Admiring much in the performances, I did not enjoy the sound one bit. We know that sometime after her glorious decade in the 1960s Leontyne Price's voice as heard on records retained its best clarity and shine only in the upper register; the middle and lower notes acquired a quality that we described as 'smoky' when we liked it and 'foggy' when we didn't. But my own memory, as well as written and conversational accounts, assures me that the breathiness was not nearly so prominent a feature as it appears to be here. Other kinds of tonal impurity also intrude, and even the fresh, exceptionally pure and beautiful voice of Domingo in this period is heard with an intermittent edginess that had no place in the impression his voice made when we heard it live. The original recordings have been digitally remastered and I suppose it is possible that, as a technical matter, the smoky, foggy and metallic elements may be a source of pride and joy: 'These things are there on the original; we have simply revealed them, and you just have to learn to live with them'. Maybe so. But somewhere the proportions have gone wrong; for the sound I have been hearing is an unpleasingly distorted version of the sound the voices made as we heard them in those years.
This said, the recital reminds us that Leontyne Price, who for a while was the best lyric-dramatic soprano in the world, was a thoughtful artist capable of bold, imaginative strokes as well as broad phrasing and care over detail. The recital begins with La boheme, and she is hardly a Mimi yet she lightens conscientiously in the narrative and sings a memorable Farewell, with a finely judged warming portamento and a sudden impulsive generosity caught in the strong ''Se vuoi''. Her Musetta has a gentle smile and takes the high notes easily and cleanly. In La rondine the repeated ''Fanciulla, e sbocciato l'amor'' is perfectly placed. The long-held climax of ''Vissi d'arte'' almost compensates for the lack of emotional conviction earlier. There are fine things in the Madama Butterfly Love duet—including Domingo's delightfully spontaneous laugh at ''il Bonzo furibondo''. The Turandot solo has some imaginative colouring, but also an occasional sense of discomfort and a pervasive want of the necessary steel. Liu (a role she sang at the Metropolitan) would have suited better, as would Angelica: both notable absentees.'