Here is a new label, one that deserves an initial welcome and, if it continues to produce discs of this kind, lasting gratitude. Readers of Opera on Record (Hutchinson: 1979) will perhaps remember how AB opened his chapter on Manon: “A single 78 disc (Odeon 123529) of the ‘duo de la lettre’ by Emma Luart and Gaston Micheletti poses an ideal style for this work... I returned to that record time and again while compiling this chapter and on each occasion was struck by its freshness and immediacy.” Of Charles Friant, the principal tenor heard in these excerpts, AB wrote with comparable enthusiasm: “sincere, dreamy, youthful and well-varied in colouring”. Shortly afterwards, a Luart collection appeared on the Rubini label (GV525) and there were also two LPs devoted to Friant (GV511 and GV524). The present Gramophone Database has nothing of Luart, and Friant occurs only in an anthology and in association with another artist. The Vintage people have spotted a gap that needed filling and so right from the start have made a valuable contribution to the catalogue.
Emma Luart (1892-1968) was a Belgian soprano but almost more French than the French. In these days of voices that seem to have been dipped in the international melting-pot, we experience something of a shock on coming upon one that is unequivocally of its own national school. Bright in tone, precise in definition, Luart’s voice may at first seem just a degree too French for the aural comfort of other nations; but then she softens, often exquisitely, glitters once more, sweetens again, lingering awhile then moving forward on impulse, altogether avoiding sentimentality or mere willfulness – and we realize that here is an artist. Some listeners, new to these singers, will possibly become still more interested in Friant. He (1890-1947) is usually the subject of a somewhat apologetic preface, even by his admirers (AB, in his sentence quoted above, refers to “the basically dry quality of his voice”), but again the voice is that of an individual (the very opposite of the homogenized tone), and carries a thrill of its own in a high forte, while the quieter singing is often of the utmost loveliness. His great quality (more marked, I think, than Luart’s, though she is by no means lacking) is the feeling he gives of living his part in the present – these events have not been played on stage before, they will not be again, this is happening here and now, exclusively present. Hear his “Ah, fuyez, douce image”.
The transfers are by Richard Bebb, made from fine copies in his collection: surface noise is virtually eliminated and it would seem that the aim has been to reveal with the utmost clarity everything that is on the original recording, even if this involves the intrusion of a harshly metallic upper layer of sound, which I am often assured is itself a sign of good reproduction. Patrick Bade’s notes are helpful, though it may be that some readers would be more grateful than they might care to admit for a brief reminder of the point in the opera (and in the ‘bonus track’ from Mireille) at which the various excerpts occur. From the list of contents, several accents and first lines are missing: for instance, “Voyons, Manon, plus de chimeres” begins at “Combien ces femmes sont jolies”. It also seems a pity, when they have a rare and attractive photograph, to efface part of it with print. All small points in relation to the good work and hopes for the future.'