Donizetti L'Elisir d'Amore
View record and artist detailsRecord and Artist Details
Composer or Director: Gaetano Donizetti
Genre:
Opera
Label: Nuova Era
Magazine Review Date: 10/1991
Media Format: CD or Download
Media Runtime: 123
Mastering:
DDD
Catalogue Number: 6725
Tracks:
| Composition | Artist Credit |
|---|---|
| (L')Elisir d'amore, 'Elixir of Love' |
Gaetano Donizetti, Composer
Adelina Scarabelli, Adina, Soprano Angelo Romero, Belcore, Baritone Barbara Briscik, Giannetta, Soprano Chris Merritt, Nemorino, Tenor Emilia Romagna 'Toscanini' Symphony Orchestra Gaetano Donizetti, Composer Hubert Soudant, Conductor Parma Teatro Regio Chorus Sesto Bruscantini, Dulcamara, Bass |
Author:
Many readers will know from a glance at the headings roughly what to expect by way of performance and recorded sound. All the recordings here are live, though the L'elisir d'amore does not specifically say so, and in some of the others the audience is suspiciously quiet at the end of a well-sung aria having been vociferous in its approval of something ghastly ten minutes earlier. Movement about the stage usually involves a few creaks and bumps, the voices being heard from near and afar without particular reference to the convenience of the fireside listener. Anybody who supposes that because the opera is being recorded in a theatre there will be a rather grand sense of space, or at any rate what you might call theatre-atmosphere, will be speedily disillusioned. Similarly, preconceptions will have to be adjusted by people who assume that, since these recordings come from the land of song, golden voices and true bel canto will be the rule. Conversely, those who proclaim that Italy no longer produces any tolerable singers at all should prepare a palatable sauce to assist the eating of words.
What very few readers indeed are likely to have much familiarity with are some of the operas themselves. If we take them in chronological order, Gianni di Parigi comes first, and this, until the performances at Bergamo in 1988, was virtually a complete unknown. Its stage-history hardly encourages great expectations. Previously dated 1831, it now appears to have originated three years earlier, then to have been adapted for the great tenor Giovanni Rubini, who never sang it but appropriated the score so that nobody else could sing it either. It resurfaced in 1839 when, to Donizetti's surprise and without his customary assistance, it had its premiere at La Scala. There it fell flat, and having been tried again in 1846 at Naples was heard no more. And it is a sparkler. High spirits, attractive melodies, lively orchestral writing, excellent opportunities for the singers: all else that could be wished from a comic opera would be interesting characters and a good plot, and these are in relatively short supply.
It is best seen as a divertissement roughly comparable to Rossini's Il viaggio a Reims. There are comic roles for innkeeper and steward, whose 'breakfast duet' is not so very far inferior to the patter duet in Don Pasquale; a hardly necessary role for a page is devised to give the mezzo a chance; the soprano Princess takes centre-stage for the final solos, so the prima donna's honour is satisfied. But, vocally, most depends on the tenor, who here (the Rubini de nos jours) is Giuseppe Morino. At his best, as in the aria ''Il mio destin'', he is exceptionally graceful and stylish, with an old-fashioned fast vibrato which worries me not at all; this aria and its cabaletta, for which he produces additional edge and vigour as well as some triumphant notes way above the stave, should definitely be heard. And another beautifully turned piece of singing is the arietta ''Ah! nulla di piu perfetto'': a lovely performance.
Gianni di Parigi would be first choice among these recordings, andImelda de' Lambertazzi, written in 1830 and so coming second in the chronological list (if we accept Gianni's earlier origin), would be the second choice too. But this would hardly be in compliment to the singing. Perhaps the soprano, Floriana Sovilla, rises a little above the general second- (third?) rateness; the Bonifacio, I'm afraid, sinks well below it, and one of the special features of this opera is the prominence of the baritone as hero. The story (Guelphs and Ghibellines) is quite skilfully treated, and provides material for a tragic Second Act—one of the best numbers in which is nevertheless a jolly blood-for-blood chorus of Guelphs, who would have got on famously with the pirates of Penzance. The recording here has some space and resonance, and the performance—the first in modern times and said to be given ''in oratorio form''—is well conducted by Marc Andreae.
After this,L'elisir d'amore (1832) comes as an old friend, oft recorded and unlikely, one would suppose, to attract those who look to the Nuova Era catalogue either for operatic rarities or for some special interest in the singing. Perhaps the casting of Chris Merritt as Nemorino may provide this for some listeners, though I would not be among them. Graceless in his first solo, he becomes acceptable in more declamatory passages, only to present the most unpleasing ''Una furtiva lagrima'' for many a year. It is of course greeted with a delirium of applause and bravos, and even, I think, a demented cry of ''bis'', whereas Adina's ''Prendi, per me se libero'' a little later, though charmingly sung by Adelina Scarabelli, passes almost unnoticed. Her singing might indeed constitute a reason for interesting oneself in the discs; and the name of Sesto Bruscantini must surely be another. For a 67-year-old Dulcamara, or for that matter one half his age, it would hardly be possible to find a better as far as energy, sheer professionalism and voice are concerned.
We move on to 1840, which was Donizetti's French year, with La fille du regiment at the Opera-Comique in February and La favorite at the Opera in December (Les martyrs, the French version of Poliuto, in between). Both performances here are in Italian and neither can be recommended wholeheartedly. In the Figlia del reggimento the Tonio is William Matteuzzi, excellent in his solos and showing a genuine gift for comedy. But Luciana Serra is curiously uneven, delightful in the plainer stuff, like ''Convien partir'', then almost acid in tone and gawky in style elsewhere. La favorita has the interesting Giuseppe Morino as Fernando, uncommonly sensitive in his arias but seeming to want some colour and body in the heroic passages—I say 'seeming to' because the recorded sound is more than usually unsatisfactory in the matter of balance, with the voices at a distance.
In La favorita and the last of these operas, Maria di Rohan (1843), the important baritone roles are taken by Paulo Coni. Both were closely associated with Battistini, and it is no use expecting anything comparable in panache (the voice and style here being more akin, I would say, to some of more recent memory such as Cappuccilli). But much is to his credit. In La favorita he makes an interestingly private utterance out of ''A tanto amor'', and in the big (and exacting) solos in Act 3 of Maria di Rohan he has some feeling for the breadth of phrase, his voice obviously ringing out well in the theatre. Mariana Nicolesco has the name-part, and she also has a genuine distinction about her, presenting, for one thing, a credible well-rounded characterization. Her duet with Morino in Act 2 is one of the finest passages in all these recordings, the music sometimes (as elsewhere in the opera) pointing ahead to the Verdi of Un ballo in maschera. The opera as a whole is solid in construction, assured in its pacing of the drama, and once again it leaves one wondering at the dividing line by which a handful of Donizetti's operas have 'survived' while works as creative and substantial as this have rested in oblivion.'
What very few readers indeed are likely to have much familiarity with are some of the operas themselves. If we take them in chronological order, Gianni di Parigi comes first, and this, until the performances at Bergamo in 1988, was virtually a complete unknown. Its stage-history hardly encourages great expectations. Previously dated 1831, it now appears to have originated three years earlier, then to have been adapted for the great tenor Giovanni Rubini, who never sang it but appropriated the score so that nobody else could sing it either. It resurfaced in 1839 when, to Donizetti's surprise and without his customary assistance, it had its premiere at La Scala. There it fell flat, and having been tried again in 1846 at Naples was heard no more. And it is a sparkler. High spirits, attractive melodies, lively orchestral writing, excellent opportunities for the singers: all else that could be wished from a comic opera would be interesting characters and a good plot, and these are in relatively short supply.
It is best seen as a divertissement roughly comparable to Rossini's Il viaggio a Reims. There are comic roles for innkeeper and steward, whose 'breakfast duet' is not so very far inferior to the patter duet in Don Pasquale; a hardly necessary role for a page is devised to give the mezzo a chance; the soprano Princess takes centre-stage for the final solos, so the prima donna's honour is satisfied. But, vocally, most depends on the tenor, who here (the Rubini de nos jours) is Giuseppe Morino. At his best, as in the aria ''Il mio destin'', he is exceptionally graceful and stylish, with an old-fashioned fast vibrato which worries me not at all; this aria and its cabaletta, for which he produces additional edge and vigour as well as some triumphant notes way above the stave, should definitely be heard. And another beautifully turned piece of singing is the arietta ''Ah! nulla di piu perfetto'': a lovely performance.
Gianni di Parigi would be first choice among these recordings, and
After this,
We move on to 1840, which was Donizetti's French year, with La fille du regiment at the Opera-Comique in February and La favorite at the Opera in December (Les martyrs, the French version of Poliuto, in between). Both performances here are in Italian and neither can be recommended wholeheartedly. In the Figlia del reggimento the Tonio is William Matteuzzi, excellent in his solos and showing a genuine gift for comedy. But Luciana Serra is curiously uneven, delightful in the plainer stuff, like ''Convien partir'', then almost acid in tone and gawky in style elsewhere. La favorita has the interesting Giuseppe Morino as Fernando, uncommonly sensitive in his arias but seeming to want some colour and body in the heroic passages—I say 'seeming to' because the recorded sound is more than usually unsatisfactory in the matter of balance, with the voices at a distance.
In La favorita and the last of these operas, Maria di Rohan (1843), the important baritone roles are taken by Paulo Coni. Both were closely associated with Battistini, and it is no use expecting anything comparable in panache (the voice and style here being more akin, I would say, to some of more recent memory such as Cappuccilli). But much is to his credit. In La favorita he makes an interestingly private utterance out of ''A tanto amor'', and in the big (and exacting) solos in Act 3 of Maria di Rohan he has some feeling for the breadth of phrase, his voice obviously ringing out well in the theatre. Mariana Nicolesco has the name-part, and she also has a genuine distinction about her, presenting, for one thing, a credible well-rounded characterization. Her duet with Morino in Act 2 is one of the finest passages in all these recordings, the music sometimes (as elsewhere in the opera) pointing ahead to the Verdi of Un ballo in maschera. The opera as a whole is solid in construction, assured in its pacing of the drama, and once again it leaves one wondering at the dividing line by which a handful of Donizetti's operas have 'survived' while works as creative and substantial as this have rested in oblivion.'
Donizetti L'Elisir d'Amore
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