When Christoph Willibald Gluck, in 1762, sought to clean up what he felt were the excesses of opera — the florid vocal displays, the endless da capo repetitions — he made the singer’s work both easier and more difficult. Easier because there weren’t so many notes to sing, more difficult because the burden of expression was now placed upon one simplified line of song. Orfeo ed Eridice, today his best-known opera and arguably his greatest, is the perfect example of this. This magnificent work takes the greatest sorrow known to humankind — the loss of the beloved spouse — and distills the pain down to an essence so exquisite that it can finally be born.
The recording I have long believed to be the most effective and telling of all the many this great work has received has just been issued on CD (RCA 09026-63534). This Orfeo ed Euridice, recorded in stereo in1957 but only released in mono on LP at the time, has never been reissued, making it extremely rare. Pierre Monteux, who directed the Met production on which the recording is based, conducts the Rome Opera orchestra and chorus with great style and an elegant gravity, his tempi and balances perfectly gauged at all times. He even draws a certain rough, expressive edge from his mid-‘fifties Rome forces that will remind many of the sound of today’s “original instruments” aesthetic. The raison d’être of the production, however, is the Orfeo of Risë Stevens. Most famous for her definitive Carmen, Stevens’ favorite role was actually the bereaved singer Orfeo. Although her thrilling, infinitely moving performance stands on its own terms with no background knowledge on the part of the listener, it is fascinating to consider that Stevens learned the role while at Juilliard from the revered pedagogue Anna Schoen-René, who in turn had studied with both Manuel Garcia, Jr. and his sister Pauline Viardot-Garcia. Madame Viardot-Garcia was the first woman to claim Orfeo away from the castrati and deliver it to the mezzo sopranos and contraltos, and Stevens is the last link in an unbroken chain extending back to the creation of this work’s performance tradition. What a privilege to be able to study and enjoy this astounding performance in today’s resplendent stereo digital sound. RCA’s engineers have done an exceptionally fine job in remastering this recording.
Stevens grabs the listener with Orfeo’s first cry of “Euridice,” suspended above the chorus of the mourners and sung in a voice scalded by tears yet as muted and unworldly as a sleepwalker’s. Her earnest, sincere Orfeo, with his dignity of bearing and his implacable restraint in the face of deep sorrow is one of the great operatic characterizations of my experience. Stevens constantly illuminates the meaning of the words while always working entirely within a supple musical line. The emotions stem from this line and are never merely grafted on to it. Her singing is always relaxed (and relaxing to hear) and yet a dynamic tension is ever sustained, one that does not need to resort to histrionics to purchase its effect. When Amor, the god of love, informs Orfeo that it is possible that he will see his dead wife again, the glimpsed ecstasy of Stevens’ “Ciel! Rivederla potrò!” is heartbreaking. This edition eschews the virtuoso aria that Berlioz found and interpolated into the end of Act One as a display piece for Viardot-Garcia. Maestro Monteux felt that it violated Gluck’s aim of directness and simplicity. In my opinion, Miss Stevens — who certainly could have sung the florid alternate — makes the greatest case for simply ending the act with Gluck’s recitative; she gets deeper feeling out of the line, “Lo voglio! Ho resoluto!” than all of the other singers, including Dame Janet Baker, have from the entire bravura aria. Stevens’ economy of expression is remarkable, a lesson for every singer. One more example will suffice: After the famous “Che farò senza Euridice,” usually the climax of any performance, the forlorn plea beginning with “Ah! Finisca e per sempre” carries the feeling of Orfeo’s desolation even further, rising toward hysteria but always remaining within the bounds of a pure, classical style. For its gravitas, its stately persuasion and sheer tonal beauty, this performance is a towering achievement and not to be missed.
But as good as Risë Stevens is as Orfeo, she is not the whole show by any means. The two other singers, Lisa Della Casa as Euridice and Roberta Peters as Amor, are each excellent and so well cast that their individual vocal qualities define both their characters and the relationship of these characters to one another. Stevens’ smooth, compact and lustrous tones, so earnestly “manly” without being too plummy or sensuous, establish Orfeo as the center of this enterprise. Della Casa’s femininity and a feeling of frailty give her Euridice the right vulnerability and make her a properly sympathetic figure. The role of Amor, trickier to cast, is perfectly realized by Roberta Peters. In this case, Amor should be thought of as Cupid, that wise, mischievous and precociously sensual baby with wings and arrows. Peters employs a bright, sexless tone and an alert, meddlesome attitude that perfectly projects this image. The differences are so well established that one always knows which voice is singing. With a cast of only three superb singers, the “beautiful simplicity” that Gluck strove to achieve is delivered with maximum effect in this recorded masterpiece.
Contrasting with the mid-century Orfeo described above, current, and indeed cutting- edge Gluck performance practice can be sampled in the master’s Iphigénie en Tauride, new from Telarc (CD-80546). Conducted by Martin Pearlman with a precision that cleanly delineates the composer’s innovative orchestral details, and vividly played on period instruments by the Boston Baroque, this is the premier original instrument recording of the work and only the third in modern stereo. If it were merely as a vehicle to introduce the recorded voice of soprano Christine Goerke, in the title role, this new recording would be of interest because it heralds the arrival of a major dramatic soprano. In the manner of Maria Callas (incisive and dramatic within an appropriate opera seria style in the legendary 1957 La Scala live broadcast recording) and far exceeding mezzo Diana Montague and soprano Carol Vaness on the rival stereo recordings, Goerke gives a fascinating, commanding assumption. Her voice — big, strong and clear with plenty of tonal colors and enough bite to give it authority — makes each of Iphigenie’s utterances important and poignant. Baritone Rodney Gilfry, as Oreste, and tenor Vinson Cole, as Pylade, his devoted friend, bring refined style and attractive voices to their numerous solos. As these two characters have all of the love duets in this work, they take advantage of the opportunities to blend their voices with uncommon ease and mellow beauty. Stephen Salters, as Thoas, sings the King’s music in a sweet, vividly textured bass. The second disc is filled out with a very interesting talk, with musical examples, on the construction of the opera and the Gluck style in general given by the conductor.
It is a pleasure to recommend the first solo recording of powerhouse mezzo Dolora Zajick, The Art of the Dramatic Mezzo-Soprano (Telarc CD-80557). This “calling card” disc contains a generous selection of mezzo milestones from Gluck, Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky, Cilea, Rossini and Saint-Saëns as well as music from two of the three Verdi roles in which Zajick is virtually indispensable throughout the world —Eboli’s “O don fatale” and Azucena’s “Condotta ell’er in creppi.” (Her Amneris can be heard entire on Sony’s Metropolitan Aïda under Levine.) In addition, Zajick invades the soprano repertoire to offer Alceste’s “Divinités du Styx,” Santuzza’s “Voi lo sapete” and Lady Macbeth’s “La luce langue” and the Sleepwalking scene, complete with prelude.
Zajick charges through this varied and challenging repertoire proceeding from strength to strength. Her voice is not equally well suited for all of the selections, of course, nor are her interpretive gifts equally applicable. But over all, her achievements are spectacular and well worthy of respect and study. The voice is solid and healthy and very much of a piece. To my ears, the years of blasting out those killer Verdi parts have done no harm at all. If anything, they have simply warmed Zajick up for these challenges. Her roulades and fioritura are in fine shape for Arsace’s “Ah! Quel giorno ognor rammento.” The bottom of the voice is firmly focused but not boomy or exaggerated. Although her interpretive intent is always clear, the bottom of her voice is not as ferocious and aggressive as her repertoire would suggest. The special glory of this voice is, oddly enough, the upper middle and the top, which extends, by the way, up to the Queen of the Night’s top F. The very top rings out with a bright, juicy, dangerously thrilling and very soprano-like Slavic edge. As in the house, on disc this voice is impressive for its sheer presence. Zajick’s involvement with the words brings a vivid impact to the Trovatore scene that made my hair stand on end; she really brings home the horror of this twisted plot. If I’ve often heard a smoother, more beguiling legato in Delilah’s “Mon coeur,” I have yet to hear anyone open up the grand, widely-ranging melody of Ciléa’s “Acerba voluttà” with such a flood of brilliant, steady and swelling tone. Before I accuse Zajick of failing to make Lady Macbeth’s personality definitively her own, I must note that (a) this is only a recital of excerpts, not a complete performance of the role, and (b) the singer gets no help at all from her conductor, the terminally tame Charles Rosekrans. It is fortunate that Zajick’s gifts are so dynamic that she can run the whole show by herself because that’s just what she is forced to do here. But the disc is worth buying just for her ascent to the notorious high D at the end of the Sleepwalking scene. It has the shimmer of a Leontyne Price and the dramatic force, the supreme thrill of a Maria Callas. And as Ira Gershwin once wrote in another context, who could ask for anything more?
For the singer wishing to bone up on the historic precedents of the Rossini style, Rossini — The Supreme Operatic Recordings (Pearl GEM 0088) is virtually one-stop shopping. For here, collected on a single compact disc, are the most famous and representative Rossinian performances from the early years of the phonograph (1913- 1930). In the major arias from Il Barbiere di Siviglia, Guillaume Tell, L’Italiana in Algeri and Mosé in Egitto, tenor Tito Schipa demonstrates elegant phrasing; baritone Lawrence Tibbett, crystal enunciation and secure, colorful tone; bass Feodor Chaliapin, personal charisma and an interesting trick to make the runs easier for a huge voice; and tenor Dmitri Smirnov, extravagant period ornamentation. Tenor Giovanni Martinelli, baritones Marcel Journet and Giuseppe de Luca, bass Jose Mardones and many other important singers join voices in ensembles that give a clear window on earlier performance practices and the timeless virtues of great singing. Only two women are heard, mezzo Conchita Supervia five times and soprano Hina Spani once. Although other singers of the period recorded Rossini, Supervia is credited with establishing the Rossini mezzo Fach in the ‘twenties and is widely considered to be the most important exponent of this music. I have tried over the years to acquire the taste, but the fast, almost clicking vibrato of her pungent voice still reminds me of being pulled along a railroad track, riding on the cross ties rather than the rails. She must be heard, however, and here is your chance.
