This is the most exciting new set of a Verdi opera for a very long time. It is justification, if that were needed, for EMI's policy—and Muti's desire—to record live at La Scala (and it follows up the success of the earlier Scala/Muti Ernani—reviewed 1/84). My reaction came as something of a surprise to me: the production from which the discs derive was not well received either scenically or musically when it was first given just over a year ago, and the broadcast relay of the first night wasn't encouraging. It's now apparent that things improved enormously as the run continued so what we now have is a thrilling record of Italy's leading house at its best—and that's something impossible to simulate in the studio (though I know some colleagues disagree with me in this respect).
Vespri is one of the most difficult of Verdi's operas to bring off. Scribe's libretto, true to Parisian taste nurtured on Auber and Meyerbeer, is a somewhat superficial, broken-backed affair (though Verdi accepted it with alterations); Verdi's attempt to fulfil Parisian tastes, long ballet and all, isn't at all times convincing, yet for the most part the composer rose above the demands for show and grandeur to disclose the real feelings of his characters, none of whom is a particularly lovable creature (in that they resemble those in Attila, recently staged at Covent Garden and the last of Muti's EMI Verdi sets). Andrew Porter, when reviewing Levine's RCA set on LP back in 1974, commented that the opera ''is a structure involving large ensembles, elaborate spectacle... intricate and novel orchestral effects, a big ballet, and virtuoso singers pushed to the limits of their technique''. Muti realizes all these assets with unperturbed ease and easily overcomes any drawbacks, real or imagined. He rouses his forces, solo and concerted, with all his old gifts for energizing rhythms and shaping a Verdian line. He yields where wanted to the needs of his singers, presses on when the drama or a dull page demands it, and draws the best out of what is generally considered Verdi's most telling ballet music. He is less impulsive, more ready to take his time than Levine. La Scala's Orchestra and Chorus play and sing with the flair of authenticity—as indeed they should.
The set is graced by some superb singing—at least in the two most important and interesting roles, those of Elena and Monforte (to use the Italian names employed here). Cheryl Studer confirms her ebullient form in Attila as a lirico-spinto with full control of coloratura, thus placing her in the royal line of Ponselle, Callas, Sutherland and Caballe (the last two of whom have encouraged Studer to undertake this kind of repertory). In her first appearance, as she instils the Sicilians with courage, ''Coraggio, su coraggio'' (disc 1, track 4), she immediately shows her mettle with confident, inspiriting attack, the tone vibrant, the diction fiery. In Act 2, in the duet with Arrigo at ''Pressa alla tomba'' (track 11), she discloses with the deepest eloquence her feeling for her lover, most tellingly at the phrase ''Tu, dall'eccelse''. In the later duet with Arrigo in Act 4, her long solo ''Arrigo! ah, parli ad un core'' (disc 3, track 3), a passage made famous by Callas, she floats her tone most appealingly, the accents delicate, affecting. In the Bolero (track 9) she rivals any of her predecessors in delicacy, a real smile in the voice, the phrasing long breathed, the coloratura, not quite perfect, but near it. Taken with her soaring contributions to the ensembles, this is great singing by any standards, past or present. Her characterization catches Elena's combination of fire and softness. In sum she finds what Berlioz termed the ''penetrating intensity of melodic expression'' that characterizes her writing.
To find Zancanaro in equally impressive form is an added blessing. Monforte is the work's most interesting character, the French governor of Sicily, father of the Sicilian Arrigo, who is his sworn enemy. In his great scena at the start of Act 3 (disc 2, track 1), Zancanaro finds deeper strains of feeling than I have heard from him in any other role, and then sings the subtle written aria ''In braccio alle dovizie'' with a refinement of line and variety of dynamics that enhance the strength of voice and clarity of diction we have always admired in his singing. Here, authority and vocal presence are tempered by grace and emotional involvement. He is just as eloquent in the ensuing duet with Arrigo, taken here by Chris Merritt, another singer inspired by the occasion or the work to surpass himself. Even now he doesn't entirely convince me that he is a Verdian tenor—his voice still seems a shade thin, his technique too uncertain for that—but he delivers all his music with such conviction and such a belief in himself that criticism is almost silenced. His solo in Act 4 ''Giorno di pianto'' (disc 3, track 1) is well managed as is his duet in the same act with Elena; even better is the very French ''La brezza aleggia intorno'' (track 10) in Act 5, delicately sung (high D and all) and delicately answered and joined by Studer's Elena.
Which leaves, of the principals, Furlanetto. So accomplished and heard to such advantage in Mozart and Rossini, he here sounds overparted. ''O tu Palermo'' lacks the weight and authority of a Pinza, Pasero or Christoff—or even Raimondi on RCA—but he improves immeasurably after that, pronoucing his anathemas on the French and stirring his supporters with a verve that compensates for any failings in vocal power. Small roles are taken with accomplishment.
The recording is a considerable improvement on previous sets recorded at La Scala. Those who want their orchestras to be big and resonant may be disappointed by the confined sound heard here, a bit like listening to Toscanini's old sets. The voices are, on the whole, caught well in a true theatre perspective, with the movement seeming quite logical and not disorientating. A few coughs and some applause will only worry those who must have complete silence—or, dare I say, the often aseptic acoustics of the studio. There's no applause after Monforte's aria, which suggests it may have been recorded later, especially as the acoustic seems slightly different here.
The 17-year-old RCA set has much to commend it, most of all Domingo's full-flooded Arrigo, though he gives points to Merritt in the melodie in Act 5 already referred to. I find the new one on balance more convincingly cast and conducted. It won't please those who are longing to hear the piece in the original, as I would ideally (Myung-Whun Chung, as revealed in December—page 1143—is scheduled to record it), but Verdi did approve of the Italian version and certainly would have approved of its vital execution here. Noel Goodwin contributes a well-researched note to the accompanying booklet, which has some rather dimly reproduced pictures of the staging.'