The two EMI recordings of La forza del destino are rendered unignorable, their shortcomings pushed into the shadows, by two transforming performances: Callas's Leonora on the Serafin set and Domingo's Don Alvaro on the Muti. Which leaves Sinopoli's award-winning DG set (see page 567) and the newly reissued 1977 RCA recording competing for the all-round CD recommendation.
Both sets are complete and strongly cast down to the smallest comprimario roles. Sinopoli strikes me as being generally the more penetrating conductor but Levine, at best, is lucid and electrifying and it is probably the case that both conductors will alternately excite and infuriate Verdians of particular persuasions. Admirers of Leontyne Price will undoubtedly be tempted by a set which includes her Leonora, strongly supported by Domingo (his first attempt at Don Alvaro) and Milnes; though it must be said that Price is past her prime here, much as Freni, obviously miscast, is on the Muti/EMI. Pitch Sinopoli's Rosalind Plowright against Price in her first recording of Leonora (also RCA—SER5527/30, 10/65, nla) and Price probably has it, but Plowright's integrity and youthful ardour are qualities it is difficult to ignore when making a final choice between these two CD sets.
Not that the Callas is by any means out of the running on CD or on LP: the two-LP set is splendid digital remastering is a fantastic bargain. Leonora was a role to which Callas was particularly well attuned. Leonora's ardour, sincerity, and desperate vulnerability are etched by this great artist into her every utterance. Forza begins with a subdued conversation and ends with the great trio and Callas is unforgettable in both; whenever she is before the microphone—throughout Act 1, in the great scene with the Padre Guardiano and in Act 4—we are aware of the greatness of La forza del destino as music-drama. There are some flaws in execution but fewer than might be expected given the rough patch Callas (generally in fine fettle around this period) had gone through in the spring of 1954. Walter Legge, whose advice Callas respected and whose authority she acknowledged, told her that unless the wobble was sorted out EMI and Angel would have to issue sea-sickness pills with the records. In the event, they weren't necessary.
Callas is also helped by the new digital remastering, and by CD; her voice never really sat comfortably in 1950s vinyl which bucked and jabbered at her emissions are surely as any dyed-in-the-wool canary-fancier. The sound is now clear and true. The Legge/Beckett mono recording is generally excellent. The strings perhaps lack weight but one quickly forgets this as one listens to the unruffled good sense of Serafin's direction. It is a pity about the cuts (notably the foreshortening of the Padre Guardiano/Melitone exchanges in Act 4) and about Tagliabue's leathery Don Carlo, since the rest of the cast is admirable. Richard Tucker is glorious, some lachrymose moments notwithstanding. Even if you opt for a rival CD version of the opera, The Callas set is unmissable. The LPs have to be played back at a reasonably high level and may become noisy in due course but my finished pressings of records which are respectively 82 and 76 minutes long were exemplary.'