If Verdi's Sicilian Vespers has been slow to get off the ground on the British operatic stage, the record companies have shown scarcely more alacrity in restoring to its rightful place the opera which Berlioz praised for its ''sovereign majesty''. Hamburg, New York and Paris saw the work in 1969 this recording appeared first in 1974. London had to wait 10 more years to see it staged: and, after English National Opera's success, this transfer to CD arrives not before time to fill an important gap in the catalogue.
James Levine draws lush, swashbuckling playing from the New Philharmonia: this transfer emphasizes the rich bass line which makes up in support what the reading at times lacks in subtlety. Its main attraction is undoubtedly the most sensitively blended palette of voices. As soon as the curtain is up, there are Kenneth Collins and Richard Van Allan being put through their paces as a highly distinctive Vaudemont and Thibaut, in preparation for their elevation to Arrigo and Procida at the Coliseum in 1984. And there, too, is Maria Ewing, glinting through the rabble as Ninetta.
If the minor characters form a healthy foundation, the principals, on the whole, fulfil expectations in the superstructure. My only reservation is Martina Arroyo's Elena. She has all the poise and sombre dignity of the wronged and bereaved, but there is something just too distant, too unyielding in her presence. The voice misses the ''penetrating intensity of melodic expression'' (Berlioz again) which characterizes her writing, and there is not the shadow of a smile there, even at the start of her wedding day. ''In alto mare'' and ''Arrigo! Ah parli a un core'' are beautifully contoured, but when required to be energetic at the top of the register, the voice can be a little squally.
The three men compensate for any slight disappointment, both individually and corporately. Domingo as Arrigo sings with such conviction that every line leaps with life, and, with each register relaxed, yet the core of the voice tense with anguish this is Domingo at his finest. Matching his ardire di grand'alma'' is Sherrill Milnes as Montfort. His skill is to take note of the prevalence of asides in this score: the humanity of the inner man, and the authority of the active politician receive distinct and equally vivid expression in the voice. Recitative is forcefully weighted, arias paced with the sad stillness unique to this role.
Raimondi's is a voice from the deep shadows and, as Procida, it comes from both the boots and the heart. The voice is as steady of focus as the character's own single-minded intent. He is allowed his Act 2 cabaletta just as the orchestra are given their head in the full ballet music, integrated into the drama. Quite right, too: Verdi only wanted it omitted when the realization of its frolics on stage would do his music less than justice.'