When these Vienna sets first appeared round the time of the celebrations in 1956 of the bicentenary of Mozart's birth, they had to contend with versions from Decca and EMI that were in most respects superior. Indeed, Philips didn't issue the Figaro and Cosi for another eight years, and then on bargain-price LPs. As most of those EMI and Decca sets, along with several others, are now available at mid-price, the situation hasn't much changed. Nevertheless, there are parts of the Giovanni, and even more of the Figaro, that are worth investigating.
When the Giovanni appeared in 1955 Philip Hope-Wallace, always ready with the mot juste, wrote that Moralt ''is too inclined to use restraint where a fuller and more impassioned eloquence could be wrung from the score'' (a statement that applies even more pointedly to his Cosi): this is Kapellmeister direction of an often plodding kind. However, neither Moralt, nor the indifferent recording (dim even for its day), can prevent from shining out like beacons Jurinac's deeply expressive, committed and innately lovely singing as Elvira and Simoneau's sovereign Ottavio, neither really surpassed in the years since. London is, as he was on stage, a demonic, somewhat bullying Giovanni whose aggressive singing soon tires the ear; by his side as Leporello the young Berry is no more than a cipher. They make an ill-assorted, wrongly weighted pair. As Anna, Zadek has her moments, most particularly in ''Or sai che l'onore'' and the first section of ''Non mi dir'', where she indicates her sympathies with the character's predicament. Sciutti is a bright button of a Zerlina. However, as a concept, Krips's contemporaneous version, in stereo, is superior, as of course is the Giulini of a few years later.
Sciutti is one of the few saving graces of the Cosi, making the most of Moralt's slow tempos. Elsewhere the conductor's strict, stiff beat is death to this score, and he is not helped by the backward placing of the orchestra. Distortion of the higher voices (have the original tapes deteriorated?) is another drawback. As Fiordiligi, Stich-Randall sings in a self-regarding manner, as if to herself, but addicts of this unusual soprano's work won't mind. Malaniuk is a dull Dorabella (her second aria is the only major cut), Berry an out-of-tune Guglielmo, Ernster a clumsy Alfonso. Some pleasure is to be gained from Kmentt's virile, ardent Ferrando, granted all his arias and making much of them. None the less, there is no competition here for the roughly contemporaneous EMI set under Karajan.
With the Figaro we are on another level of achievement. The orchestra immediately announce an improved recorded sound and a real Mozartian stylist (Bohm) in the pit. Then Streich's mettlesome, intelligently accented Susanna (a simple, heart-easing ''Deh vieni non tardar'') and Berry's forthright Figaro (this is a role he did really well) and the young Ludwig's irresistible Cherubino are there to delight us, even before we reach the set's jewel—Jurinac's poised, elegiac Countess. Missing appoggiaturas apart (there are none in any of these sets), I cannot imagine ''Porgi amor'', or much else, more appealingly sung. What an instinctive artist she is, and here in better voice than on the Glyndebourne/Gui set of a few months earlier.
The small parts are well taken (but no arias for Marcellina or Basilio—not a great loss). The only reservations concern Schoeffler's ageing Almaviva, an undoubted presence but a shade too Germanic and gruff, though no more so than Poell on the rival, greatly prized 1955 Erich Kleiber version (in stereo). Bohm's later 1968 set for DG may be in better sound and have a superior orchestra, but this one is the more invitingly cast. It would grace any collection, even if it lacks the dramatic thrust of the Kleiber, which is in the same price range.'