Magda Olivero suffered 
                a crushing verdict at her audition by 
                Ugo Tansini in Turin; "the girl 
                has neither a voice, nor musicality, 
                nor personality. She has nothing." 
                Either Tansini was having a bad day 
                or Olivero’s subsequent teacher Luigi 
                Gerussi did something astonishing with 
                her, other than insisting she "sustain, 
                sustain!" The results, as this disc 
                demonstrate, show her to have been a 
                consistently impressive musician whose 
                sole complete commercial recording, 
                of Turandot in 1938, surely deserved 
                to be augmented. Partly this may have 
                had to do with a premature retirement 
                in 1941 but it doesn’t explain why, 
                a decade later on her return to increasingly 
                wide appreciation, she wasn’t taken 
                into the recording studios with at least 
                some degree of frequency. 
              
 
              
Olivero was born near 
                Turin in 1910; she became better known 
                in the 1950s constantly adding roles 
                to her repertoire and making her New 
                York Met debut as late as 1975, and 
                giving her last stage performance (Poulenc) 
                in 1981, at the age of seventy-one. 
                She contained to give recitals however. 
                What one hears in these discs, made 
                between 1939 and 1953 and all for Cetra, 
                is a very individual voice with a most 
                unusual, though not always evident, 
                fluttery vibrato. Her Boito illustrates 
                it well – an insistent, tightly controlled 
                and dramatic approach in which the flutter 
                distracts but doesn’t destroy the expressive 
                component. In her Cilea we find equal 
                amounts of power and characterisation 
                – she’s a really strong personality, 
                dramatic and seemingly unconcerned by 
                studio limitations – as well as a real 
                ability to convey power but in a properly 
                (vocally, theatrically) controlled way. 
                It’s a fine line and she has the measure 
                of it. 
              
 
              
Her Tosca is sensitive, 
                elegant, and technically impressive 
                and her Mimi surely gives the lie to 
                the earlier aspersions as to her musicality; 
                she colours consonants supremely well 
                and she abjures pile-driving theatrics 
                in favour of a tremendous refinement. 
                In Suor Angelica we can hear the intrusive 
                flutter once more, but one should note 
                that, for all its idiosyncrasy, her 
                sound is essentially chaste. Her Alfano 
                has real declamatory power and her French 
                repertoire sees the vibrato put to devilishly 
                charming effect. One of the surest examples 
                of her effortless way with floating 
                the voice is her Catalini Loreley of 
                1953 – tremendous. 
              
 
              
Throughout the accompaniments 
                are accomplished, not least from one 
                Ugo Tansini who had clearly repented 
                of his earlier judgement enough to conduct 
                the Turin radio orchestra for her in 
                1939 and 1940. One hopes he felt thoroughly 
                chastened. Transfers are good from clean 
                and clear sounding Cetra originals, 
                the biographical note is packed with 
                detail, and this is another in Preiser’s 
                long line of enviably successful single 
                artist discs. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf