Here is incontrovertible evidence entirely to refute those, myself included, who have claimed till now that Callas's voice was irreparably weakened by her slimming and/or by her affair with Onassis. Now, on previously unissued material from a 1962 Gala at Covent Garden, we find her in as solid and confident form as at any time in her career, reminding me of her unforgettable Traviatas of 1958. By two years later, in the Tosca of 1964, of which we have here the well-known video of Act 2, her ability to sustain and expand tone had undoubtedly disappeared and the voice itself had diminished in power.
The long aria of Elisabetta, heard at the Gala, not only shows Callas vocally equal to all its stringent demands but also able to play with the phrasing—and what phrasing—at will. Within the context of a concert performance she conjures up all the myriad feelings of sorrow, regret and determination the unhappy Queen feels at that moment. For those who now decry the Callas worshippers, here too is that total involvement in a role, the inner identification with emotion, that so few since have been able to emulate. The same is true of the two solos from Act 1 of Carmen: in these Callas embodies all the allure, all the desire at once to command men and to remain free, that are the essence of Carmen's character. Yet all is achieved within the strict bounds of the score, avoiding exaggerated expression or too-deliberate tempos. These are precious additions to the all-too-few Callas videos available, and they can be heard in reasonable sound. They complement the extracts from Norma, Trovatore and Il barbiere on the Paris video of 1958 (EMI, 11/91), where Callas is, for the most part, on excellent form.
The versions of Tosca Act 2—Paris and here at Covent Garden—provide a fascinating contrast in interpretation. The younger diva is the more able to conjure up the purely sensual appeal of the character, which explains her attraction to both Cavaradossi and Scarpia. By 1964 we find a more vulnerable, more knowing protagonist who, with Zeffirelli's important support, offers a more detailed portrayal, but the Paris account is undoubtedly the better sung. Gobbi had also refined and more subtly defined his Scarpia by 1964: his singing in both versions exudes confidence and a wonderful identification with the text. Cioni's brief incursions make one regret that his career appears to have been so short. The sound, though an improvement on previous versions, is far from ideal. The essential acquisition here is the Gala material, comprising only about 15 minutes of Callas, but worth hours of most other sopranos.'