Both these performances are central to any discography of the Requiem. Toscanini and Serafin had the work in their bones. In fact, Toscanini conducted it on 28 occasions between 1902 and 1951, and the list of soloists given by Harvey Sachs in his indispensable note for the Music & Arts issue reads like a roll-call of great singers from the first half of the century. Of three recordings under Toscanini, all live, this is the second (the others date from 1938 and 1951—the former once available on an 'unofficial' LP set, the latter on RCA, 5/90); of two under Serafin this is the first (the second was available on HMV, 10/60—nla). Each conductor knew precisely how to shape and time the piece, their readings moving forward with an inevitable and tense flow. Although neither conductor follows Verdi meticulously where tempos and dynamics are concerned, each works well within the bounds of the composer's wishes and, even more importantly, convinces the listener of the rightness of everything he attempts. They are essential documents of interpretative history.
As Sachs points out, Toscanini changed his mind over the years. For instance, this reading is in many respects slower, more inward than the stricter, more incandescent 1951 version, allowing more leeway for his soloists to make their points. If its merits can be summed up in one word, that would be 'dedicated'. Toscanini has not only imposed a unified style on his performers, he has also impressed upon them his own awe before the great work, and they respond accordingly. The choral singing, though not on a par with that of the 1938 London performance with the BBC forces, is still vital and the orchestral contribution is superb.
The soloists match the demands Verdi makes upon them—and of how many versions of the Requiem can one say that? Milanov has patches of uncertainty, but she has the suppleness of tone and phrase that enable her to fulfil Verdi's inordinate demands on his soprano, and provides some breathtaking moments. Her voice blends, yet paradoxically contrasts, ideally with Castagna's tangy mezzo in the chant-like Agnus Dei. Castagna's solo singing is also secure and expressive. Better still is Bjorling. Apart from a mistake in the ''Lux aeterna'' he is the most plaintive, beautiful, stylistically correct tenor in any version of the work; his renowned account of the ''Ingemisco'' is all the better for being heard in context and at the time when he was in his superlative prime. Moscona is a strong, honest bass: his ''Oro supplex'' is one point where Toscanini is noticeably slower than in 1951.
Pinza's towering bass stands far ahead of any other bass in tone and authority. The fully Italian quartet is headed by Caniglia's grand, cutting soprano, occasionally unsure in pitch but always demonstrating the virtues of a true spinto in this part. Stignani is imposing vocally and in diction, too. Gigli is his beseechingly eloquent self, gulps and all.
These singers and Serafin's idiomatic Roman forces have always ensured this version a high place in the Requiem's recorded history. In its new and best transfer to date the impression of the 'real thing' is further confirmed, though even Dutton Laboratories cannot do much with the somewhat confined acoustics. Serafin's reading flows along with a natural inevitability, passing down a tradition that has not grown stale. Here precision is allied with intensity and fire, just as it is in the Toscanini interpretation. Both are essential listening for those with a real interest in this work—but don't expect modern sound on either.
On two CDs, the Music & Arts includes the Te Deum, the premiere of which was conducted by Toscanini: it is a suitably authoritative, reverential reading that opened the 1940 concert from which the performances are taken. On this disc it is placed after the Requiem. The acoustics of Carnegie Hall are reasonably well caught.'