This selection features recordings of the voice of Enrico Caruso remastered and accompanied by a modern orchestra.
The vocal parts were recorded 1906-1920 in New York and Camden, New Jersey. The orchestral accompaniment was recorded May 1999 in Vienna, Austria.

Music composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Lyrics written by Charles Hart.
Principal cast includes: Juan Navarro (El Fantasma De La Opera); Irasema Terrazaz (Christine); Jose Joel (Raul, Visconte De Chagny); Tatiana Marouchtchak (Carlotta Giudicelli); Luis Rene Aguirre (Monsieur Firmin); Luis Miguel Lombana (Monsieur Andre); Tere Cabrera (Madame Giry); Javier Cortes (Ubaldo Piangi); Laura Morelos (Meg Giry).
Recorded at 201 Studios, Mexico.

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

GOUNOD Roméo et Juliette • Emil Cooper, cond; Jussi Björling (Roméo); Bidù Sayão (Juliette); Nicola Moscona (Friar Laurence); John Brownlee (Mercutio); Metropolitan Opera O & Ch • SONY 8869780462, mono (2 CDs: 126:34). Live: New York City 2/1/1947


Sony has managed to clear hurdles with the Metropolitan Opera and all of the unions involved to begin commercially releasing important Met broadcasts from the past. (Is there any point in our continuing to hope that the Italians will get their act together and find some way to open up the archives at La Scala?) All of the first four releases are superb, but this one is the true gem. Sony has worked with the Met on these, and the sound surpasses, though not by a great margin, all previous releases of this broadcast (and there have been many on a variety of what are euphemistically called “private labels,” including Rodolphe, Immortal Performances, and Myto). Collectors have long prized this exquisite performance, and the Met itself had issued it on LP at high fund-raising prices.


Of course the sound is still somewhat constricted and not at the level of good 1947 monaural studio recordings. If you must have stereo then you will have to look elsewhere. Probably the first choice would be EMI’s effort with Michel Plasson conducting, and Roberto Alagna and Angela Gheorghiu as the star-crossed lovers (EMI 40700). For those who want large-scale, often thrilling vocalism, Franco Corelli and Mirella Freni made an earlier EMI set worth hearing despite its lack of refinement (Alain Lombard conducting, 65290). But if you have the flexibility to listen to adequate 1947 monaural broadcast sound, processed quite well by Andreas Meyer and John Fredenburg, this performance is in almost every way clearly superior to its competition. The biggest sonic flaw is an occasional flutter that creeps in on sustained wind tones. But it is rarely apparent.


There is a problem with cuts, more traditional in the 1940s than now; particularly brutal is the axe taken to the fourth act. But even with that caveat, this is a must-have for anyone with an interest in this opera, or for that matter in opera in general. Although Bidu Sayão is superb, and Emil Cooper’s conducting is some of the most sensitive and well paced this opera has received on disc, it is Jussi Björling who makes the set indispensible. Where does one start with this tenor? I suppose with the sound of the voice itself—if the word “golden” was ever apt as a descriptor for a voice, it is this voice. His scrupulous musicianship, his unerring pitch, his sensitivity to the style of the music, all of those play into his success as Roméo. But it is more than that. Here Björling sings with an abandon and passion that was not always present on his commercial studio recordings. Without ever going over the edge into excess, he holds some high notes longer than you might expect from him, and he adds just that extra bit of juice when it is appropriate. I cannot imagine the role ever sung better, and in fact I never expect to hear it sung as well. His ringing high C at the end of the third act is thrilling.


Sayão is almost as good. The voice has just a slight hint of bite in it, while mostly retaining sweetness throughout all the registers. And she too shows complete mastery of the style. She and Björling blend beautifully in the four big duets that are the reason for this opera’s survival in the repertoire.


It is fascinating that the most stylish and successful recorded performance of this opera does not contain a native French speaker in the cast or on the podium. The Roméo is Swedish, the Juliet is Brazilian, and the conductor is Russian of English heritage! Cooper was a more important figure than history remembers; he conducted the world premiere of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Le Coq d’or , and he was a mainstay at the Met for many years. His conducting reflects a deep knowledge of Gounod’s score, an understanding of the appropriate tempo relationships within each scene and act, and a sensitivity to the singers’ needs. The Met Orchestra was not in those days the refined jewel that it has become under James Levine’s leadership, but it plays well enough, and Cooper takes great care with matters of color and balance. The chorus is perhaps a bigger problem, singing with raw tone that wants more blending. Still, that is a minor flaw.


Fanfare readers who have come to know my writing are aware of my love for older so-called “historic” recordings. But as much as I often find special qualities in performances from the first half of the 20th century, and believe that they have much to show us, there are very few cases where I would state that a live broadcast from the 1940s is the one recording of an opera to own if you were only going to own one. In this case, however, I have no hesitation in saying that. What Björling, Sayão, Cooper, and a fine supporting cast offer here is a performance that is truly memorable and thrilling. We should be grateful to Peter Gelb and the Met and to Sony for figuring out how to get some of the treasures of the Met archives out to the public, and to whoever made the decision that this Roméo et Juliette belonged in the first group of releases in the series. I can’t wait to see what’s next.


FANFARE: Henry Fogel

First time on CD from the Metropolitan Opera’s archives: Mozart's Le nozze di Figaro. A delightful performance from January 28, 1961 with Roberta Peters, Mildred Miller, Lucine Amara, Kim Borg and Cesare Siepi all at the height of their careers. Conducted by Erich Leinsdorf.

There is no want for recordings of this opera, and several are terrific: Jennifer Larmore/Raul Gimenez (Teldec); Horne/Alva (Opera d'Oro); Horne/Ramey (Erato); Baltsa/Raimondi (DG). But there's always room for another if it's good, and this new release, recorded at the 2008 Wildbad Rossini Festival, is excellent--and the least expensive of them all.

The star here is Lawrence Brownlee, the superb coloratura-lyric tenor who is giving Juan Diego Florez a run for his money. Warm of tone, stylish, accurate, rhythmically impeccable, fearless of high notes, involved with the text, and capable of marvelous patter (his first-act duet with Mustafa is a gem), Brownlee is the best Lindoro on disc. He is given both of his arias, which he dispatches nimbly and naturally.

Almost as fine (behind only Samuel Ramey) is Lorenzo Regazzo's Mustafa, here portrayed not as a buffoon but as a man smitten and naive to the wiles of women. The voice is appealing, dark, and round-toned, and he sings the coloratura and patter handily. I like that he doesn't growl and yelp like most basses do in this role; he may be a tyrannical character but he's in a position of power and distinction. The other two low men's voices are equally good: Giulio Mastrototaro's Haly is colorful and self-assured, and Bruno De Simone's is the best Taddeo on disc. He has the Rossini style down pat and sings with impeccable diction. He doesn't sound young, but that's hardly an issue. Both men are fine in ensembles.

Marianna Pizzolato is a far lighter mezzo than we normally hear in this role. I guess in keeping with underplaying Mustafa's foolishness, we avoid having an Isabella who sounds as if she could conquer Algiers singlehandedly--as, say, Baltsa and Horne could. Pizzolato is more in the Teresa Berganza class (although the voice is not as lovely); there are no booming low notes, but she commands the role on her own terms. There's little to argue with vocally--she has the technique down pat--and she has a good sense of fun as well. Ruth Gonzales as Mustafa's poor, fed-up wife, Elvira, can be slightly shrill but is mostly an excellent part of the ensemble, and mezzo Elsa Giannoulidou holds up her end as Zulma.

Alberto Zedda, an old hand who can occasionally be more scholarly than entertaining, is at his best: zippy tempos prevail (in fact, the finale to Act 1 is faster than I've ever heard it--a remarkable example of how well rehearsed the performance is); vocal lines are ornamented wisely (not the old fashioned way, with big high notes at the end of arias and scenes, but rather within the numbers themselves); and the opera comes across as charming.

This work can seem like hectoring and can be somewhat cruel; the choice of singers, tempos, and overall outlook makes it concentrate on the love story and the peculiarities of East meeting West. The Transylvania State Philharmonic Choir, Cluj is superb, singing at times at a whisper very accurately and offering real personality, and the Virtuosi Brunensis plays with vigor. The recording is fine, with voices always audible and well-balanced. If you're in need of a L'Italiana, this one will please you, particularly at half the price of the others; otherwise the Larmore/Teldec release is the best cast, overall.

--Robert Levine, ClassicsToday.com

It took me only a few seconds of listening to realise that there was likely to be something special about this recording. The Overture is so well known and often played, but here it comes up with the kind of invigorating freshness and brightness that brings an immediate grin to your face. Partly this is due to the use of the recent critical edition by Azio Corghi, whose changes of flute to piccolo in the allegro section, and detailed changes of phrasing throughout are entirely for the better, but it is due even more to the sheer rhythmic grace and suppleness of the playing. Alberto Zedda may have been nearly 80 when this recording was made but you would never guess it from the results. The orchestra sounds to be of an appropriate size for the work – not on historic instruments, I understand, but certainly historically informed - and it has been recorded in an acoustic which appropriately feels like the kind of medium-sized opera-house that Rossini would have expected.

Apart from Lawrence Brownlee the cast is not as starry as other versions of the work, but what is much more important is that the majority of the soloists are native speakers of Italian and all have clearly been thoroughly rehearsed together as an ensemble. Brownlee sings with grace and manliness - an uncommon quality in this role. Bruno de Simone and Lorenzo Regazzo have voices which are clearly distinguishable from each other and both are masters of Rossini’s writing for comic basses. The ladies are perhaps less individual, Marianna Pizzolato in particular lacking the kind of vivid characterisation that we find in recordings with, say, Marilyn Horne or Jennifer Larmore. Nonetheless she sings with great beauty where required, and at all times communicates the dramatic situation to the audience. It is indeed this quality of communication which makes the recording special. There is no sense of a routine run-through; instead there is the freshness of apparent new discovery.

This is wholly appropriate as L’Italiana in Algeri was written when the composer was only twenty-one. He had written nine operas before it but here reveals himself for the first time as a complete master of writing for the stage and one determined to make this clear to the audience. The special merit of this performance is that the performers are clearly working as an ensemble. It was recorded at live performances but the only significant adverse effects are very occasional moments of ragged ensemble and the brief applause at the end of some, but not all, numbers. On the other hand the very positive effect is the palpable sense of involvement in the performance from everyone involved.

Naxos have recorded a number of Rossini operas at the Wildbad Festival already, but this is by some way the best I have heard so far. No libretto is included with the set and that on their website is in Italian only. There is however a detailed and helpfully cued synopsis which is some consolation - although in a comic opera you really do need to be able to understand all the words to appreciate it as the composer intended.

-- John Sheppard, MusicWeb International

IL TROVATORE

Although one of his most consistently lyrical operas, La rondine remains one of Puccini' least known. Dissatisfied with the result of his work, Puccini wrote three versions, with two different endings, and continued to make further revisions up to h.

Mozart: Don Giovanni

The Italian tenor sings the world’s greatest Italian tenor arias, including the hit “Nessun dorma” – without question the most famous opera arias.
Verissimo meaning “very true” in Italian and is a play on the word “Verismo” – the late 19th century opera style from which these featured operas are taken. The style is known for its big passions, dramatic lyricism, lush orchestral sound and storylines about normal people in the throes of love, death, betrayal and revenge. Key composers of this style include Puccini, Mascagni, Cilea and Leoncavallo.

Alexander Kipnis' Opera Arias & Songs is one of the most beautiful compilations of vocal recordings ever assembled on one disc. That all but one of the 21 recordings comes from the 1920s may dismay some listeners, but as in the rest of Sony's Masterworks Heritage series, the sound is as clear and clean as humanly possible and could be an impediment only to the most aurally challenged listeners. That the singer is a bass may dismay other listeners, who believe that male vocal beauty can come from tenors and the occasional baritone, but not from a bass. But the vocal beauty of Kipnis' voice, the sheer cream and velvet tone of his voice, is the equal of the best tenors and baritones, and only the most intolerant listener would be dissuaded.

Any track randomly chosen is amazing and moving, and listeners should try his Der Lindenbaum of Schubert: heartrending and so natural that it sounds like a folk song. Or his Mondnacht of Schumann: as light and graceful as the phenomena it describes. His arias from Handel are robust and virile, but supple and flexible; his Feldeinsamkeit by Brahms is sweetly lyrical with a seamless legato; his Doppelgänger by Schubert is maybe the scariest performance of the song ever recorded. Then try his opera arias: his maniacally cackling Faust arias, his regal Wagner arias, and the exquisite cantilena of his Sarastro's aria from Die Zauberflöte. One of the all-time great bass recitals.

-- James Leonard, AllMusic.com

An Enchanted Evening with Jose Carreras

AGNES BALTSA SINGS ROSSINI

This is indeed A Life for the Tsar, not Ivan Susanin. An opera glorifying the establishment of the Romanov dynasty was an awkward one for the Communists, the more so as the work is with some reason honoured in its own land as the first great Russian opera. The censors found various ways round the problem, and all modern scores (such as the 1978 Muzyka vocal score) contain the version by Sergey Gorodetsky, which gets off to a characteristic start by making the peasants sing "I'll die for Holy Russia" instead of "I'll die for the Tsar, for Rus". They do it rather tentatively here; perhaps that particular kind of folk polyphony, the so-called podgo/osok, comes more easily to Russians than to Bulgarians. They are much better in the splendid rowing chorus, as the men round the bend in the thawing river to be greeted by the excited villagers: no wonder the first orchestra applauded Glinka's brilliant balalaika pizzicato as they recognized a composer who could write not just imitations, but compose from within Russian idioms. The beautiful 5/4 wedding chorus is charmingly sung, and the final "Slavsya" is properly jubilant as the people hail the Tsar whose throne has been saved by Susanin's sacrifice.

Earlier, deep in the frozen forest where he has deliberately misled the invading Poles, he has sung his great farewell to the last dawn he will see. Boris Martinovich rises well to the occasion of this famous aria; before, he is reflective but not always as firm as the music suggests. His daughter Antonida is sung by Alexandrina Pendachanska. She has a clear, acute voice, with a slight edge to it and under pressure the familiar Slavonic vibrato, but she phrases well and sings with character. Her betrothed, Sobinin, is well taken by Chris Merritt; he has a good sense of line and, like Pendachanska, the ability to make a single expressive gesture in those arias where Glinka's initial Russian enthusiasms dissolve into Italian gestures as he slightly loses his way. Stefania Toczyska sings Vanya's charming song about the little bird affectingly, and also has the character to make a strong dramatic gesture of the scena when he arrives, unhorsed and freezing, to warn of the Poles' seizure of Susanin.

The orchestra plays well for Emil Tchakarov, making much of all the Polish glitter and stamp, and the recording is fair if not outstanding: the voices come across well, but the various effects of space and distance, of arrivals and departures, are not as atmospheric as they might be. No matter: it is splendid to have on record, at last, a good version of Glinka's seminal masterpiece of Russian opera in its true form.

-- Gramophone [9/1991]

VIVES: DONA FRANCISQUITA ROA,

ESCAPE THROUGH OPERA

This program is also available on VHS as Sony Classical 60239.

VERDI: FALSTAFF MUTI, PONS, F

Here is a private portrait gallery for Ferruccio Furlanetto: all his Mozart roles rising up and meeting him in person and showing, in close focus, the quick intelligence and versatility of this bass-baritone. Here are Sarastro's "heil'gen Hallen" and Bartolo's "vendetta": here is Papageno's "Vögelffinger"and Leporello's catalogue. Here, too, is a rare outing for Guglielmo's "Rivolgete a lui lo sguardo", as well as the more predictable "Donne mie, la fate a tanti" with opportunity aplenty for Figaro to voice not dissimilar sentiments.

To Figaro first, then. "Se vuol ballare" introduces both the full-bodied headiness of Furlanetto's voice, here turned to heavy irony, and his verbal acuity in the stinging rhyming gerundives of his anger against the Count. Such rage is sharpened by anguish in the energy of his "Tutto e disposto", mollified by mischief in his lightlyhandled "Non più', andrai".
With the Count's wig on, Furlanetto presents, by softening and darkening the voice, a contrasting tint of realization and affront. His voice is perhaps a little heavy for this role, but he finds its hauteur as convincingly as the rude spitting rage of a Masetto. Furlanetto has the range and true depth of Sarastro's "heil'gen Hallen", and by skilfully lightening the line within its ponderous tread, makes each stanza truly melodic. He is a broadly smiling Natural Man, too, for Papageno. His feet are rhythmically firm on the ground when introducing himself, yet his imagination can make him a passionate enough lover in "Ein Mddchen oder Weibchen". There is a nice moment of hushed anticipation hanging over the word "Elysium", and more than one sob in the voice.
As Leporello, too, he enjoys anticipated love, if only vicariously, in a catalogue song which moves mercurially from the snapping rhythm of its short lines to the elision of imagined seduction. The accompaniment of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra under Ion Mann is lively, serviceable and unremarkable throughout.
-- Gramophone [3/1992]

Italian Operas Composers' Songs

This set contains both ADD and DDD recordings.

This two-disc set documents the revival of Peter Gelb's inaugural production of Puccini's Madama Butterfly at New York's Metropolitan Opera House, telecast in Times Square and in the plaza at Lincoln Center to the delight of thousands when it was brand new in 2006. It is exquisitely designed by Michael Levine and directed by the late film auteur Anthony Minghella. Since the director's death, his widow and the show's choreographer, Carolyn Choa, has been responsible for the stunning, evocative action. This performance was filmed in high-definition in March 2009.

Highly stylized and in bold, brilliant colors, our first visual is of a young Japanese woman approaching from the rear or the stage, trailing twenty-foot-long red scarves from her kimono; a sloping mirror rises from the rear of the stage multiplying the image and turning it into a kaleidoscopic event. Figures in black wearing veils — a repeated image throughout — circle her and wrap her in fabric. Only then does Puccini's music begin. The entire experience is practically tactile, and the rest of the production follows suit. Han Feng's costumes constantly surprise and please and Peter Mumford's lighting, making the most of the mirror that appears and disappears throughout, adds to the all-consuming physical enchantment. Butterfly enters wearing white against a sky of brilliant blue; her love duet with Pinkerton takes place amidst dozens of white lanterns and their reflections; later, curtains of flower petals fall from the sky. The stage is almost invariably empty of props; color and action take their place and we can focus on the singers. Minghella has minimized the singers' actions as well; there is no over-emoting. The sad story is allowed to speak for itself.

But Minghella's true coup-de-théâtre begins in the second act, when Butterfly, in her confrontation with Sharpless, shows him the child she has borne Pinkerton. The boy is played by a Bunraku puppet, operated by three veiled men in black. Yes, it startles and amuses at first, but as the opera continues we grow accustomed to it. The puppet is so effortlessly manipulated that even if our disbelief is never truly suspended, we are captivated by how real he seems and how touchingly Butterfly relates to him — and him to her. Look carefully at the face and you'll realize that it is emotionless; take a longer view and you'll feel that he's real. In the interlude before the last scene, a puppet Butterfly and male dancer enact the couple's upcoming tragic meeting. It is performed while the actual cast sits perfectly still; the effect is enchanting and troubling at once.

Patricia Racette's Butterfly is magnificent. Her full-bodied voice is imbued with a warm vibrato and her phrasing is natural and sharply musical. But just as crucially, she listens and reacts like a young girl and her movements are economical; her face registers her inner feelings — a remarkable portrayal. Marcello Giordani sings and plays Pinkerton with handsome tone and intelligence; his early swagger is offset by the realization of what he's done in the final scene. Dwayne Croft's Sharpless is sympathetic and Maria Zifchak's Suzuki is grandly sung and well-acted: her silent reaction to Cio-Cio-San's conversion to Christianity speaks volumes. Patrick Summers leads with intensity and great understanding.

Both sound and picture are splendid, as is Gary Halvorson's direction for the screen.

– Robert Levine, Listen [Spring 2011]

"In every dimension Ms. Racette’s effort was exceptional; hers is a performance not to be missed." – The New York Times

"Anthony Minghella’s sumptuous production of Madama Butterfly, Giacomo Puccini’s heartbreaking tale of love and betrayal, offers viewers a rare visual treat...Minghella, who died unexpectedly in March 2008, marks his debut in opera with the re-staging of Madama Butterfly – this is also the first time in 20 years that a new production has opened at the Met. The New York Times described it as “a gorgeous cinematic spectacle.”...Madama Butterfly, conducted by Patrick Summers, features costumes by Han Feng, with sets by Michael Levine, lighting by Peter Mumford, choreography by Carolyn Choa, and puppetry by the Blind Summit Theater." – PBS.org

Patricia Racette as Cio-Cio-San, Marcello Giordani as American Navy Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton, Maria Zifchak as Suzuki and Dwayne Croft as Sharpless. Patrick Summers conducts the Metropolitan Opera and Chorus.

Region 0 - All Regions

This is a distinctively sung, vigorously, often sensitively conducted and played, faithfully recorded reading of the old favourite that should please anyone looking for a well-integrated modern version. My enthusiasm goes rather further in the case of Millo's reading of the title role. In the interview on page 1968, the diva tells us that she has listened to most of the notable interpreters from the past, distant and not so distant, and the study shows not in any imitative way but in an authentically spinto kind of singing that has been hard to discern in other recent renderings. The firm yet vibrant, dark-hued, voluptuous tone is leavened by an appealing brightness at the top and an ability to float that is wholly natural, never contrived. Listen to "Pieta ti prenda" in the scene with Amneris or "Numi pieta" at its end and you'll hear how Millo is able to shade her timbre and her phrasing in a way that ideally matches the music.

The conflicting emotions of "Ritorna vincitor" are faithfully delineated, the reflective, elegiac mood of "0 patria mia" perfectly caught, with the final awkward passage managed par excellence. Still better is the instinctively right shading in "La, tra, foreste vergine" in the Act 3 duet with Radames and the poised singing of "0 terra addio" in the finale (although she here fails one dolcissimo test). In these examples the voice is all of a piece and the legato seamless. All this confirms the excellent impression Mil lo made on me when the opera was televized from the Metropolitan a couple of years back, a performance that delighted not a few seasoned buffs. After hearing the whole interpretation, I took down from the shelves some famous prima donne on disc: Millo was shown to be more youthful than Milanov on the Perlea/RCA (but it's that great diva at her best that Millo most potently recalls), more vocally appealing than Tebaldi for Karajan (Decca), more reliable in voice than Callas for Serafin/EMI (though not so unique in accents), more involved and as technically skilled than Price (in her first version on Decca under Solti), fuller in tone than Caballe (Muti/EMI). I wouldn't claim that in every respect Millo is superior to these formidable sopranos or to Giannini on the old HMV set now on Rodolphe/Harmonia Mundi and Pearl, simply that she is at least their peer on this evidence.

Millo is the most urgent reason for acquiring this set, but she is worthily supported by Domingo, offering his fourth and, I would judge, best Radames to date. Try "Celeste Aida", or even better the start of the final scene, to learn how much more refined the great tenor's reading has become. In the latter passage, he sings in a mezza voce he has never attempted in the past; indeed, throughout, the approach is more thoughtful. In forte the voice may be very marginally more stretched than, say, in Muti's 1974 set, still a very strong contender, but the difference is slight. When he is finally gone from the scene, we shall treasure his sterling performances, even if we shall still think in this instance that Pertile (Sabajno), Corelli (Mehta/EMI) and Vickers (Sol ti) are the ones with true Radames voices. By the way, at the end of his aria Levine and Domingo opt for the Toscanini solution—forte high B flat followed by a piano B flat an octave lower.

So much more at home in Verdi than he is in Mozart and Wagner, James Levine conducts a performance that captures the cut and thrust of the public scenes in the first part of the opera and the private anxieties and confrontations of the second. Learning a great deal from Toscanini's reading (RCA), he reveals details of orchestration often overlooked by other conductors though certainly not by Muti. His matching of tempos and general pacing (though some speeds, like that for the final scene, are on the slow side) seem to me well conceived and attentive to the histrionic needs of the well-tried piece. He is supported by the Met orchestra, once more in splendid form. The chorus is, for better and worse, not Italianate, that is to say it is more precise, less wobbly than the choruses on some other versions, but also wanting a shade in pungency.

I shall not be dispensing with my Callas/Serafin set or my Caballe/Muti or the readings headed by Giannini (Sabajno) and Milanov (Perlea), all of which are well-tried, treasurable experiences. But the new contender, which has many similarities with the grandly sung Solti (down to the feeling that one is sitting rather near the brass), deserves to be heard in their company, most of all for its very special Aida.

-- Gramophone [5/1991]

There is certainly blood aplenty in these bleeding chunks. As Salome kisses the mouth of Jokanaan, the lunar beauty at the core of Jane Eaglen’s dramatic lyric soprano reminds us not only of the chilling purity of Salome’s corruption, but of just what we are missing in hearing Eaglen live so little in Britain.

The partnership of Eaglen and the Israel Philharmonic under Zubin Mehta is at its strongest in the Richard Strauss tracks of this Mozart and Strauss compilation. The orchestra’s superbly balanced wind soloists create dark shadows for Guntram’s Freihild, as she reflects within them, at first perplexed and then, in unflaggingly focused voice, thankful for her love for the Minnesinger – and for the glory of her top B. If Ariadne’s distraction is captured rather less convincingly, then the sustained rapture of Die Aegyptische Helena’s “Zweite Brautnacht!” draws the full effulgence from Eaglen’s golden soprano in what seems to be one breathless sentence.

The five Mozart arias here remind us just what a formidable Mozartian Eaglen is; and one only wishes that Mehta were her equal in this respect. I found myself constantly longing for a livelier orchestral presence, warmer phrasing, more discriminating support. Eaglen’s bleached tone in Donna Anna’s “Non mi dir” gives way to some considerable tension in the florid, high-lying passages, and the matter-of-fact, even peremptory accompaniment of “Or sai chi l’onore” doesn’t help her in what becomes a somewhat shrill revelation.

Eaglen’s own skills at pacing and charging with emotion Electra’s passages of accompanied recitative make for real momentum, lit by a bright platinum gleam in the voice in “Oh smania! ... D’Oreste, d’Aiace”; and her instinctive phrasing gives eloquent voice to Electra’s more demure moments in “Idol mio”.'

-- Hilary Finch, Gramophone [6/1998]

REVIEW:

Orfeo's ongoing series of major Dvorák operas and choral works constitutes a genuinely important contribution to the history of recordings, and I hope that it will continue as successfully as it has to this point. There is no other way to get fully acceptable, modern performances of masterworks such as Vanda, or St. Ludmila, and this new recording of The Jacobin, the first in many decades, may be the best of all. There's no other opera quite like it. As a comedy with serious elements, you really would have to go back to Mozart to find anything similar, even though the rustic village setting and plot remain very different from anything that you would have found in an 18th-century setting.

The story is simple, but quite moving. Count Harasov has disowned his only son Bohus as a result of his pro-revolutionary (French) sympathies, which have been exaggerated and distorted by the presciently-named Adolf, the count's nephew and now his presumptive heir. With the death of his wife the count wishes to retire and leave Adolf in charge, along with his pompous henchman, the Burgomaster Filip, who has his sights set on the lively and luscious Terinka, daughter of the village music master Benda. Terinka wanted to marry Jirí, a young hothead and (not incidentally) Benda's prized tenor. Into this situation step Bohus and his French wife Julia, refugees who in fact have a price on their heads arising from their opposition to the atrocities committed in the name of the Revolution.

The ultimate reconciliation between father and son is the primary theme of the opera, but it also has important sub-themes: love of one's country, the love of Benda for his daughter, the conflict between generations, the triumph of egalitarian ideals, and everyone's love of music. It is in fact music, in the form of the dead countess' lullaby sung by Julia to the embittered count, that brings about the happy ending. There's also a brilliant set-piece rehearsal (at the beginning of Act 2) of a homage cantata composed by Benda. It's fabulous. All of the characters, save for the evil Adolph, are fully fleshed out human beings, and the music follows the twists and turns of the plot with the sure hand of a master. The distribution of voices also is very effective: Filip is a bass; the Count, Bohus, and Adolph are baritones; Jirí and Benda are tenors, while Julia and Terinka are sopranos. This makes for some wonderful ensemble writing both with and without the chorus. It is simply impossible to listen to this piece and not conclude that Dvorák was as fine a composer of opera as he was at just about everything else that he touched.

With only a single (but excellent) previous recording available on Supraphon, there's not much competition in this piece, but this newcomer is every bit as fine as its predecessor. Among the women, Andrea Danková's Julia stands out for her beautiful tone and the conviction she brings to her Act 3 confrontation with the count, also very well sung by Christoph Stephinger. Marcin Bronikowski brings virility and intelligence to his portrait of Bohus, and his singing (along with Danková) of the big Act 2 duet "We have wandered in foreign lands" is both moving and impassioned. Michal Lehotsky and Lívia Ághová make a lively pair of young lovers, and Peter Mikulás makes Filip sound aptly bombastic without hamming it up too much.

Gerd Albrecht leads the entire cast, choirs, and orchestra in as vital and persuasive an account of the score as did his counterpart on Supraphon, Jirí Pinkas, and he has much better sonics and the excellent Cologne Radio Orchestra at his disposal. The libretto includes a full English translation and excellent notes. The only problem I can see is that at three CDs, this is an expensive set. Lasting two and a half hours, the work just barely fits on two discs, which is how Supraphon presents it (the timings are virtually identical in comparison), but the quality of the results here justifies the premium price. After all, until the rest of the world wakes up to just how great this work is and starts producing it as often as we see Rusalka, we're not exactly spoiled for choice, and I feel confident that you will fall in love with the music and play it often. So go ahead: treat yourself. This is what recordings are for.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com (10/10)