvolved. Breisach conducts well but obviously not on the level of a Bruno Walter. The bonus is an enjoyable concert with Sayao and tenor Eugene Conley of arias from Manon, Faust, Le Roi d’ys, and Mefistofele. Some of the sheen has come off the Sayao voice by 1951, but the artistry remains intact. Conley sings with manly tone but dreadful Americanized French. A must for lovers of historical broadcasts.
JKS
International Record Review – April 02
Mozart Le nozze cli Figaroa.Following the 1943 spring tour, the Metropolitan Opera’s Figaro returned to New York for additional performances, including a broadcast. Under conductor Paul Breisach, the Overture is performed authoritatively, but later, stage and pit are not always in sync, with portions of the more heavily populated scenes occasionally turning raucous or frantic. Breisach does frequently get things just right, particularly in more restrained moments (for example, the ideally buoyant tempo for the Letter Duet and the nicely airy orchestral underpinning for Susanna’s Act 4 aria). Ultimately, nothing seriously hinders the teamwork achieved in earlier performances under Ettore Panizza and Bruno Walter.
Heading the cast are Pinza and Sayão, whose irrepressible personalities burst through one’s speakers. The bass is this performance’s lynchpin – a Figaro of almost startlingly vivid vocal presence, every phrase uttered with extraordinary spontaneity, the recitatives delivered as genuine ‘sung speech’. Only the high Fs of the opening scene find him wanting; otherwise the portrayal is incomparable, culminating in a knowing, dangerous, memorably sarcastic account of the Act 4 soliloquy. Sayão is very much the Latin spitfire, failing to convince only in the excessive coyness of her Act 3 dialogue with the Count. Her ‘Deh, vieni’ is thoughtfully conceived and exquisitely phrased.

Although not in consistently mellifluous voice, Novotna makes a sensitive and charming Cherubino, partnered by Farell’s unusually full-voiced Barbarina. Glaz is a blessedly unexaggerated Marcellina, supporting Baccaloni’s inimitable, gloriously pompous Bartolo. Both comprimario tenors contribute strongly, as does d’Angelo’s Antonio.

As for the Almavivas, he is a disappointment, she a triumph. While not exactly letting the side down, Brownlee sings rather stiffly, with little beauty or variety. Steber, however, ravishes the ear and, at just 27, displays a magnificent technique. Even in the most agitated moments of Act 2, her tone retains its glow. Vocally speaking, she compares favourably with any Countess on disc. Her Italian, like Brownlee’s, is hardly authentic, and the characterization could be more probing (Steber would interpret in far greater detail as the Met’s Fiordiligi and Donna Anna in the 1950s), but the required vulnerability and dignity are already evident.

The audience applauds at the slightest provocation. The recorded sound varies wildly, but even at its most muffled and noisy, it does not seriously compromise one’s enjoyment. No libretto, just a synopsis, an effusive essay about the performance and biographies of Pinza, Sayão, Steber and Novotna (no Brownlee, which is disgraceful – he is left off the CD cover as well). All in all, not a Figaro for anyone seeking a single performance, but invaluable as a historical supplement and vocally almost uniformly superior to the legendary Glyndebourne recording of 1934 (sacrilegious though it may be to say so!).

Completing the third disc are 1951 performances by Sayão and tenor Eugene Conley, sabotaged by a stodgy conductor. The soprano’s Marguerite, surprisingly, is less effective than her Margherita (a riveting ‘L’altra notte’, lacking only an effective trill). Sayão’s delectable Manon inspires her partner in their duet. Conley is handicapped by very American French, but we would welcome his secure, manly sound today.
Roger Pines

Classical Music on the Web – January 2002
This is a wonderful performance of Figaro taken live from the Met during the Second World War, the cast as good as anyone could surely wish for, though I do have one reservation. Guild Music has an association with Immortal Performances which has an archive of first-generation historic broadcasts from the 1930s and 1940s. This initial release (a complete 1937 Siegfried, excerpts from a 1928 Boris Godunov with Chaliapin, and all of Act 2 of Parsifal from 1938 are the other mouth-watering offerings) sets a standard hard to beat. All the discs are transfers from the original transcription discs master tapes, and the complete Toscanini concerts are also planned.
Regrettably Bruno Walter’s performances of this production earlier in 1943 were not up to transferable standard but one is assured that Paul Breisach takes over with very little change. His tempi occasionally hurry but lapses in ensemble are rare, and when they are, it is either the drama which has caused it, or distant upstage singing. Act Four has a rushed conclusion which almost leaves the timpanist behind but he does catch up. The audience is fully involved, laughs when you expect them to (Cherubino, the Count and THAT chair, the revelation to Susanna of Figaro’s parentage in the Sextet in Act 3, the slaps he gets in Acts 3 and 4, and Antonio’s denial that he saw a horse jump down from the window in Act 2), showing that they knew their Italian, and their opera, without the aid of surtitles. The only irritant is the applause which greets each new character on his or her first appearance (and therefore covers Mozart’s glorious music), though is it critical discernment which makes them deny this accolade to John Brownlee as Count Almaviva? If so I must agree with them. Despite his Glyndebourne pedigree nine years before, his wooden delivery comes not within a mile of the combined artistry of Ezio Pinza or Salvatore Baccaloni – it’s all terribly British and disappointingly dull until his Act 3 aria where at last, and not a moment too late, he begins to unbutton vocally and respond to the vocal glories of his colleagues which surround him. Pinza is in glorious voice, dynamic and powerfully dramatic when his ire is aroused but his voice never forces nor loses its natural beauty, and one can see Baccaloni as one listens to his vivid and personable portrayal of Doctor Bartolo.

The women are simply glorious without exception, wonderfully moving singing by the Bruno Walter protégée Steber (this was her broadcast debut), a bright and bubbly performance by Sayão as Susanna. When the two of them sing the Letter Duet one could wish for nothing more on this mortal coil, it really is that ravishing a blend. There’s an ardent Cherubino from the stunning Novotna, and the usual antics from Marcellina and Barbarina, Glaz and Farell respectively.

The orchestra is excellent, the continuo playing regrettably on a piano (but that must be expected from those days), with the player occasionally failing to keep the action moving after arias or ensembles thanks to persistent audience applause, and one senses his frustration. On the whole the sound is good (a few dips here and there), some spots had to have inserts from a different broadcast (but with the same cast of course) when the original was unacceptable, there’s noise here and there apart from stage sounds and footfalls, and the prompter’s audibility is an irritant – one wonders that he would be needed with such a cast, but again that’s a small price to pay for the vocal glories of this set, anyway but it all adds to the flavour of the performance and to the sense of occasion.

The filler is an hour of a post-war broadcast concert, the spoken commentary between numbers retained despite its rather black-and-white film stilted delivery, but it gives a chance to hear the Brazilian Sayão again in more pyrotechnical music (eight years after Figaro, the voice has more body the lower range more textual colour), while the American tenor Eugene Conley is very impressive in his Lalo and Massenet arias. The final track is an eloquent and raptuorous account by both singers (in an excellent blend) of the duet which concludes the first act of Manon, excellent that is apart from Conley’s execrable spoken French.

I cannot recommend this Figaro set highly enough.
Christopher Fifield

Wonderful performance of Figaro taken live from the Met during the Second World War, the cast as good as anyone could surely wish for. An initial release with some mouth-watering offerings to come from Guild.

Robert Farr has also listened to this recording
Guild Music’s “Immortal Performances”, a series of operas and orchestral works derived from broadcasts, was launched in January 2002. The sources come via the Immortal Performances Recorded Music Society and Richard Canniel who have had access to NBC (American) broadcast transcriptions and preservations made for singers, from the 1930s and 1940s. These first generation tapes, originally made in the late 1940s, have been subject to restorative techniques aimed specifically at preserving the overtones of the voice and instruments, as well as the original acoustic; no electronic reverberation has been added. Where, as was often the case with NBC, more than one performance of an opera was broadcast in a season, the choice has been made on the basis of the best sounding performance available. On these facts it is claimed that this series represents “The Finest in Broadcast Recordings”. Many will also be heartened to see the name of Keith Hardwick as “Series Consultant. Certainly the NBC opera broadcasts from the Met, which continue to this day, have casts and conductors which read like a roll-call of the greatest, just as they often still do. If the series’ aims are realised by the discs issued, it will be a veritable treasure-trove of pleasure for collectors. It should, perhaps, be pointed out more clearly that an unusual degree of artistic licence has been used in these transfers to CD in that where masters were found to be in poor condition, insertions have been made from other performances, usually, but not always, involving the same cast and conductor. While the reasons are laudable, some purists may find this unacceptable. It will be incumbent on reviewers to point out these insertions when present. The 1942-43 season at the Met, was memorable for the series of performances of Figaro under the baton of Bruno Walter and which are the basis of this set. Regrettably, Richard Caniell tells us in his note, the broadcast under Walter is far inferior in sound to this post-tour performance under Breisach, who provides a well-paced and pointed contribution with good control of ensemble. Walter, contentiously, had chosen the young Eleanor Steber as the Countess. Born 1916, she had made her Met debut barely two years before as Sophie in Rosenkavalier, and the management had reservations. In no way can her tone be described as refulgent or creamy as Te Kanawa’s was when she was launched in the same part at Covent Garden in 1971. Steber’s is a girlish Countess with a light silvery tone. Her Porgi Amor (CD1 tr19) lacks nothing in expression. There is no vocal confusion with the spunky fuller toned Susanna of Bidu Sayao, who in her 16 seasons at the Met, sang 12 roles including Rosina, Violetta (much admired ), Adina and Gilda. Here, she holds a lovely line, bringing great nuance and expression to her singing; she sparkles throughout. Her Deh vieni (CD3 tr6) shows her strengths to perfection. The third major female singing role, that of the trousers role of Cherubino, is taken by Jarmila Novotna. Born in Prague in 1907 she had a considerable career in Europe before arriving at the Met in 1940. (She had sung Adina with Schipa, Gilda with Lauri-Volpi, and Butterfly with Tauber with whom she sang the world premiere of Lehár’s Giuditta – quite a list!). In sixteen seasons with the Company she sang 205 performances of 14 roles. Although later she sang Orlofsky and Octavian she did not dwell in the mezzo fach. A woman of grace and beauty she must have made a great impression as Cherubino with vocal heft and colourful tone. The men in the cast are equally distinguished. The eponymous hero is sung by the great Ezio Pinza. Born 1892, he spent 22 seasons at the Met.(1926-48), before going over to musicals including South Pacific’s “Some Enchanted Evening”, giving. 878 performances of 52 roles in 48 operas. As Figaro he gives a firm toned, vocally secure performance with a wide range of expression; nuances with his native language are a listening pleasure, even if his tone and phrasing are not as mellifluous as Taddei’s for Giulini or Siepi’s for Kleiber; both compatriots. However, Pinza’s tonal bite (allied, could we but see it, to his renowned histrionic ability), make this a formidable portrayal. The Count of John Brownlee, well known as Don Giovanni at pre-war Glyndebourne, and who sang 20 seasons at the Met. (1937-57), is no match for Pinza as a vocal actor, but his firm full-toned singing has bite; plenty of electricity sparks between this master and his servant!
Of the other singers, the most distinguished by reputation and performance is the Bartolo of Salvatore Baccaloni. Much admired in buffo roles, one senses that the audience were feeding from every vocal nuance and facial expression. He scarcely finishes his aria before applause breaks in.

The usual theatre cuts common at the time are applied. This allows 37 minutes, including commentary, of extracts from a Standard Hour Concert given by Bidu Sayao and tenor Eugene Conley in San Francisco in September 1951. Sayao’s is the voice to listen to, particularly the two extracts from Manon.

Back to Figaro. It is a sparkling performance, very well sung and conducted and, sound-wise, easy to listen to. The voices are heard to better effect than the more recessed orchestra. Yes, there are some clicks and surface noise from time to time. Those used to listening to live, or studio, recordings from this period will find little to object to and much to enjoy. However, the matter of applause is more contentious. Then, as now, Met. audiences give regular vent to applause, not only at the end of arias and acts, but often on the lifting of a curtain or the entrance of a favourite singer. This has an inevitable effect on the frisson of a live performance.

The booklet provides track listings, photographs and biographical details of the singers, and detailed comments on the performances and the selections made. Interpolations from a different broadcast, with the same cast, that “amount to 5 minutes in Act. 1, some 6 minutes in Act. 2, two instances of three minutes in Act 3 and a very short patch in Act 4” are noted.
Robert J Farr

Artykuł MOZART <br />Le Nozze di Figaro <br />, Ezio Pinza, Bidu Sayao, <br />The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, Paul Breisach pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

Music Web 04.02.04
Everything is in favour of this well-merited retrieval of a distinguished set … a noble and frequently fascinating recording. …

Music Web 04.02.04
Everything is in favour of this well-merited retrieval of a distinguished set … a noble and frequently fascinating recording. …

This famous 1947 set makes a welcome return to the catalogues. There was, remarkably, another Bolshoi recording of Roméo et Juliette in the same year with the title roles taken by Lemeshev and Maslennikova, rivals to the present pairing of Kozlovsky and Shumskaya but it’s this one that has generated the greater esteem over the years. Guild has done their level best with the recording, which is pretty standard for this period in Russia. The recording level, as they indicate in a note by Richard Caniell, is variable and there is some blasting at various climactic points. Additionally the vocal perspective swirls around and it is sometimes the aural equivalent of being disorientated in a snowdrift. One should also note the acidic, resinous sound of the strings and the untamed and characteristically raucous brass. Unsubtle is the mot juste and one should prepare oneself in advance for these obvious deficiencies, accept them and then, having absorbed them (and in this performance they can be absorbed), admire the wealth of vocal talent on display here.
Kozlovsky is the star, even then still Russia’s most famous tenor. We can hear as early as his recitative Eh bien! Que l’avertissement in Act I that, for all his lyrical ease and command, his voice has a characteristic rather “white” tone – not bleached but equally not obviously captivatingly beautiful as, say, Björling’s was. His vibrato is precisely employed and to great dramatic effect – sample O nuit! From Act II. His control of dynamics, even given the relatively primitive recording, is sovereign. He employs a floated head voice but it’s not fully in the French voix mixte tradition (head voice mixed with falsetto) though it does convey great emotive power when he chooses to employ it. His technique is secure and strong, allowing him moments of ringing declamation as in Act III’s Allons! Tu ne me connais pas and also the dramatic and histrionic lucidity of Act V’s À toi, ma Juliette where he and Shumskaya shake the grooves (literally) so impassioned is their duet. His tone can also take on great powers of intimacy and consolation, encompassing all emotive states in this work with kaleidoscopic freedom.

Shumskaya brings considerable reserves of power and theatrical tension to her role; hers is a strong rather dramatic soprano, not always entirely disciplined it’s true, but quite capable of matching her partner as we’ve seen. She was forty-two at the time of the recording, five years younger than Kozlovsky and together they make a strikingly believable pairing, though not one, clearly, in the French mould of interpretation. The Mercutio is Ivan Burlak and he has an elegant light bass, commendably flexible. He is lyrical and phrases with line and momentum and his top is firm (especially in his Act I ballade). It’s true that there are moments when an obtrusive bleat enters the voice but this is a less important matter than his engaging sensibility. Sokolova has a powerful soprano with a well-supported lower register and considerable projective power. She’s occasionally unsteady but her full Olympian power can be heard in Act III’s Depuis hier. Basses Mikhailov and Petrov prove a strong, if stylistically anomalous pairing. Mikhailov was 54 and on top form, still fully in control of vibrato and light and shade whilst Petrov was half his colleague’s age and had a more obviously intense and powerful sound.

The conductor is Alexander Orlov and he directs with tremendous attack – the fugal section in the Prologue sounding the alarm for his sweeping and galvanizing (but also poetic) leadership. The Ball scene has elegance and panache and he takes the Act II Entr’acte at a fine tempo. It’s certainly not faulty balance by the conductor when the harp is so over recorded or that the strings sound so raw. Nor even that there is an echo round the voices, some of which come and go in distinctly spectral fashion. These were the hazards of the recording set up there. And to finish we have a small glimpse of another esteemed conductor, the coruscating Nikolai Golovanov who accompanies his much older wife, the legendary Antonina Nezhdanova and Kozlovsky in Ange adorable. Despite the antique sounding recording (it was only 1938) it’s a delightful pendant.

Everything is in favour of this well-merited retrieval of a distinguished set. There are full and attractive notes that comment and reflect upon a noble and frequently fascinating recording.
Jonathan Woolf
This famous 1947 set makes a welcome return to the catalogues. There was, remarkably, another Bolshoi recording of Roméo et Juliette in the same year with the title roles taken by Lemeshev and Maslennikova, rivals to the present pairing of Kozlovsky and Shumskaya but it’s this one that has generated the greater esteem over the years. Guild has done their level best with the recording, which is pretty standard for this period in Russia. The recording level, as they indicate in a note by Richard Caniell, is variable and there is some blasting at various climactic points. Additionally the vocal perspective swirls around and it is sometimes the aural equivalent of being disorientated in a snowdrift. One should also note the acidic, resinous sound of the strings and the untamed and characteristically raucous brass. Unsubtle is the mot juste and one should prepare oneself in advance for these obvious deficiencies, accept them and then, having absorbed them (and in this performance they can be absorbed), admire the wealth of vocal talent on display here.
Kozlovsky is the star, even then still Russia’s most famous tenor. We can hear as early as his recitative Eh bien! Que l’avertissement in Act I that, for all his lyrical ease and command, his voice has a characteristic rather “white” tone – not bleached but equally not obviously captivatingly beautiful as, say, Björling’s was. His vibrato is precisely employed and to great dramatic effect – sample O nuit! From Act II. His control of dynamics, even given the relatively primitive recording, is sovereign. He employs a floated head voice but it’s not fully in the French voix mixte tradition (head voice mixed with falsetto) though it does convey great emotive power when he chooses to employ it. His technique is secure and strong, allowing him moments of ringing declamation as in Act III’s Allons! Tu ne me connais pas and also the dramatic and histrionic lucidity of Act V’s À toi, ma Juliette where he and Shumskaya shake the grooves (literally) so impassioned is their duet. His tone can also take on great powers of intimacy and consolation, encompassing all emotive states in this work with kaleidoscopic freedom.

Shumskaya brings considerable reserves of power and theatrical tension to her role; hers is a strong rather dramatic soprano, not always entirely disciplined it’s true, but quite capable of matching her partner as we’ve seen. She was forty-two at the time of the recording, five years younger than Kozlovsky and together they make a strikingly believable pairing, though not one, clearly, in the French mould of interpretation. The Mercutio is Ivan Burlak and he has an elegant light bass, commendably flexible. He is lyrical and phrases with line and momentum and his top is firm (especially in his Act I ballade). It’s true that there are moments when an obtrusive bleat enters the voice but this is a less important matter than his engaging sensibility. Sokolova has a powerful soprano with a well-supported lower register and considerable projective power. She’s occasionally unsteady but her full Olympian power can be heard in Act III’s Depuis hier. Basses Mikhailov and Petrov prove a strong, if stylistically anomalous pairing. Mikhailov was 54 and on top form, still fully in control of vibrato and light and shade whilst Petrov was half his colleague’s age and had a more obviously intense and powerful sound.

The conductor is Alexander Orlov and he directs with tremendous attack – the fugal section in the Prologue sounding the alarm for his sweeping and galvanizing (but also poetic) leadership. The Ball scene has elegance and panache and he takes the Act II Entr’acte at a fine tempo. It’s certainly not faulty balance by the conductor when the harp is so over recorded or that the strings sound so raw. Nor even that there is an echo round the voices, some of which come and go in distinctly spectral fashion. These were the hazards of the recording set up there. And to finish we have a small glimpse of another esteemed conductor, the coruscating Nikolai Golovanov who accompanies his much older wife, the legendary Antonina Nezhdanova and Kozlovsky in Ange adorable. Despite the antique sounding recording (it was only 1938) it’s a delightful pendant.

Everything is in favour of this well-merited retrieval of a distinguished set. There are full and attractive notes that comment and reflect upon a noble and frequently fascinating recording.
Jonathan Woolf

Artykuł GOUNOD<br />Romeo et Juliette <br />Ivan Kozlovsky, Yelizaveta Shumskaya, <br />Maxim Mikhailov, Orchestra Bolshoi Teatre Moscow, Alexander Orlov pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

Brattleboro Reformer, 21.07.2005
Experiencing “Faust” through four different recordings
From Switzerland, there is an the Guild label/ (GHCD 2258/9) a Metropolitan Opera broadcast from April 15, 1944 (what were you doing that day?) with Beecham again an the podium.

Here the big attraction is the very funny (to judge by the audience reactions) Ezio Pinza as Mephistopheles and Licia Albanese as the doomed girl. The Faust of Raoul Jobin is good bat nothing to get excited about. So again, the Devil leads the throng. You can contact Guild at s.guildmusic@bluewin.ch or through their Web site at

www.guild­music.com.

Yet another “Faust” is transferred from a 1951 Columbia LP set onto two CDs as part of Preiser Records Paperback opera series (20015). And guess which character steals the Show? It is Cesare Siepi as a dignified Devil doing his worst to American Bingers Eugene Conley (the Metropolitan house tenor of the time) as Faust and the mach beloved Eleanor Steber as Marguerite.

Here Fausto Cleva leads the Metropolitan forces in the last of the four vintage recordings of this work before stereo and roaring Bulgarian bassos took over the rote of Mephistopheles. Since receiving a copy of this set, I have already played it three times.

It is not available for sale in this country, bat Preiser can be reached at preis­errecords@aon.at or through their Webpage at www.preiserrecords,at. I so love this opera that I try to get every version out there, except for those in which the leads never bothered to learn how to pronounce French. Who needs stereo when one has authenticity?
Frank Behrens
Eagle Times – 13/5/2004
A 1944 Met broadcast of „Faust“
Faust: Remember the ‘golden days” when you could turn on your radio on Saturday afternoons and hear the friendly voice of Milton Cross guiding you through whatever opera was scheduled for that day? Hearing “Carmen’ that way got me excited about opera when still in grade school.

How welcome, then, is a CD recording of one of these now historic broadcasts, including Cross, from April 15, 1944? It is Gounod’s “Faust” with Sir Thomas Beecham on the podium and Ezio Pinza as Mephistopheles. You will find it on the Guild label (GHCD 2258/9) and it is a must-hear.

To my mind there has been only one really good recording of “Faust,” and that came out on 20 RCA Red Seal 12% 78 rpms in 1931 with a Corsican tenor in the title role – Marcel Journet as an exemplary Mephistopheles and an all-French cast. Beecham’s 1947 studio recording is not bad at all but suffers from too many cuts, including the Walpurgis Night sequence and ballet music.

All is not perfect with this “live” Metropolitan Opera broadcast, the sound being what the state-of-the-art at that time could muster up and the Valentine of Martin Singher not quite up to snuff. Licia Albanese sounds far too mature for Marguerite – as she does in the early LP recording of “Manon.” French tenor Raoul Jobin knows what he is about, but lacks tenderness in the love scenes. The impressive program notes that come in the set are quite honest about these shortcomings. Again, there is no Walpurgis or ballet.

Also, some of the original transcription was marred beyond the capabilities of modern computers to fix up, and so bits from a later performance with the same cast had to be slipped in. Therefore if you hear sudden variations in sonic ambience, you now know why.

Now Guild has put out a whole series of ‘immortal performances.” You can learn more about this Swiss-based label on their Web site wwwguildmusie.com and you can contact them at info@guildmusic.com.
FRANK BEHRENS, Contributing Writer

MusicWeb Thursday January 15 04
Given access to the master acetates, restorer Richard Caniell found a number of problems. As is his practice in this series, he has interpolated short extracts from other broadcasts involving the same performers. This gives a sonically acceptable version, one or two pitch variations apart (CD2. tr.8). The value of the enterprise mainly rests on two great strengths, Beecham and Pinza. The conductor’s lightness of touch, and thoroughgoing grasp of the score, merely underlines what is lacking in several more modern recordings. Pinza is by turns vocally suave, sardonic and appropriately saturnine. His ‘serenade’ (CD 2. tr. 11) exhibits all these facets in an altogether superb characterization. Raoul Jobin as Faust is more tasteful than on some of his recordings but sounds rather middle-aged and is a little strained by the high note in ‘Salut! demeure’ (CD 1. tr. 21). Elsewhere he exhibits some elegance of phrase. As his ladylove, Marguerite, Licia Albanese is somewhat overly matronly but sings throughout with steady tone, smooth legato and in the ‘King of Thulé’ and ‘Jewel Song’ (CD 1. trs. 14-15) a secure trill. The Valentin of Martial Singher has no great vocal beauty or strength of characterization. This is strange since he was French-born and the biographical note claims him to be ‘revered for his lieder recitals’. Certainly his diction, and that of the other principals, is good and the French is idiomatic throughout. The chorus sings with enthusiasm and the minor parts are adequate.
As indicated the sound is acceptable if not particularly atmospheric or immediate being rather lacking in forward presence. However, that is to carp. The issue makes it possible to admire Pinza and Beecham and that opportunity alone is worth the price.
Robert J Farr

Artykuł GOUNOD<br />Faust<br /> Raoul Jobin, Licia Albanese<br /> The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra and Chorus, Sir Thomas Beecham pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.

————
Elektra was one of Astrid Varnay’s great roles, but she never recorded it commercially. Now, however, we have at least three live recordings, of which this is the earliest; among the others are a splendid German radio production from 1953 (Koch -Schwann) and a disappointing Salzburg Festival account with Karajan from 1964 (Orfeo). At Carnegie Hall on Christmas afternoon (!) 1949 she was in flawless, fearless voice and working with a conductor of towering eloquence and urgency. The result is electric and often almost unbearably tense, but by no means lacking in subtlety or tenderness (the Recognition scene is movingly expressive). Elena Nicolaidi’s Klytemnestra is one of the best-sung accounts on record: she never spits or snarls, and often persuades you that she was beautiful once, probably not long ago. Irene Jessner is an excellent Chrysothemis, much lighter-voiced than Varnay, convincingly the younger sister, but well able to hold her own in the penultimate scene.

Chrysothemis, however, is the character most affected by the cuts in this performance: two quite short, the third enormous, nearly 60 pages of orchestral score. The second scene between EIektra and Chrysothemis is entirely removed, partly in order to provide an interval! A normal recording of Elektra lasts about 100 minutes or a little more; this one runs for 88. Still, this provides room for a generous supplement of arias from Varnay’s other repertory, of which the most interesting are two substantial scenes (20 minutes in all) from Simon Boccanegra. Guild gives no details of date or conductor, but I think I can help: Metropolitan Opera, 1950, the conductor Fritz Stiedry. Tucker and Warren are both in fine voice and Varnay adds a touch of Italian warmth to her heroic gleam. This is not always true in the seven studio recordings of arias, with a not very good orchestra conducted by her husband Hermann (not Herman nor Herbert, as the booklet renames him) Weigert. As Agathe, Reiza and Senta the voice is grand, full and firm, but there is too much metal to it for Santuzza or Manon Lescaut, especially in a recording which adds a fierce glare to her tone.

Because the Koch-Schwann account is complete it should take first place among Varnay’s Elektra recordings, and Guild’s version is better at rendering singers‘ voices than orchestral detail. But the chemistry between Varnay and Mitropoulos is quite extraordinary, and her voice in 1949 was at its freshest. At the price, owners of the Koch-Schwann might well spoil themselves by acquiring the Guild as well. Michael Oliver

Artykuł STRAUSS R.<br />Elektra<br /> Astrid Varnay, Elena Nicolaidi, Herbert Jennsen, <br />New York Philharmonic, Dimitri Mitropoulos pochodzi z serwisu Cleartone.