The first half of the
year 1813 became the turning point in
Rossini’s career. He wrote four operas,
two of which were failures, but the
other two had resounding success and
at once established Rossini as the foremost
opera composer in Italy. In February
the opera seria Tancredi was
performed in Venice and in May L’Italiana
in Algeri (The Italian Girl in
Algiers) was premiered, also in
Venice. According to Rossini himself
he wrote it in 18 days. It is highly
regarded as one of the finest examples
of traditional opera buffa but it is
not performed as frequently as The Barber
of Seville and Cinderella, and it is
one of my sorrows that, although I have
loved the music for nearly forty years
I have never had the good fortune to
catch a performance of it. I’m still
hoping though.
My main point of reference
for this review has been a 40-year-old
Decca recording, conducted by Silvio
Varviso, with Teresa Berganza taking
the pert of the Italian girl and with
a supporting cast boasting some of the
most renowned and experienced Rossinians
of the day: Luigi Alva, Fernando Corena,
Rolando Panerai, Paolo Montarsolo.
The plot: Mustafà,
Bey of Algiers, has grown tired of his
wife Elvira, who always complains, and
tries to get her married to his Italian
slave, Lindoro, but he only wants to
marry someone he really loves. Isabella,
who is searching all over the world
for her lost fiancé (Lindoro
of course) is ship-wrecked, taken prisoner
and brought to the Bey’s palace. Mustafà
has always wanted an Italian wife and
thinks that his problem has come to
an end. In act II Isabella and Lindoro
are planning to run away together with
the other Italian prisoners. Isabella
says to Mustafà that she wants
to test him before discussing a marriage:
he has to be able to sleep very heavily.
After an unsuccessful attempt he manages
to fall into a very deep sleep and the
Italians can sail away. When he wakes
up he realises that he has been fooled
and returns to his old Elvira. As a
story it is no better or no worse than
literally hundreds of other buffa operas
through the years, but the music belongs
to the most inspired Rossini ever wrote
and many of the set pieces here could
be compared to the best ones in The
Barber or Cinderella.
This highlights disc,
culled from a complete Erato recording
of 25 years ago, plays for nearly 73
minutes and will give you a very good
idea of the quality of the score. As
can be seen from the cast list the singers
are quite comparable to the Rossinians
on the Varviso recording.
The conductor, Claudio
Scimone, is an old hand at Rossini,
having recorded quite a few complete
sets, among them a couple in the Philips
cycle from about 25 years ago. There
is vitality in the overture and he knows
how to build a Rossinian crescendo.
The first of the characters
we meet on this disc is Lindoro, who
sings Languir per una bella,
a lovely aria with a beautiful French
horn solo as an introduction. I must
say, though, that it sounds a bit murky
here, compared to Varviso’s soloist
on the Decca set. The tenor, Ernesto
Palacio, was one of the best in the
wake of Luigi Alva, who was the reigning
Rossini tenor for more than 25 years.
The voices are not dissimilar in character:
lean, bright and when singing over mezzo-forte
they can both adopt a penetrating quality
that can be ingratiating. But they can
also sing softly which Palacio does
to good effect when he repeats the aria’s
first stanza. Better than either is
Raúl Giménez, whose Rossini
recital on Nimbus should be compulsory
listening to anyone interested in bel
canto. He caresses every phrase, he
sings the repeat of the aria almost
whispering and his voice is the most
flexible of instruments. It’s a pity
Giménez wasn’t recorded more
often. Today we have of course Juan
Diego Florez, but also Juan José
Lopera, another Latin American tenor,
who Bill Kenny praised in his review
(see Seen and Heard) of the Finnish
National Opera’s Cenerentola in December
2004. I saw the opera a week or so before
Bill and was equally impressed by Lopera.
The Italian Girl is
sung with great aplomb by Marilyn Horne.
Her first aria, Cruda sorte,
which definitely is one of the best
mezzo-arias Rossini – or anyone else
– wrote, is a perfect vehicle for Horne,
who in 1980 was in formidable form.
Her technical assurance is of course
legendary, but she is also a master
(mistress?) of colouring the voice,
purring like a cat, teasing, seducing.
Maybe she resorts too often to that
hefty chest voice, so typical for her;
on the other hand Isabella is a girl
who knows what she wants, and Horne’s
pearling laughter in the duet with Mustafà
is alone worth the price of the disc.
Berganza on the Varviso recording is
just as accomplished, but makes Isabella
a more genial character. Both interpretations
are valid. By the way, is it only my
equipment that catches some distortion
in fortissimo passages in the Horne
recording?
Enter Mustafà.
Scimone’s Bey of Algiers is Samuel Ramey,
the most fantastic bass during the last
25 years or so. His technique is formidable,
he can sing any roulades, any runs,
to perfection. His voice is beautiful,
powerful, steady. No wonder he is the
most recorded bass in history. What
has always been a drawback is a certain
sameness in his singing. Most characters
sound alike. Still he is unexpectedly
expressive and colours his voice in
this recording. But compared to Fernando
Corena on the Varviso set, he is much
too straight-faced. Corena’s larger-than-life
interpretation can border on caricature
and he isn’t very subtle in his phrasing,
but he has "face" and Ramey
hides his behind a mask, however thin.
But wallowing in the sheer beauty of
Ramey’s singing is a pleasure in itself
and not to be missed.
The fourth main protagonist
in these excerpts is the chorus, and
whether they are pirates or Turks or
Italian slaves these Prague singers
do a good job. As to the rest the young
Kathleen Battle, as Mustafàs
wife, can be heard briefly in the act
I finale, where her crystal clear soprano
soars above the rest of the ensemble,
and Domenico Trimarchi, a well-versed
buffo, acts convincingly as Taddeo.
Still I found more personality in Panerai
on the Varviso set, possibly because
his voice is so much more immediately
recognizable.
This opera is, as I
have already said, filled with delicious
music and, returning to the protagonist,
Isabella, once more: listen to her act
II aria, Per lui che adoro, with
that ravishing orchestral introduction
with plucked strings and a flute weaving
a lovely cantilena between and around
the plucked chords. And listen also
to Marilyn Horne’s handling of the text,
and the music, in the repeat of the
aria. Absolutely enchanting!
There is, as usual
with these Apex highlights, a short
synopsis in the booklet but no cues
to the tracks. In this case it doesn’t
matter much. You can enjoy the music
without knowing exactly what happens,
and I urge anyone who doesn’t know this
opera to snap up this disc before it
disappears again. The buy-before dates
tend to come ever closer to release-dates.
Those who already know the opera will
need no urging from me. But I do hope
that Decca will restore the Varviso
recording to circulation before long.
Göran Forsling
Prague Philharmonic Chorus 
