So the Naxos Caruso 
                Edition has reached Caruso’s recordings 
                of 1919-20, rounding the disc off with 
                an appendix of Caruso-related tracks 
                and a final glance back to the beginning, 
                a 1902 ‘Studenti, udite’, Caruso’s first 
                recording for the Gramophone Company 
                Ltd. In the latter’s case, the surface 
                noise is made all the more obvious because 
                of the cleaner sides that precede it. 
                Yet it makes sense to include it here. 
                Interesting to have a track ‘about’ 
                Caruso, too - ‘My Cousin Caruso’ - here 
                sung/intoned/spoken and generally hammed 
                to bits by ‘vocalist’ (the best description, 
                possibly) Bill Murray. 
              
 
              
Hugh Griffiths gives 
                a detailed account of Caruso’s illnesses. 
                Caruso made his last recordings at the 
                age of 47; shortly thereafter he was 
                dead. A tragedy. Yet, his recorded output 
                is wide enough for us to enjoy him in 
                a varied repertoire, and we should be 
                ever grateful to Ward Marston for the 
                care he has exercised in his restorations 
                for this laudable project. 
              
 
              
The first track chosen, 
                Nina (Ciampi) is a remarkably 
                funereal way to open the disc; so much 
                so that the outpouring of melody that 
                in De Crescenzo’s Première 
                caresse is doubly welcome - just 
                the sort of thing Caruso was (rightly) 
                famous for. Caruso has the ability to 
                convince you as you listen that he really 
                is singing music of substance, even 
                when, objectively considered, that is 
                stretching belief. He sings the terribly 
                sad, Senza nisciuno as if he 
                is living every nuance. 
              
 
              
The aria from Gomes’ 
                Salvator Rosa was originally 
                for soprano (although you’d never guess 
                it, so strong is Caruso’s conviction). 
                In fairness it sounds very much, musically, 
                like the songs around it, being perhaps 
                a rung or two up the musicality ladder. 
                As seems to be Naxos’s habit, excerpts 
                from opera or liturgical works are strewn 
                among the popular songs, where they 
                either elevate proceedings or give contrast, 
                depending on one’s opinion. The Handel 
                excerpt (‘Ombra mai fu’) is very much 
                as one might expect - reverential, with 
                Mantovani-like strings in the background. 
                It would be very difficult indeed to 
                guess that this is Handel until the 
                famous orchestral introduction arrives 
                and even then, it is sickly-sweet. Yet 
                Caruso with his honeyed legato makes 
                all that seem irrelevant. Much more 
                impressive, though, is the famous Act 
                IV, ‘Rachel, quand du Seigneur’ from 
                La Juive (Halévy). Fully 
                expressive, Caruso utilises a deep, 
                full timbre to project the intense atmosphere. 
              
 
              
Meyerbeer is, of course, 
                sung in Italian (an excerpt from Act 
                III of ‘L’Africana’). Caruso’s sense 
                of line and pacing is magnificent - 
                a pity this is immediately juxtaposed 
                with some over-inflated, dirge-like 
                Lully. 
              
 
              
The liturgical excerpts 
                (from Rossini’s Petite Messe Solenelle) 
                contain a fair amount of passion (especially 
                at the words ‘Jesu Christe’), yet the 
                ‘Domine Deus’ does rather begin as if 
                it could issue forth from any park bandstand 
                you care to mention; the ‘Crucifixus’ 
                flows well, with nice legato from Caruso. 
              
 
              
The various songs are 
                given the full Caruso treatment - full 
                of suave phrasings or lively swaggers. 
                His upper register is full of tone, 
                his phrasing curved by a dance-like 
                lilt. 
              
 
              
An interesting issue, 
                then, if not one I shall reach for every 
                day. 
              
 
              
Colin Clarke 
                 
              
see 
                also review by Robert Farr