On Feb 12, 12:22 pm, Andy Evans <
performanceandme...@gmail.com> wrote:
> I'd be interested (as a
> newcomer to this work) to know which recordings those of you familiar
> with the opera would rate as favourites.
> Andy Evans
I’ve heard my fair share of Otello recordings, including live or
studio recordings with Martinelli, Vinay, Del Monaco, Vickers,
Domingo, and Windgassen, including live or studio recordings with
Ettore Panizza, Toscanini, Furtwängler, Busch, Erede, Fausto Cleva,
Serafin, Karajan, Solti, Levine, Carlos Kleiber, Maazel, Muti, and
Chung, and the best CONDUCTED Otello I’ve ever heard is this one:
Giuseppe Verdi: Otello
Desdemona: Cesy Broggini
Otello: Carlos Guichandut
Cassio: Angelo Mercuriali
Iago: Giuseppe Taddei
Orchesttra della RAI di Torinp
Franco Capuana
Torino, 8 June 1955
This performance of Otello is an article of faith with me, a document
of everything I love about the best Italian performances of Italian
opera from before the bad old days when Abbado, Muti, and Levine came
along to whip the money lenders out of the temple.
Thanks to Capuana, I actually prefer this performance to the NBC SO
broadcast with Toscanini, good as it is. It’s brisk and strict in the
best Italian tradition—Capuana preserves the tempo of “Fuoco di gioia”
across Iago’s declamatory “Roderigo beviam” and into the pizzicato
motive in the violas that follows better than any conductor I’ve ever
heard: under Capuana, the new motive and the development it launches
lock into the larger structure of the overall continuum with a special
rightness—but it’s strict without being rigid. And Toscanini’s
performance does seem ever so slightly rigid by comparison.
Furthermore, Capuana’s performance exhibits other kinds of virtues
more amply than Toscanini’s.
In phrasing, Capuana is able to rely on an extraordinary range of
manners of articulation, and Verdi’s textures bloom under his
direction. Capuana elicits particularly brilliant work from his
string players, and there is no species of legato, spiccato, or
staccato articulation that doesn’t find its proper place somewhere in
this performance. There are so many wonderful examples that none
sticks out as exceptional, the opening temporale, for example,
including a whole inventory of them.
Here are a few examples of passages that Capuana’s players do to
perfection: the fortissimo run up the scale by the strings that
punctuates Otello’s “Abasso le spade,” which Verdi has marked both
staccato and sostenuto, and all of the punctuating interjections by
the strings in the passage that follows; the passage a dozen bars into
Act II where Verdi imitates the motivic development characteristic of
a Beethoven quartet, harnessing the distinction between legato and
staccato in articulation of his motives; and the sinister dry staccato
sixteenths at the beginning of Act III. On a larger scale, there’s
Capuana’s projection of the violin line shortly thereafter, at first
legato and crescendo (Act III from m. 13), then staccato and crescendo
(from m. 21), then fortissimo and legato (from m. 24), and, finally—at
twice the speed—fortissimo and staccato (from m. 26). The shaping of
the whole is beautifully done, Capuana’s subtle adjustments of tempo,
his projection of the dynamics, and the manner in which the string
players vary their articulations all playing a crucial part
—“instinctively” and without the least trace of self-consciousness.
Needless to say, the actual living breathing performance tradition
that Capuana and his players embody deserves more of the credit for
all of this than Capuana or any of his individual players. Capuana
can only succeed because he and his players are all on the same page,
and the successes they achieve together are not so much original with
them as original with the tradition. Capuana’s orchestra was never as
virtuosic an ensemble as the greatest orchestras of the period, and
there are a few instances of imperfect ensemble or poor intonation in
this performance, but the Orchestra della RAI di Torino was the best
of the Italian radio orchestras of the period, and its membership
imbibed Verdi’s style with mother’s milk. You simply will not find
the same variety in articulation or the vitality that results from
such an alert response to the writing in such smoothly polished studio
efforts as Karajan’s, Levine’s, or Chung’s.
Caveat lector. The voices of the Desdemona and the Otello are more
apt to deter some listeners than they do me. Guichandut can be
particularly hard to take. His voice is of approximately the right
size and weight for Otello, but his production is awkward, his actual
sound coarse, and he has an odd fast-ish vibrato (which is better than
an odd slow-ish vibrato). His technique is so poor that he more or
less has to force to get the sound out throughout much of his range.
That being said, he’s not entirely insensitive and more musicianly
than certain more famous Otello’s, including Signor Del Monaco: time
and again I’m gratified when following the score to see him projecting
Verdi’s notated pitches and rhythms rather faithfully, although his
intentions are often undermined by his poor technique. Guichandut is
also prone to the occasional excessive provincialism for expressive
effect, an occupational hazard of the Italian tenor, but—if he had the
greatest voice in the world—people would be wildly ecstatic about his
performance, and rightly so.
Cesy Broggini has the odd brittle timbre characteristic of so many of
those mid-century Italian sopranos whom nobody would ever have heard
of outside of Italy if it weren’t for Cetra, but she’s a not
unaffecting Desdemona. It goes without saying that Taddei is a superb
Iago. Angelo Mercuriali is a wonderful Cassio.
Although listenable, the sound is not great, even for 1955. Making
matters worse, some of the CD reissues have been heavily over
filtered. Pick up either of these releases on Warner Fonit, which
feature the same rather good remasterings:
Warner Fonit 8573 82653-2
http://tinyurl.com/3dgpq4
Warner Fonit 5051011-2205-2-4
http://tinyurl.com/2wvwmw
-david gable