The rediscovery of Rossini's dazzling, sophisticated coronation entertainment Il viaggio a Reims was one of the musical highlights of the 1980s; and it was Abbado's DG recording, recorded live during performances in Pesaro in August 1984, that brought the work to the public at large (it was voted Gramophone's Record of the Year in 1986). In October 1992 Abbado and the Berlin Philharmonic re-staged the work in Berlin's Philharmonie, an event Sony Classical were only too keen to underwrite in exchange for this very collectable new recording.
I say 'very collectable' with the proviso that no one who already has the 1984 DG recording need feel compelled to go out and buy the Sony. After all, the music is the same, and so are no fewer than six of the 11 principal singers. On balance, though, new collectors will be better off with the Sony re-make.
In the first place, though the CDs play back at rather a low level, the Sony set is better recorded. DG's 1984 recording is perfectly adequate but the rather hard, dry acoustic of Pesaro's Auditorium Pedrotti does jar in places, and something like Corinna's off-stage entry in the great Sextet is better managed in Berlin. Here Sylvia McNair, a lovely Corinna, is distant but focused—in a way that isn't quite the case with DG's Cecilia Gasdia.
Of the singers who are repeating their roles, Lucia Valentini Terrani and Raul Gimenez are unexceptionable, justifying their reselection. I would be less certain about the reselection of Surian and Raimondi. On the other hand, both Samuel Ramey and Enzo Dara now surpass their already superb earlier performances. In Lord Sidney's big aria, Ramey now has the advantage of an exceptionally fine flute obbligato from the BPO's Andreas Blau. As for Dara, he has transformed the aria in which Baron Trombonok catalogues national foibles. What was previously more or less a straight recitation is now a miracle of subversive inflexion, with Abbado and the Berlin players adding wonderful new colours that seem to lie dormant in the earlier recording.
When it comes to new singers, the Sony set has its weaknesses. Not Lucio Gallo. His Don Alvaro is less cumbersome than Leo Nucci's on DG. Nor perhaps Luciana Serra as the fashion-crazed young French widow. DG's Lella Cuberli sings superbly; but, then, so does Serra in a slightly more feckless way. Madama Cortese, the Tyrolean hostess, oozes presence and style. (Like Julie Goodyear in Coronation Street, though I can't imagine Bet Gilroy yodelling as Mme Cortese has to do in the final scene.) Here the lovely and lustrous Katia Ricciarelli must be preferred on points to Sony's Cheryl Studer. With the hyperactive Russian Count Libenskof there is no contest: DG's Francisco Araiza is far more in command of the role than William Matteuzzi (the valet Gelsomino on the earlier recording).
Since 1984, Abbado has changed some of the improvised quotations that accompany Trombonok's reference to Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven and Bach. They have gone slightly up-market. On the other hand, he still insists on adding an obbligato version of the Marseillaise to the Canzone Francese of Belfiore and the Countess Folleville in the final scene. I don't know what kind of history they taught in Italy when Abbado was a lad, but the idea of anyone playing the Marseillaise at the celebration of a Bourbon coronation rather strains credibility. Indeed, if you want to get a rise out of someone quickly, mention the moment to Janet Johnson, the brilliant young American scholar responsible for putting this Humpty-Dumpty of a score back together again. John Cox did so at an RMA conference on Rossini last year and got one hell of a telling off.
Incidentally, on background essays DG wins hands down—Janet Johnson, Philip Gossett, Klaus Geitel and Claudio Abbado lined up against just one essay in the Sony booklet plus a rather obsequious note by the BPO's Principal Oboe Hansjorg Schellenberger. However, Sony's idea of putting explanatory footnotes to the libretto at the foot of the page rather than at the back of the booklet is another small plus in their favour.'