Two distinguished conductors are at work, the casts are well stocked with eminent names, both pieces are handled imaginatively by record producers who appear to be enjoying the new-found excitements of opera in stereo. But in addition there is Mario del Monaco. That he should have recorded Canio in Pagliacci is only right and just; one may not like it but it is obviously appropriate. Turiddu in Cavalleria rusticana (even though in the original review Philip Hope-Wallace breathed a sigh of relief that at least he wasn't Gianni Poggi) in addition to the Pagliacci role: that may be thought a bit hard. And hard it is: tone and style alike unyielding, an invariable fortissimo whether calling to his friends to join him for a drink, whether serenading one girlfriend or cursing another, or just remarking that he was looking for his mother. No happy thought about phrasing, no passing fancy which might suggest an adjustment of the fixed expression from time to time: nothing except a firmness (at least one can be thankful for that) that is as unshakeable as the fortissimo, and an apparent wish (shared to some extent) to hurry Maestro Serafin along and get it all over and done with. Serafin adopts speeds which were unusually slow for their time and which needed singers who knew what to do with the extra moments at their disposal. Simionato responds little better than does del Monaco: the low notes bring her out in a terrific chest voice and she is perfectly well up to the high ones, but in between is some rather characterless tone, with little personal insight into the role. MacNeil is a dull if sturdy Alfio, and the chorus in church have different ideas about pitch from those outside.
Pagliacci is better, with the chorus on good form and del Monaco far more at home in his part. He actually remembers to start ''Vesti la giubba'' softly, and at some moments (the ''venti tre ore'' for instance) is exciting. But by chance I had just played ''Un tal giocco'' on an old Columbia by Aureliano Pertile (whose greatest admirer I normally am not): the mood of serious consideration, the sense of passion gradually taking possession, then the disquieting return tb reality, all is done with such a fine art that del Monaco's performance is a non-event. MacNeil, too, has a persistent way of neglecting opportunities to make his part mean something. The others are very adequate, and it's a vivid piece of record production. At virtually every point (and particularly the infinitely touching Santuzza of Julia Varady) the Decca Pavarotti/Patane recordings are preferable, but while about it I would be inclined to weigh also the claims of the Bergonzi/Karajan coupling on DG even though that runs to a third disc.'