This is the final volume
in Ward Marston’s re-masterings of Caruso’s
Victor recordings. It covers the sessions
on September 16th 1920, just
fourteen weeks before his final stage
appearance on Christmas Eve of that
year. As I noted in my review
of Volume 10 in this series, by about
1915 Caruso had recorded all the main
arias from the roles in his stage repertoire.
He and The Victor Record Company sought
other items that suited his voice and
which would generate sales. Firm favourites
in this respect were Neapolitan songs
from a host of relatively minor composers
but which were easy on the ear and popular.
What these songs illustrate on this
disc is the baritonal quality that the
tenor’s voice had acquired by 1919.
However, like Domingo in our time, who
recorded a light-toned Nemorino in ‘L’Elisir
d’amore’ whilst Otello was in his repertoire,
Caruso could also still lighten his
tone. This ability is evident in listening
to the songs by De Curtis and Bracco
(trs. 3 and 5) either side of ‘Mia picarella’
from Gomes’ ‘Salvator Rosa’ which is
a soprano aria transposed down by a
ninth for the tenor. It is also germane
to remember that in December 1920 Caruso
also sang Nemorino as well as the distinctly
heavier, more heroic, roles of Samson
and Eleazer from ‘La Juive’. Indeed,
it was during a performance of Samson
in early December that Caruso was hit
above the kidney by a falling pillar.
A week later he sang the whole of Act
I of ‘L’Elisir’ whilst wiping blood
from his mouth and the performance had
to be abandoned. His final stage appearance
was in ‘La Juive’ and his heroic firmness
and baritonal hue is heard here (tr.
10) as is his ability for expression
and characterisation.
Elsewhere on this disc
Caruso’s acquired capacity in languages
is evident with tracks sung in French,
(trs. 2, 10 and 14), in English, (trs.
7 and 15), in Spanish (tr. 9) and in
Latin (trs 16-17). In stylistic terms
both the Handel (tr. 8) and Lully (tr.
14) are completely different to what
we now understand and expect in this
genre. Caruso sounds particularly lugubrious
in the opening recitative of ‘Ombra
mai fu’ but floats a lovely ‘mezza voce’
at the start of the aria proper whilst
by 2:28 it could be the baritone De
Luca singing, such is the vocal timbre.
The appendix includes (tr. 20) a repeat
of Franchetti’s ‘Studente udite’, Caruso’s
first recording. It is included here
because, as the producer notes, ‘It
happened that some months after the
release of volume 1 in this series,
a mint first stamper pressing came to
light. I decided then to share it with
you, here at the end of our journey
with this most colossal of tenors’.
This journey with the
tenor ‘who made the gramophone and was
made by the gramophone’, has been marked
by the distinction of Caruso’s singing
and also Ward Marston’s re-masterings.
We can but conjecture as to what future
technological developments will emerge
as to allow the drawing of even greater
detail from the original 78s. However,
we can hope that an engineer and artist,
for it is a subtle combination of science
and art, of the calibre of Marston is
around to take advantage. In respect
of the final years of Caruso’s life,
enthusiasts should also listen to the
narrative on CD 4 of ‘Enrico
Caruso. A Life in words and music’
written and narrated by David Timson
and which deals with those years and
the injury that contributed to the singer’s
tragically premature death at the age
of 49.
Robert J Farr