This was recorded in 1993, its arrival delayed possibly because of congestion at the station: Pavarotti’s previous version, under Chailly, issued in 1990, was still there, the one under Rizzi (Teldec, 11/93) being shunted forward very promptly after its completion, Muti at La Scala being next in line (Sony, 12/95), with an Arte Nova and a Naxos (3/92) squeezing in and various reissues drawing up alongside. No shortage of Rigolettos then. Nor is there now; and neither is this new(ish) addition likely to become a first or second choice, despite its fitness to join some half-dozen of the best in reserve. The performance is lively, distinguished in quality if not in kind, with vivid sound, and two principal singers whose appearance in their roles excites interest.
Chernov is probably the best Verdi baritone of recent years. His voice is rightly placed, of fine quality and produced with unflawed evenness though not remarkable for volume or penetrative power. Thus qualified, he sings Rigoletto’s music admirably, yet in some less easily definable way has not quite a Rigoletto voice. Perhaps it needs more reserves of power, perhaps more variety of colour. Still, it is possible that those, the colourings at least, would be forthcoming if there were a fuller, more detailed, concept of the great role’s possibilities. There is no need to bring Gobbi into it (or old records of Titta Ruffo in the part); but take two baritones in comparatively recent recordings, Nucci (with Chailly) and Cappuccilli (Giulini). Neither of these will be recalled as exceptional for expressiveness or subtlety, but in “Pari siamo”, for instance, both do more to make the developments of the monologue valid and actual. Almost any phrase would serve to illustrate, but take the last: “Ah no, e follia”. There is very little sense here of a sudden sweeping away of doubts; the other two get it, Chernov doesn’t.
If Cheryl Studer’s Gilda brings a surprise (and it is not a role one readily thinks of as hers), then it is an agreeable one. The voice-character has an apt blend of youth and maturity, she sings her “Caro nome” with dreamy affection, and the last scene is most moving. Pavarotti’s Duke is what it has always been as far as characterization is concerned, with perhaps a more emphatic nonchalance, and a delirious scarf-waving, goal-celebrating high D at the end of “Possente Amor”. He fits into the whole performance better than in the Chailly recording, but is best heard in the Bonynge of 1971. A sonorous Sparafucile, a rather severe-sounding Maddalena and an ear-catching (but too young) Monterone are well to the fore in support.
Coming out of the theatre at the end of such a performance, friends would greet each other with smiles and the assurance of its having been a good night out. Levine and his company could hardly fail to come up with an enjoyable Rigoletto, and we have had privileged seats, for the recorded sound is excellent. For something more, we could go back to Gobbi and Callas with Serafin in 1955, or to the patrician Giulini version of 1980. I did that, and in every respect, including Cappuccilli’s performance in the title-role, was rewarded with enhanced appreciation.'