Gnarled and cynical old opera-goers were known to wobble like jellies after the BBC showed a video of the La Scala Ernani on October 1st last year. ''Best Verdi singing for 20 years'' was one comment I heard. Praise all round from critics, professional and amateur alike. No doubt there was electricity on the Scala stage that evening; no doubt that the four principals gave their all in a thrilling realization—under Muti—of this, the best of Verdi's 'galley' dramas, catching what Shaw called, and RO recalled in his review of Gardelli's Hungaroton set, the ''fierce noonday sun'' of this thrusting score.
Most honour was given to bruson's Don Carlo, an assumption that was as gripping dramatically—that tortured look of his encapsulating Carlo's emotional turmoil—as it was vocally; now with only the ear to be satisfied, it seems no less arresting a performance. In his portrayal more than anywhere, the ''musical tension'', captured at a live performance, and referred to by John Mordler (producer of this set) on page 851, becomes manifest. From the sotto voce of ''Vedi come il buon vegliardo'' through the Battistini-like velvet mezza voce of ''Vieni meco'' to the tragic accents of ''Oh! de' verdi'anni miei'' and the awe of ''O sommo Carlo'', Bruson offers a great piece of Verdi singing, only a slight woolliness in the tone at ''Lo vedremo'' to mar it. That might have been improved on in the studio, but how much else might have been less vivid?
Domingo's Ernani is hardly less impressive. Combining the correct style of Bergonzi (Schippers/RCA) and the insolent pride exhibited by Lamberti (Gardelli), he—as musch as anyone—benefits from being caught live on stage. His opening aria and cabaletta are full of delicate touches and obedience to the dynamic marks (as, of course, is all Bruson's performance). In the last act, his recitative, ''Tutto ora tace d'intorno'' has a Martinelli-like pathos, and his contributions to the final trio an overwhelming eloquence. He has done nothing better for the gramophone than this final act. Here, too, Freni achieves most, the etching in of ''Il riso del tuo volto fa ch'io veda'', a brief utterance of happiness, most affecting, and her desperate, unavailing appeals to Silva for mercy sung with brio. In her opening aria and cabaletta, the famous ''Ernani, Ernani'', too many breaks in register are evident, too much is asked of a voice not really meant by n ature for this kind of heavy duty. Here she yields in sheer opulence of tone to Leontyne Price (Schippers), and what RO rightly called the ''grace and magnetism'' in Sass's assumption, but somehow in the studio neither of these excellent sopranos quite matches the sorrow and hearbreak of Elvira's predicament that Freni manages in the theatre.
Ghiaurov, rusty as his voice has become, created a great impression of dignity and implacable strength on television as Silva, and many of those qualities are carried over into his singing. ''Infelice'' is delivered with mature nobility, ''Ah, io l'amo'' is intensely moving. Compare him with Flagello (Schippers) or Kovats (Gardelli) in the latter solo, and you will again find Ghiaurov authoritative and moving, where the others are blank and/or untidy. Ghiaurov is denied Silva's probably spurious cabaletta. Otherwise the work is given complete.
Muti conducts the score in exemplary manner. He has learnt when to allow his singers licence to phrase with meaning—many touches of rubato are gratefully received and used by Domingo and Bruson—when to press on. Sometimes the strettos are over-energized in a way Gardelli wouldn't contemplate, but as a rule Muti judges the moments when the tension should be increased to a nicety, as in the sudden surge of emotion in ''Fino al sospiro estremo'', the unison passage of ecstasy for Elvira and Ernani in the Fourth Act— ''crescendo e stringendo'' is Verdi's marking and that is what we get.
The La Scala chorus give us the genuine sound of Italian voices in full flight, sounding much more inside their various assumptions than their rivals. Ensemble isn't perfect at every point, but never far enough astray to be worrying on repeated hearings. Italian audiences are not renowned for their silences. Their movements are occasionally in evidence as are the onstage effects, but I find the atmosphere of being in an opera house and taking part, as it were, in a real occasion has all the advantages over the aseptic feeling of a studio commented on by John Mordler. Nor can I find anything to complain about in voice-orchestra balance. I am certain that this is now the Ernani to have.'