‘A hit‚ a very palpable hit’ is how Opera editor‚ Harold Rosenthal‚ greeted this ENO production of Otello when it was first seen at the London Coliseum in September 1981. It was a view echoed by Alan Blyth in these columns two­and­a­half years later when EMI issued this live recording drawn from performances of the production’s first revival in January 1983. For my own part‚ I have never seen the point of releasing on record English­language recordings of foreign­language operas‚ especially if the original is in French or Italian. (The Rossini Barber in this series‚ 12/95‚ is an abomination linguistically.) Yet‚ if any recording was going to change my mind‚ this Otello would be the one to do it. In the first place‚ the translation by Andrew Porter is technically adept and a minor work of art in its own right. In the second‚ it is rather a fine performance. A translation needs to be heard‚ of course. The diction of the Otello‚ Charles Craig‚ is superb; that of the Iago‚ Neil Howlett‚ is pretty good. The Desdemona‚ Rosalind Plowright‚ who faces the greatest challenge of all in the word­projection game‚ delivers rather less. When William Weaver reviewed this revival for Opera in January 1983‚ he thought Plowright outstanding musically and theatrically: ‘Miss Plowright went from strength to strength. Though she towered over her tenor‚ she still managed to convey a sense of fragility‚ vulnerability and‚ at the same time‚ of noble dignity. Vocally‚ she dominated the ensembles with her clean line‚ unerring intonation (her partners were unable to follow her example in this)‚ and sensitivity to expression.’ On record‚ she sounds wonderfully well‚ strangely like an Italian singer (the young Tebaldi‚ perhaps) singing a live performance of the ‘real’ Otello. Which is not quite what this Otello is about. Its strength lies in its bluff‚ down­to­earth Englishness‚ its tacit attempt – not conscious perhaps but certainly actual – to reclaim for Shakespeare some of those qualities which Boito and Verdi had finessed away. It is this which makes Neil Howlett’s Iago so fascinating – not Boito’s suave Machiavel but Shakespeare’s coarse ancient. (Coarse in character‚ that is; the singing is robust and accomplished.) Charles Craig fits into this scenario‚ too. Older‚ at 60‚ than even Othello claims to be‚ his is a well­scaled‚ carefully sung‚ shrewdly paced performance. Mark Elder’s conducting is also well­scaled and shrewdly paced‚ and the orchestral playing‚ full­bodied and secure‚ is richly detailed. Of the assembled forces only the chorus occasionally disappoints‚ though not‚ happily‚ in Act 1. Live recordings of Otello were not a novelty in 1984. Ettore Panizza’s famous 1940 Metropolitan New York set with Martinelli‚ Tibbett and Rethberg (Music & Arts‚ 9/91) had seared sense‚ as had Toscanini’s in 1947 (RCA‚ 3/92). Technically‚ though‚ the EMI recording set new standards. It continues to sound very well in this new Chandos remastering. The production contains one textually remarkable feature. The Act 3 finale is performed in the 1894 Paris revision in which Verdi‚ concerned as ever with dramatic clarity‚ simplifies his greatest ever operatic concertato so as to make Iago unignorably prominent. Verdi wasn’t to know‚ but the gramophone would later achieve this without changing a note of the original concertato. John Culshaw’s 1961 Decca recording (3/87)‚ conducted by Karajan with Aldo Protti as Iago‚ makes Iago’s every utterance chillingly actual. Still‚ it is intriguing to have this – it has to be said‚ somewhat pedestrian – afterthought on record. It is a further point of interest in a set which is a great deal more fascinating than it has any right to be.