Versatility, and by implication variety, are the qualities very naturally chosen by Rodney Milnes, writer of the introductory notes, to characterise the record and its singer. As he says, “it is not every mezzo who sings Juliet’s Waltz Song”. She also sings Donna Elvira’s great solo. And Eboli’s, and Tancredi’s, and poor stressed-out Adriano’s in Rienzi. But there’s the trouble, or at any rate the trouble with the programme: so much stress, so many characters, one after another, caught in moments of high-powered tension, does not leave one with an impression of variety at all. And as the singer never relaxes, and rarely, if ever, softens, sweetens or rounds out her tone, the versatility of it is not the most striking feature either. Rather the reverse.

Track by track, Larmore’s technical command and dramatic concentration are stunning. That Rienzi solo, for instance, is an immense undertaking, and everything – vocal range and expressive intensity for a start – is in the grand manner, indomitable and tireless. Azucena’s gruesome narrative is tense in enunciation, musically very precise and graced by genuine trills where they are often fudged or ignored. Larmore is (as we have recently had several opportunities of remarking) among the most accomplished singers of her time. But this recording catches a hard, tonally impure quality which is here far too unremitting for comfort. Admiring much, I enjoyed surprisingly little. The inclusion of Juliet’s waltz song was to my mind a complete mistake, sung with an excess of thrustful energy, a lack of charm, lightness, girlishness…and variety. Most enjoyable, I found, was the Handel.

The other singers make a welcome contribution. The orchestra, under David Parry, struck me as abetting the lack of real versatility and variety. But perhaps the real fault lay with the programming; these “great aria” discs do have to be thought of as programmes, and in the concert hall no recitalist with any consideration for a genuinely musical audience would offer a programme such as this.