The Overture is well sprung at exactly the right tempo. One immediately notes the nicely balanced playing of the VPO, the special Viennese sound of strings and wind. Enter the two upright soldiers in the pleasing shape of Blochwitz, a Ferrando with silvery tone and a fine edge at once apparent, to his characterization, his feliow officer, the mellifluous and lively Thomas Hampson. They are challenged to stand up for the fidelity of their girlfriends by the evidently jovial, smiling Alfonso of Furlanetto, not a cynical observer like Claudio Desderi (Haitink/EMI), nor an intimate schemer like Sesto Bruscantini (Karajan/EMI), but as authentically Italian as either, and thus confident and confidential in his recitative. The bargain is struck and we are in the loved ones home. Here we encounter the deliciously spirited Dorabella of Ann Murray, not as smooth-voiced as Dolores Ziegler (Haitink) nor exhibiting quite the authority of Christa Ludwig (Bohm/EMI) or Agnes Baltsa (Muti/EMI), but a lady of mettle, adept at fashioning her words to her tone. And what's this? Dame Kiri, somewhat penny plain as Fiordiligi in the old Lombard Erato LP version (nla), here appears to be following the example of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (Bohm) in playing with her words—listen, much later, to ''Sospirando, i sospiretti'' in the duet of choice in Act 2. Then there's another surprise; when Despina makes her delayed entry she might almost be a third sister. Marie McLaughlin sounds more like a Fiordiligi than a traditional Despina, and tends to overawe her employers, missing something of the downmarket insouciance of Lillian Watson, the Glyndebourne Despina (Haitink) or the knowing manner of Steffek (Bohm).
So an interesting sextet of characters are assembled under the keen-edged and authoritative baton of Levine, and they develop a fair sense of a stage performance, all being experienced in their roles in the theatre. But caveats inevitably need to be entered. Levine's conducting isn't particularly loving or even individual. It wants the tenderness and warmth of Bohm, the human touch of Davis (Philips), and the refined sensibility of Karajan. Much of the time rhythms are four-square and unyielding and there isn't the mature savouring of the piece one finds elsewhere.
Te Kanawa sings with a deal of breathiness that seems inherent in her tone these days, and the drawbacks mentioned by JBS in his review of her CBS song recital in September are felt again here particularly the failure to catch the centre of an emotional situation in spite of the obvious intent on expressiveness in her singing. Then there are moments when awkward corners in the arias are only just negotiated, or one notes a touch of sentimentality in the phrasing, for instance, the scoops at ''perdera la rimembranza'' in the rondo aria yet the portrayal as a whole does come to life. This Fiordiligi is not as cleanly or securely sung as that of Vaness (Haitink), but Te Kanawa makes the woman more palpable and approachable as a personality. Murray's Achilles' heel is a tendency for an edge to catch the microphone and upset the flow of the tone—and should Dorabella actually sound lighter in timbre than her sister?
Blochwitz sustains the line and shape of his three taxing arias, but the last two do reveal some insecurity at the very top. John Aler (Haitink) is the more accomplished singer, Blochwitz the more skilful actor with his voice—I like the sense of vulnerability he conveys. Hampson is the one singer who gives complete satisfaction in voice and characterization—this is a near-ideal Guglielmo bonhomous, seductive, and golden in timbre though not Caballe-italianate like Rolando Panerai (Karajan). Marie McLaughlin's naturally full tone is welcome in her vocally assured arias, but one cannot get away from the fact that Despina should be more sharply contrasted with her mistresses.
Desderi (Haitink) is fleeter, more considered in his recitatives than Furlanetto but then Furlanetto, more than any of his colieagues given that his part is mostly recitative, is up against the extraordinary treatment of the 'speech' by Levine and his choice of a fortepiano and bass to accompany the recitatives. When I first heard the keyboard instrument I thought we were back with the original Busch/HMV set of 1935, as the instrument sounded, to my ears, like a concert grand. Throughout the broken chords and arpeggios nag at the ear, whereas Glyndebourne's experienced Martin Isepp on the Haitink set plays the harpsichord at once positively and discreetly.
The text is very complete, including the duettino for the soldiers in Act 1. Levine opts for Guglielmo's ''Rivolgete'' for his First Act aria; Mozart replaced this before the premiere with the much more appropriate, shorter and more familiar ''Non siate ritrosi'', here consigned to an appendix at the end of the first CD, a questionable decision, though it's good to hear Hampson in both. Haitink chose ''Rivolgete'' at Glyndebourne but happily changed his mind before he made his version. The recording on the new DG is excellent. There's plenty of presence, and a nice balance between voices and orchestra. Peter Branscombe contributes an authoritative note on the work's sources and construction.
In spite of my reservations this set can compete with Haitink's as far as recent versions made in up-to-date sound are concerned, though I slightly prefer the unanimity of approach on the EMI, but if you want to catch more of the work's ceaseless ambiguities and inner subtleties you'll need to turn back to those eminent Mozartians—Davis and B6hm, who between them can arrest the ear with a detail or a phrase or a dramatic irony not to be found in any of the three more recent versions (Ostman's on L'Oiseau-Lyre, with its period instruments, is another matter altogether). Davis has the more complete text. Bohm has the more even cast, indeed, as successful a sextet of singers as on the elderly, mono Karajan: both these EMI sets are at mid price.'