Youthful readers must now be patient while the eyes of their elders gleam and aged heads nod in venerable reminiscence. You see, youngsters don't know the joys of a catalogue as we did. Thirteen records at four shillings or six shillings each were what you had to buy for a complete La boheme; and (we read) ''A charge is made for the album to contain this set''. There was a choice between homely plum labels and regal red ones. Conscience and the pocket preferred the former, but we all aspired to the six-shilling reds. Mostly, in those days, we knew only the famous arias and duets (by Melba and Caruso, Bori and Schipa—ah, those names!), and the titles translated into English in the listing of the complete sets—''This Red Sea Passage'', ''How deep the thought is'', ''To dine at home''—were fascinating. And here they are now, the humble plum and the luxurious red, compacted into a tiny space (and no charge made for the jewel-box), then to be consigned to a wee place in the encyclopaedia which is today's catalogue, rendered insignificant by the proximity of 21 other Bohemes, all more up-to-date and commercially competitive than these.
The wool-gatherings of nostalgia being finished for the season, younger readers may come in. Here are two venerable Bohemes, both from the HMV catalogue, one made in 1928, the other ten years later. The progress in recording technique is notable, though more so if the EMI transfer of the Gigli set (5/90—nla) is used for comparison rather than the Nimbus. The Nimbus process dulls the orchestra, and, while I still enjoy the voices, there is no doubt that EMI captured far more by way of consonants and 'top' in general. VAI have had a harder job with the earlier recording. Crackles and signs of deterioration towards the end of the original sides remain in some degree, and they have not been very subtle in dealing with the take-over from side to side (in which Nimbus are excellent). Still, the voices are vivid and a genuine sense of involvement comes through, which is what matters most.
Perhaps 'what matters most', however, are the singers themselves. The second recording has always been known as 'the Gigli Boheme', and for Gramophone's original reviewer, H. F. V. Little, that was decisive. ''Buy it!'' he advised, though he clearly thought poorly of the others in the cast, including Licia Albanese and Afro Poli. Personally, I liked them more this time round than ever before. Poli has just the right warmth of voice and liveliness of manner for Marcello (Ernesto Badini on the other set is much too dry of tone), and the young Albanese, her voice in lovely condition, sings with feeling and character, especially in the later acts. As for Gigli, he (I find) is adorable from the chuckle of his first phrase to the unrestrained weeping of the close. The beauty of voice is often overwhelming, and he is still the most fully human Rodolfo on record.
Aristodemo Giorgini, the Rodolfo on the VAI, has nothing comparable to offer, though he does have a name. As those with a special interest in singers of the early years will know (and a recital recently issued by The Record Collector magazine confirms—to be reviewed later), Giorgini had been one of the very best lyric tenors of his time. But in 1928 he was in his fiftieth year and no longer the jeune premier. His voice retains its firmness and sometimes sounds well (as in ''Invan nascondo''), but he seems small and too nearly the comprimario (Pang or Pong or even Goro). Rosina Torri (the first Liu), on the other hand, is a most sympathetic Mimi, lovely in the Farewell solo. I also rather like the juicy bass of Luigi Manfrini, blowing a kiss to the coat in between ''Addios''. The Schaunard (Aristide Baracchi), incidentally, is common to both recordings.
The two sets are not necessarily in competition, but it should be added that Nimbus have put together a handsome booklet, while VAI limit themselves to a brief note about the recording and include no libretto or synopsis.'