Where the most popular operas are concerned, the problem of judicious comparative reviewing is troublesome enough already. In this area there is generally a 'classic' recording, though not everyone will agree on which it is. For many, certainly for me, the classic Tosca is de Sabata's 1953 recording (EMI), with Callas, di Stefano and Gobbi. Others prefer the later Callas recording with Pretre (also EMI) for its ampler stereo sound, or the superbly detailed and dramatic Karajan version on Decca (with Leontyne Price, di Stefano and Giuseppe Taddei), or, for a vocally flawless account of the title-role and conducting as subtle as Karajan's but with less exaggeration, Sir Colin Davis's set with Montserrat Caballe (Philips). Whichever you prefer, and already I can hear wailing and gnashing of teeth at my omission of others, the reviewer runs the risk either of measuring newcomers against his favoured account and finding them all inevitably wanting, or of cataloguing the various excellences of the rivals for classic status, thus tacitly implying that we have quite enough Toscas already, thank you very much: no further entrants need apply.
And now, to make matters worse, or do I mean better, along come Naxos with their 'super-bargain' operatic recordings, costing less than half as much as their cheapest rivals. Even if the performances were no more than adequate (and this one is more than that in several respects) they make an obvious and attractive choice for the young or hard-up collector. Moreover, if Naxos play their cards right (and they seem to be dealing them pretty shrewdly), we could be seeing the end of that infuriating 'World Repertory Company' system whereby all prestige opera recordings are cast by endlessly permutating the same three sopranos, two and a half tenors etc., with some popular and accomplished artists never getting in on the act. No less seditiously, if Naxos can afford to retail a brand-new recording at this price, how is it that certain other companies are charging several times as much for elderly and best-selling versions which must have paid their costs and gone handsomely into the black years ago?
So, without relaxing the standards implied by the names mentioned in my first paragraph, a warm welcome to this new set. Miricioiu is a potentially world-class Tosca, singing with ample phrasing, beautiful tone (one or two forced or awkwardly approached notes at the extremes of the compass apart) and lovely shadings of vocal colour. If she made more use of words (her ''Assassino!'' to Scarpia is no more than a mild reproof) direct comparisons with Callas, Price and Caballe would be unavoidable and by no means destructive. Lamberti begins as a standard-issue Italian tenor, all golden (well, silver-gilt) tone and unvarying ff, but develops to a sensitive, even poetic ''E lucevan le stelle'' and a dulcet account of ''O dolci mani''. Carroli is a vehement, not always controlled (touches of a juddering wobble under pressure), sometimes lumpily-phrased but always competent and stage-stealing Scarpia.
Rahbari devotes affectionate care to Puccini's orchestra, but he is either rather sleepy by nature or has been nobbled by his singers into providing tempos that are sometimes more considerate than Puccinian: Tosca's confrontation with Scarpia in Act 2 and the ensuing torture scene are not the only pages robbed of tension by slack speeds. The supporting singers are all at least competent; how nice to hear a Sacristan who thinks it his business to sing the notes rather than replacing them with a collection of mannerisms. The recording is full and natural, but with the singers somewhat embedded in the orchestra. One or two peculiarities: the choirboys in Act 1 are sung by adults; in the same act Tosca's cries of ''Mario'' come from centre stage front, but she then sprints into the wings to make her entrance from a distance; the cannon announcing Angelotti's escape is clearly mounted in the porch of Sant' Andrea della Valle, and a very similar piece of ordnance is used to dispatch Cavaradossi in Act 3. More seriously the Angelus bells and those used to such sinister effect to underpin Scarpia's lustful musings during the Te Deum are so remote as to be virtually inaudible.
Perhaps we should think of this as a paper-back Tosca. Is it an opera that you would only consider purchasing (by analogy with Tolstoy and Jane Austen) in a format that will withstand a lifetime's use? Then go for Callas/di Stefano/Gobbi/de Sabata, I'd say. But if a wholly creditable bargain version will do, with some exciting singing (and at this price no great harm is done if you later decide that Tosca calls for half-calf and gilt edges after all), then the newcomer is well worth thinking about.'