The trouble with Fonit-Cetra LPs in the past was their 
          impossibly shrill sound and poor pressings, with the result that they 
          tended not to be taken in very serious consideration except for the 
          rarer Italian operas which were unavailable elsewhere. I should add 
          that I am speaking in general, not having heard the original of this 
          particular set, but I am sure that some very good work has been done 
          here. The forwardness of the voices remains endemic, but they are finely 
          recorded with excellent presence and considerable dynamic range. And, 
          if the orchestra is a little further behind than we would want today, 
          it is in itself remarkably clear in even the strongest passages, and 
          allows us to hear real Puccinian dolcezza in the softer moments. 
          This recording now turns out to be as good as most others of its period, 
          and I might add that it seemed even better on headphones. 
        
The name which will first attract opera buffs is that 
          of the tenor. Born in 1913, Tagliavini made his debut in Bohème 
          in Florence in 1938 and established himself rapidly after the war, appearing 
          at the Metropolitan in 1948 and Covent Garden in 1950. In 1956 he was 
          at the height of his career (he retired in 1970). Though considered 
          above all a tenore di grazia, he shows plenty of heft for a big 
          Puccini role, the voice always firm and ringing, while he finds memorably 
          honeyed tones for Qual occhio (Act I is generally notable for 
          the lyricism it finds in odd moments sometimes passed over) as well 
          as O dolci baci (during E lucevan le stelle) and the beginning 
          of the duet O dolci mani. Since Tagliavini does not limit himself 
          to singing the part exceedingly well, but is thoroughly inside it too, 
          this is a performance which connoisseurs will need to have. 
        
They will also be glad to have a rare recorded performances 
          by Frazzoni, one of the several casualties of the total dominance of 
          Callas on the Italian scene at the time she was making her career. Gigliola 
          Frazzoni was born in 1927, is, as far as I can discover, happily still 
          with us, and had made her La Scala debut in Andrea Chénier the 
          year before this recording. She was noted for her Puccini and made a 
          particular speciality of Minnie in La Fanciulla del West. The 
          1958 Decca recording might have been hers, for the original plan had 
          been to record it in Milan under Antonino Votto, following performances 
          in which Frazzoni had appeared, with Del Monaco and Corelli alternating 
          as Rance. However, Decca policy was to record all Italian operas automatically 
          with Tebaldi and, irritated at Votto’s insistence on Frazzoni, recorded 
          the work in Rome under Franco Capuana. (Votto was not Tebaldi’s greatest 
          admirer; sometimes, while conducting her in the theatre, he could be 
          seen surreptitiously stroking his chin, an Italian gesture which means 
          "What a bore!"). 
        
Frazzoni’s voice has plenty of the right body for the 
          part, but above all she is right inside it, notably perceptive in the 
          alternating moods of jealousy and trusting love in the first act, and 
          fully equal to the demands, vocal and psychological, of the second and 
          third. 
        
Gian Giacomo Guelfi has a fine resonant voice. He is 
          not as plainly malevolent as some Scarpias, but nor is he mannered; 
          it is an excellent traditional assumption. I have listed the singers 
          of two smaller parts, Angelotti and the Sacrestan, because one is immediately 
          struck in their opening scene, as so often in a native Italian production, 
          how much these little parts can contribute when well sung by singers 
          fully able to give weight and meaning to their words. 
        
The Italian Radio orchestras (of which only one now 
          remains) have not always been world-beaters, but that of Turin, during 
          Mario Rossi’s heyday in the 1950s, was the exception. Furthermore, in 
          Arturo Basile they have a conductor in the Italian mainstream which 
          seems to have died out with Gavazzeni. He catches the right ebb and 
          flow, finds sweetness without indulgence, gives everyone space to sing 
          their part without letting things become heavy, and shapes each act 
          with a firm hand. Basile (1914-1968) worked regularly with the Italian 
          Radio orchestras both in operatic and symphonic works and died in a 
          car crash at no great age. 
        
I have kept comparisons out of it so far, for this 
          is a fine set with which to get to know the opera. However, I can hardly 
          avoid mentioning that the Callas/Di Stefano/Gobbi/De Sabata recording 
          of 1953, produced by Walter Legge, is one of the all-time great recordings. 
          But, is it such a good idea to have only the classics on our 
          shelves? If you don’t insist on state of the art sound, this one is 
          probably as good as any other before or since. You must have the Callas/De 
          Sabata, of course, but there are plenty of reasons for having this one 
          as well. Danilo Prefumo’s useful note gets an English translation but 
          the libretto is in Italian only. 
        
 
        
        
Christopher Howell