A stack of new discs threatens to push my keyboard to the floor – or at least cover it. So reviewing them, as I promised I would, is the only way to regain some space.

 Dr NEIL KURTZMAN

The first two are old movies reissued by VIEW Video. The older (1953) Verdi, The King of Melody turns the composer’s life into La Traviata. Verdi is Alfredo, Giuseppina Strepponi is Violetta, and Antonio Barezzi is Germont. The rest of Verdi’s life before and after his romance with La Strepponi is dispensed within a few minutes. But unlike the opera Verdi and Giuseppina have a happy ending. Other than being about a dour Italian composer of opera who has a beard there’s virtually nothing that’s accurate in the film. Giuseppina sings the first Elvira in Ernani, Donizetti shows up years after he was buried to tell Verdi to stop being such a jerk about Giuseppina because she’s really a brick. He (Donizetti) is said to be sick, but considering he’s really dead he looks pretty good. So why would anyone want to watch this relic? Only because Mario Del Monaco and Tito Gobbi sing a few fragments of Verdi. Not enough to make you forget the fairy tale depicted in somewhat faded color, but enough to arouse mild interest. The exception is the documentation of Del Monaco’s “Esulate” which is more than compensates for his stab at “Parigi, O Cara.”

If you want a serious biography of Verdi get The Life of Verdi (1982) with Ronald Pickup as the composer. It’s 10 hours long, but every lover of Verdi’s music will find it compelling. Some of the singers whose voices are heard include Callas, Tebaldi, Del Monaco, and Pavarotti. I’m told (I haven’t watched it on DVD) the transfer to disc by Kultur is bad, so you might want to get the tape.

If 10 hours with Verdi are not enough try The Life and Operas of Verdi from The Teaching Company. Presented by Robert Greenberg, it’s a 32 lesson long course on eight DVDs. (I don’t know whether it’s available in formats other than North American.) Greenberg is a composer who knows the subject extremely well, though he’s given to raucous humor which is sometimes funny. He’s a bouncy, chubby, goofy guy addicted to American slang and colloquialisms. Anyone not from the states may find a lot of what he says incomprehensible. If stud-muffin falls within your linguistic comfort zone you’ll be okay. He also mispronounces Italian proper nouns so badly that he sometimes gets English nouns wrong as well, but he’s full of useful information and I enjoyed his lectures. I do wish, however, that he’d at least have mentioned Verdi’s major revisions, ie Macbeth, Simon Boccanegra, and La Forza Del Destino. He treats each as if the performing version was the same as the first version.

Amazingly, the numerous musical excerpts are not credited. I did recognize Sherill Milnes, Carlo Bergonzi, and Placido Domingo among others, but many of the voices I couldn’t identify. Nevertheless, the singing ranges from adequate to excellent. Greenberg’s musical insights are illuminating and his narrative of Verdi’s life will hold the interest of any Verdian. Highly recommended if you’ve got the time. If not, the lectures are also available on cassette and CD. As most of the information in the series is aural you could listen in your car – much better than using your cell phone.

Rigoletto e la sua tragedia (1954) is even weirder than Verdi, The King of Melody. Imagine the planning sessions that produced this movie:

“Let’s take Piave’s libretto and remove most of Verdi’s music. Then will hire some actors to speak the lines and then will dub it into English.”

“Great! Maybe we can get Sergio Leone to direct.”

Wonderful! Clint Eastwood can play the Duke.”

“Leone’s not available.”

Ok, then we’ll get Flavio Calzavara. He’ll make sure it sounds like a spaghetti western”

We can’t get Eastwood, either. He hasn’t made any movies yet.”

“Ok, we’ll get Gérard Landry.”

“We’ll we have to have some music in the picture.”

“We can get Del Monaco and Gobbi to sing a few bars. They’ll do anything for a few bucks. Afterall, they appeared in Verdi, The King of Melody.”

“Ok, just as long as they don’t get in the way of Piave’s screenplay.”

“Can we film it in Ferraniacolor?”

“As long as that doesn’t push us over our budget.”

“We have a budget?”

Well, you get the idea. I can think of no reason why anyone would want to watch this muddle. If you want to hear Del Monaco and Gobbi buy some of their recordings.

Three Legendary Tenors (1999, Kultur) is in another artistic universe. Produced and narrated by singer, writer, and raconteur Nigel Douglas, it is a highly polished introduction to the lives and artistry of Enrico Caruso, Beniamino Gigli, and Jussi Björling. It’s the kind of program you’d expect to find on the “serious” BBC channel – maybe it was broadcast there. It lasts less than an hour, but it’s so professionally done that even if you already know the lives and art of the three singers you’ll still enjoy listening to it and watching it. There are location shots at the homes of the three tenors – mansions in the cases of Caruso and Gigli. It’s good enough to watch twice. Douglas thinks these three are the greatest “Italian” tenors of the 20th century, not a startling conclusion, and lucidly tells us why using a few recordings by the three singers to complement his commentary.

New Orleans must have been an operatic sun half a century ago to have produced a La Forza Del Destino with a cast worth traveling thousands of miles to hear. The performance recorded on Classics GOP (Great Opera Performances not the Republican Party) 66.303 took place on March 12, 1953. Forza is an opera that works best when it is done as Verdi wanted it – uncut. The disasters that afflict its protagonists are meant to bet set against a canvas of unrelated events – hence The Force of Destiny. This is not a defect in the opera’s structure as many have suggested, rather it is central to the opera’s impact. During the fifties Forza was cruelly mutilated in US performances. At the Met the overture was performed after the first scene. The scene at the Inn was omitted as was “Rataplan.” Interestingly, the “Sleale” duet was done while it was usually cut in Italy. In the New Orleans performance the overture was where it belonged, but the scene at the Inn was snipped. “Rataplan” was sung, however, as was “Sleale.” Thus, the integrity of the New Orleans performance was better than the Met’s of the same time.

Every member of the cast (Curra and the Surgeon are uncredited) was well known; the three principals are legendary. The supporting roles first. The 26 year old Norman Treigle, who was born and died in New Orleans and who made his debut with his hometown company, is the Marquis of Calatrava. He manages to make something of the role. Gerhard Pechner is fine as Melitone. William Wilderman is adequate as Padre Guardiano. Better that Treigle had switched roles with him. Claramae Turner is a little over matched by “Al suon del tamburo,” but manages “Rataplan” without any ill effects.

But one goes to Forza to hear Leonora, Alvaro, and Carlo: Zinka Milanov, Mario Del Monaco, and Leonard Warren in this performance – all at the peak of their glory. These three appeared together in this opera only one time at the Met – December 10, 1952.

Warren was the greatest Verdi baritone of his time and you can tell why from this performance. His voice was enormous and flexible, ideally suited to Verdi’s propensity to write for the top of the baritone’s range. Gs above the staff, A-flats, and even a tenor’s high B-flat at the end of the last act duet come from his throat seemingly without effort. Maybe Tita Ruffo was as good, I can’t really tell from his recordings, but no one else is in his class.

Del Monaco does more than live up to his reputation for heroic singing; he sings softly when appropriate. The third act aria and the duet “Solenne in quest’ora” show that he could do more than be a vocal hurricane. Don Alvaro is one of Verdi’s greatest tenor parts and Del Monaco brings all you could want to it.

As for Milanov, she summed it up best herself. “I have the most beautiful voice in the world.” It took Milanov almost 25 years of singing to bring her extraordinary instrument under full control. Her best years were the early to mid fifties. This recording catches her at her peak. Her sound is like velvet gold and every note is masterfully produced. My only quibble is that the first word of “Pace, Pace Mio Dio” does not swell and diminish over as wide a range as it routinely did at her Met performances and as can be heard on her commercial recordings of the aria. Still, its miles ahead of anyone else’s work. Walter Herbert’s conducting is innocuous. This recording is not easy to find, but it’s definitely worth whatever effort is required to obtain it.

VAI Audio has released a disc “Giuseppe di Stefano – In conversation with Jon Tolansky” as part of its series “Close Encounters with Great Singers.” The CD contains a relatively brief interview that Di Stefano gave Tolansky in the summer of 2002. Because the conversation is so limited the disc is fleshed out with excerpts from the tenor’s recordings and with comments by Tolansky. Even so, the disc runs less than an hour. If you’re interested enough in Di Stefano to be listening to this recording you’ve doubtless heard all this music before, though Di Stefano’s voice and emotional intensity are so magnificent that having these excerpts on one disc will lead you to play it repeatedly.

Di Stefano’s recollections are mostly well known – eg his demand for 10% from Decca which broke up his partnership with Tebaldi before it began and allowed him to sign with EMI and thus make a lot of recordings with Callas. Less well known is his opinion that Caruso lacked sufficient emotional intensity on his first records, that he was “no good.” Di Stefano who calls Caruso “God” thinks he became divine only after he found emotional freedom. I don’t understand what he’s talking about. Caruso’s early recordings sound fine to my ears - more lyric than later, but wonderful."

Di Stefano’s vocal intelligence comes through the interview. The primacy of the words and their emotional content were, he emphasizes, what guided him and produced his art. He appears a much more intelligent singer than he is usually thought of. Not surprisingly, he has no use for critics, the conventional definition of vocal technique, or voice teachers. He describes how he changed his vocal tone and production in Butterfly and Ballo to suggest Pinkerton’s shallowness and Gustavo’s nobility. I can’t hear the difference; he sounds equally ardent in both roles. Of course, these are the recollections of an old man about events 50 years earlier - interesting nonetheless. With all his emphasis on musicality he does concede that it helped to have a beautiful voice.

You’ll want this disc if Di Stefano is your beau ideal of the passionate Italian tenor voice that suffuses every syllable with emotion. If you can find it, The July, Aug, Sept, 1994 Issue of the Record Collector has a more detailed depiction of Di Stefano’s career, along with an interview, a list of all his roles with the date and place of their first performance at each venue, and a discography including private and live performances.

Released in 2000, but new to me is Allegro’s 2 CD set of the Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers (in Italian, though the liner notes list all the numbers in the original French). Recorded from an RAI broadcast on November 3, 1960 (and thus before the definitive 1975 edition), the main interest is Alfredo Kraus’s Nadir. Kraus, as always, sings beautifully with perfect style and intonation; but it’s disappointing that he takes the B naturals in the famous first act aria forte rather than the pianissimo Bizet asked for. The duet, with Giuseppe Taddei, is well sung, but it won’t make you forget Jussi Björling and Robert Merrill. The biggest surprise on the discs is the Léïla of Pina Margarini. She sings very well with a sound reminiscent of Licia Albanese. I can find out nothing about her career. That a singer as good as she is in this performance has left nothing else behind seems remarkable. Armando LaRosa Parodi conducts The RAI Orchestra and Chorus. This album is only for fans of Kraus, who is the anti-Di Stefano of great tenors – cool, detached, perfect technique, reserved, almost autistic. I always liked him.

Donizetti’s Francesca di Foix (I never heard of it either) was recently released by Opera Rara in a deluxe boxed set – there’s only one disc in the box. The gorgeous booklet which is also in the box has notes which are longer than the libretto. It also has lots of color photos. If you’re looking for a neglected masterpiece read no further – this isn’t it. It seems to have existed mainly as a source for Donizetti to self-plagiarize. Bits of it turn up in Lucrezia Borgia and L’Elisir d’Amore as well as in other less well known operas. So why was it made? It seems to have been underwritten by the Peter Moores Foundation. The slender plot revolves around the unsuccessful (of course) attempt of the Count of Foix to keep his wife away from other men. The music sounds like Donizetti on autopilot and though it’s all on one disc it lasts for hours. The cast is uniformly good: Annick Massis as the Countess, Jennifer Larmore as the Page, Pietro Spagnoli as the King, Alfonso Antoniozzi as the Count, and the always splendid Bruce Ford as the Duke. Pieter Shoeman conducts the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Alas they haven’t got much to work with. So who’s the audience for this grand production? No one I can think of.

Okay, time to start a new stack.