Here at last is the answer to the heartfelt prayers of all those correspondents who wrote to this magazine and to Opera asking for records of this stalwart of British opera. Now it has come we can welcome it as a comprehensive study of her work in Verdi. Whether or not you agree with what she does in all these familiar pieces, you can't ignore it; each character comes before us as a living entity conceived in her dramatic context. In every one a quick and inquiring mind can constantly be felt at work. Nothing here of your pre-packaged international fly-by-night, rather the work of a serious, purposeful artist who knows exactly what she wants to do with each piece.
As Philip Hope-Wallace once wrote unforgettably, when writing about a Callas performance, it may be as well to fasten your seat-belt before setting out on this unpredictable but ever-exciting journey. In ''Pace, pace'' at the start, the ride is distinctly bumpy as if Barstow were trying to put more into this music than it will really take. Quite the contrary is the case with Desdemona's Fourth Act solos. Here, at a deliberately fastish pace, Barstow suggests Desdemona's unease through her scrupulous observation of Verdi's markings—Come una voce lontana for the repeated ''Salces'', parlante, morendo e troncando at ''Ascolta'' and con passione at ''Ah! Emilia'', here a cry of true desperation. Then she begins the ''Ave Maria'' really sotto voce as Verdi asks, not in the mezza voce used by most sopranos and ends it with a truly floated A flat. This is formidable interpretation and the voice itself is capable of taking on all the colours its owner wants.
It acquires a kind of ghoulish timbre at the start of the Sleepwalking scene. I found this questionable, rather as if one of the witches has strayed into the Macbeths' castle and the changeover to real tone isn't convincingly done. Why ''La luce langue'', delivered with real demonic power, is separated from its companion-piece, I don't know.
Again in ''Ritorna vincitor!'' I thought the soprano was trying to do much, over-emoting unnecessarily, but then ''O patria mia'' offers the best singing as singing on the disc, with a finespun legato, long breath, attention to detail. The top C isn't very pleasing, but then neither was Callas's, and both singers suggest finely Aida's sense of longing. Still better is Elisabetta's long solo. Barstow is a pastmaster at conveying contained suffering and nowhere does she do that better than here. The opening is magisterially phrased; the passage starting piano at ''Francia'' is gentle, full of remembrance of things past, the close determined.
You may feel, as I did occasionally, that it would have been better if the record had been made, say, five or six years ago; one or two signs of wear and tear are to be heard. But by and large we are consoled by the individuality of the performances, greatly helped by Elder's positive and taut conducting. The recording betrays a few signs of haste, an unwanted sibilant emphasized here, a tape splice evident there, but the overall quality is true and well balanced between voice and the excellent ENO Orchestra.'