The 1950s seem to have been written off in hindsight as a pretty dull decade. But for lovers of singing there were excitements in plenty in the shape of Gérard Souzay in French mélodies, Lisa della Casa in Strauss and Léopold Simoneau in Mozart operas. The six Mozart arias included in DG’s boxed set remain unwithered by time and unstaled by custom: I can only concur with John Steane’s assessment of Simoneau’s singing of Idamante’s ‘Non temer’ as providing ‘something like the ideal combination of virility and refinement’, and can’t imagine Mozart being sung better.

Simoneau and his wife Pierrette Alarie are close to celebrating 60 years of marriage, and it is pleasant to record that their union on disc was every bit as harmonious, with every breath, every pause in perfect accord. Although he styles himself as a tenore lirico leggiero and she herself as a soprano lirico leggiero, there is no doubt that his is the more distinctive and distinguished voice. At the same time, I’m not aware at any time in their duets of him moving down a gear, and in her higher reaches she has a power one would not suspect from her slightly restricted lowest register.

A further thing that unites them is the absence of any sense of strain. ‘O soave fanciulla’ is ‘soave’ throughout, crowned by her perfectly produced piano top C at the end, taking us in imagination to a Parisian garret rather than an operatic stage. Nor does suavity exist at the expense of character. Alarie’s Manon is just as horrified by the idea of the convent as des Grieux is in their opening duet, and her barely subdued interest would encourage any moderately warm-blooded suitor.

She is less successful in imparting character to a procession of 15 Mozart songs. But then, at the risk of being burned at the stake, I must confess to not finding the composer at his most irresistible in this genre. I can also have too much of Debussy’s early vocal efforts, dictated as they were by his crush on Mme Vasnier rather than by any artistic imperatives. I took far more pleasure from the group of Ravel songs, especially Histoires naturelles, full of character and wit, and with every teasing rhythm in place. Full marks, too, to her pianist Allan Rogers for his agility at one end of the spectrum and for his capacity for rapt stillness at the other: ‘Le martin-pêcheur’ faithfully follows Ravel’s instruction ‘As slow as possible’. The Pearl disc – all of which is duplicated within DG’s set – might therefore make a good introduction to Alarie’s crystal-clear diction and perfect tuning were it not for the recorded sound, which reinforces the ‘dull decade’ impression mentioned earlier.

In my Duparc Collection article (10/04), I mentioned Simoneau’s 1959 versions of four of the songs with less than wholehearted admiration. The other 10 recorded three years earlier do little to change what I wrote. He’s at his best, as you might suppose, in the more graceful songs, such as Sérénade and Sérénade Florentine, although Lamento is also excellent. Elsewhere, Duparc’s melancholy heroics don’t suit him, and the composer’s careful notation and instructions come in for some cavalier treatment, especially at the hands of Rogers, who wrecks the magical epilogue to Phidylé by speeding up and leaves us effectively a bar short at the end of Invitation au voyage.

I would much rather put this disc aside and concentrate on the operatic glories of Simoneau in full flow, and indeed of Alarie in spectacular coloratura mode. In the French opera extracts, Simoneau is predictably superb and always stylish. He gives us Eléazar the tortured soul in ‘Rachel, quand du Seigneur’, but never so much as to disturb the legato line. There may in general be one or two upward swoops too many, but the sheer beauty of the voice is a wonder for the ear. The great and marvellous surprise for me is his Verdi singing, where his predominantly delicate treatment brings out the distinction of the composer’s lines. If I had to recommend just one track, I think it would be of ‘De’ miei bollenti spiriti’ (disc 1 track 15). ‘Fabulous’ is not a word I normally use, but Simoneau’s singing here is the stuff of which legends are made.