The catalogue contains quite a number of performances of Verdi’s Requiem 
            conducted by Toscanini. There is, for example, a live 1938 performance, 
            also from New York, which was reviewed 
            for MusicWeb International by Jonathan Woolf. That performance, which 
            I’ve not heard, used three of the soloists who feature here, the exception 
            being that Charles Kullman was the tenor in 1938. There’s another 
            1938 performance, given just a few weeks later than the one reviewed 
            by Jonathan, but this time with BBC forces in London’s Queen’s Hall 
            (Testament SBT2-1362). For that performance Milanov and Moscona were 
            once again on duty while Kerstin Thorborg and Helge Rosvaenge took 
            the mezzo and tenor parts.
             
            It’s worth pointing out at the outset, that Music & Arts have 
            issued these performances before, firstly as CD-240 (1986) in a restoration 
            by Maggi Payne and secondly as CD-4240 (2003) in a restoration by 
            Graham Newton. This latest incarnation offers a brand-new (2012) restoration 
            by Kit Higginson. I’m slightly mystified as to why Music & Arts 
            have chosen to place the Te Deum at the end of the second 
            disc when Harvey Sachs makes it clear in his informative notes that 
            the concert began with the Te Deum. It would have been perfectly 
            possible to arrange the CDs in the same order. One other slight disappointment 
            is that each movement of the Requiem is presented as a single track 
            whereas many recordings of the work, including the Testament issue 
            of the 1938 London concert, split the longer movements into more than 
            one track.
             
            This 1940 reading of the Requiem is a very fine one indeed even though 
            there are a number of blemishes of tuning and ensemble such as often 
            happen in the white heat of live performance. Harvey Sachs notes the 
            most significant examples in the booklet. One of these involves Jussi 
            Björling who, in the ‘Lux aeterna’, doesn’t hold a top G flat for 
            long enough (7:38). As a result his next entry is early and he has 
            to stop singing for a bar of two to regain his place. To be honest, 
            however, one would have to be following with a score or know the work 
            extremely well to spot this and it’s equally true of the other small 
            errors to which Mr Sachs very honestly points that they don’t mar 
            one’s enjoyment of a remarkable performance.
             
            I’ve mentioned Björling early on because his presence is one advantage 
            – perhaps the most compelling advantage - that this 1940 account enjoys 
            over the 1938 London performance. In his notes for the Testament issue 
            Harvey Sachs refers, rightly, to the “seemingly effortless lyricism” 
            of Björling in 1940. Fine artist though he is, Rosvaenge isn’t in 
            Björling’s class in this repertoire; he can’t, for example, float 
            the ‘Hostias’ as beautifully. The ‘Ingemisco’ is pretty special in 
            Björling’s hands too.
             
            Zinka Milanov sings in both performances and though she does well 
            in 1940 – she and Björling are the pick of the 1940 soloists – I think 
            she’s even better in 1938. She seems more relaxed and in command there. 
            As Harvey Sachs fairly points out, she seems under increasing strain 
            during the ‘Libera me’, especially in the last stretch of the unaccompanied 
            passage with the chorus, leading up to the top B flat. To be honest, 
            at that point she runs out of steam in this New York performance and 
            the final note is neither hit truly nor sustained properly. Hear her 
            in 1938 to experience what she could really do. Also common to both 
            performances is Nicola Moscona. I fear that I don’t care for his 1940 
            performance very much at all. All too often he sounds blustery and 
            I don’t feel that he sings with sufficient good taste. He sounds lachrymose 
            in the ‘Lacrymosa’ section of the Dies Irae – as does Bruna Castagna 
            – and he’s also rather lugubrious in the ‘Domine Jesu Christe’ movement. 
            To my ears he’s on much better form in the 1938 London performance 
            where he provides a solid foundation to the solo quartet. Perhaps 
            it helps that he’s recorded less closely in that performance as compared 
            with 1940.
             
            I’m sorry to say that I’m not too enamoured with Bruna Castagna either. 
            Frequently her tone seems to have an edge to it for which I don’t 
            really care, especially in her lower register. In the ‘Recordare’ 
            she “emotes” rather too much and some of her vowel sounds are odd. 
            In the ‘Liber scriptus’ she takes more breaths than I would have expected 
            from an artiste of her stature and as a result the line is chopped 
            up.
             
            Even if the soloists don’t always give unalloyed pleasure they also 
            do many things very well. The contributions of the choir and orchestra 
            are very strong indeed. One has the very definite impression that 
            in both the 1938 London performance and this present one the musicians 
            were galvanised into giving their all. The playing of the NBC Symphony 
            Orchestra is alert and full-blooded. The Westminster Choir also does 
            very well. In the Kyrie they give notice that they’re going 
            to sing responsively for the Maestro and passages such as the ‘Tuba 
            mirum’ are very exciting. The ‘Rex tremendae’ is imposing and impassioned. 
            The choir also delivers the Sanctus very well; the music 
            is made to sound jubilant.
             
            Toscanini’s direction is clearly inspiring. Harvey Sachs rightly draws 
            attention to the flexibility of the reading. I continue to find Carlo 
            Maria Giulini a preferable guide to this work simply because he brings 
            out even more of the reflective side than Toscanini does while not 
            underplaying the dramatic elements. However, Toscanini’s interpretations 
            of the score are always deeply impressive and this is one of the very 
            finest to have come my way. You can tell that every bar, every phrase 
            has been deeply considered. More than that, however, the flexibility 
            of what we hear shows this to be a reading that is felt on the day 
            by the conductor, who shapes the performance from moment to moment 
            as the music unfolds.
             
            Inevitably the sound has its limitations but I found that one soon 
            forgets one is listening to a “vintage” recording, which is in itself 
            a tribute to the quality of the account and the electricity of the 
            interpretation. Some things are managed extremely well by the engineers, 
            not least the distant trumpets in the ‘Tuba mirum’, and overall the 
            sound is pretty amazing for its age. I’d say that this recording has 
            the edge, sonically, over the 1938 London performance though that’s 
            pretty remarkable also. As I haven’t heard this 1940 in its previous 
            iterations I can’t say whether Kit Higginson’s remastering surpasses 
            the efforts of his predecessors but he’s done a very fine job and 
            one can only presume that Music & Arts consider that this latest 
            transfer represents a further advance.
             
            I was rather disconcerted by the start of the Te Deum. Toscanini gets 
            his basses and tenors to sing the opening lines of chant loudly and 
            in what I can only call a lusty fashion. He does the same thing in 
            his 1954 live recording, also made in Carnegie Hall, but there the 
            men of the Robert Shaw Chorale are a bit more refined (review). 
            I grant that there is no dynamic indication in the vocal score but 
            the performances which I’ve heard and in which I’ve taken part have 
            almost invariably begun softly and with an air of mystery - I prefer 
            that. Toscanini’s way does somewhat compromise the impact of the blazing 
            ff cry of ‘Sanctus’ a few moments later. Once we’re past 
            the opening, however, it’s a very good performance. What I always 
            think of as the wall of sound – long before Phil Spector! – at ‘Salvum 
            fac populum tuum, Domine’ (9:13) is fervent and there’s fervour of 
            a very different, subdued nature at ‘Dignare, Domine’ (11:14); indeed, 
            from here to the very end the performance is marvellously controlled 
            and is delivered with great conviction. I had the impression, perhaps 
            wrongly, that the great climaxes were slightly overloaded in this 
            work but overall the recorded sound is still pretty remarkable.
             
            Some collectors are allergic to applause after live recordings so 
            I should point out that there is applause after both works. This scarcely 
            constitutes a reason for passing up this set which contains what are 
            by any standards two remarkable Verdi interpretations. It’s certainly 
            a set that all Toscanini devotees will want to possess though I’d 
            argue that its appeal is wider: to all who relish great conducting.
             
            John Quinn
          see also review 
            by Paul C Godfrey