When is an opera not
an opera? Or a symphony not a symphony?
Or rather, how much cutting is permissible
before purchasers have a right to be
told? Going to one extreme, if a collector
buys a CD of a Beethoven symphony and
finds that at least one repeat is missing
(without any acknowledgement of the
fact on the front or back cover), could
he quote the Trades Description Act
and claim damages because what he has
been sold is not, strictly, the Beethoven
symphony as the composer wrote it?
Probably nobody knows
the answer to this, and it is unlikely
that anybody ever will have the time
or money to call a test case which,
even if he won it, would provide him
with little but private satisfaction.
What damages could the Judge award beyond
ordering the manufacturer to reimburse
the price of the record? (Though if
you are a young mezzo preparing your
first Marcellina and you buy a recording
of Le nozze di Figaro as a study
aid, only to find that Marcellina’s
aria and some of her other music is
omitted, then the damage is surely considerable;
no version before Erich Kleiber’s
included that aria, while those that
followed until about the mid-1970s were
as likely as not to cut it). Furthermore,
if the Judge were in a beastly mood
and felt the whole thing a footling
waste of his time, he might cite Ruskin
v. Whistler and have the Plaintiff,
rather than the Defendant, pay costs.
And then, our brave
pleader might not even win his case.
The other side might argue that discs
are not just records of music, they
are records of performances of music
and if you hear a Beethoven symphony
at a concert a full clutch of repeats
is by no means guaranteed, while provincial
performances of Figaro are still
today unlikely to include Marcellina’s
aria; and in neither case do the organizers
feel bound to announce an "abridged"
performance.
So the Cetra "Barbiere"
which I recently reviewed (also with
Simionato), while savagely cut, reflects
the standard theatrical practice of
its day – and the live Met version on
Guild (which I also reviewed not long
ago) proves as much. But when we come
to a "Cenerentola" which lasts
about half the normal length, which
leaps from the overture straight into
"Una volta c’era il re", omitting
all the opening ensembles, which omits
all recitatives, in which just
one of the many cuts amounts to 50 pages
of the vocal score and in which the
pieces left are hacked about mercilessly,
it has to be said that no opera house
would ever have gone that far – the
story-line is completely lost, for a
start. So at this point I feel that
the listener has a right to know that
he is getting highlights, in order to
weigh the pros and cons of purchase
against other highlights discs
rather than complete sets (I have added
the word "highlights" to the
title information above on my own initiative).
Having got this grumble
out of the way, of course true operatic
buffs (who will realize from the timing
that the opera is far from complete)
will happily disregard all this if they
are to get a glimpse of some classic
performances not otherwise preserved
at all. I am not sure that this is really
so.
If there is a performance
here for collectors it is presumably
that of Cesare Valletti, a well-schooled
and stylish tenore di grazia.
I found nothing particularly memorable
in his assumption but it was pleasurable
to hear.
Saturno Meletti appeared
in quite a number of distinguished opera
sets over the years; he goes all out
for characterization. Rather like some
of the singers in the Met "Barbiere",
his bravura arias are great on the words
but adopt a kind of Sprechstimme
in which he sings any notes he feels
like rather than those written. Some
might find this a worthy memento of
a tradition which (thankfully) survives
today in Broadway musicals rather than
the opera house, and one which, if its
roots go back as far as Rossini’s own
days, maybe explains why Rossini gave
up composing operas.
The importance of Giulietta
Simionato’s Cenerentola is lessened
by the fact that she recorded the role
complete for Decca about ten years later
– a boisterous set recorded in Florence
under the veteran De Fabritiis which
has always held up its head well against
the classic Glyndebourne recording directed
by Vittorio Gui (EMI). That said, she
is in better form, and more suited to
her role, than in the Cetra "Barbiere".
Her coloratura is pingingly accurate
and in pianos and mezzo fortes her rich
but vibrant tones may coincide with
most people’s ideas of a Rossinian mezzo-soprano.
In her fortes, however, she is too regal
in her ample Verdian tone, too peremptory
of utterance. Those who disagree will
obviously want the later recording.
Cristiano Dalamangas
is another of Cetra’s seemingly inexhaustible
stock of singers who crop up for a recording
or two, seem to know their business
and then lapse into obscurity. The remaining
parts have too little of their music
left to call for comment, though Miti
Truccato Pace will be a familiar name
to connoisseurs of Italian records of
those days. The recording has a fine
conductor in Mario Rossi. Like Previtali
in the companion "Barbiere"
he anticipates Abbado in concentrating
on the musical values of the score,
but he is more imaginative and vital
than Previtali, whipping some of the
later ensembles into a finely-controlled
frenzy which has the feeling of a live
performance to it. The sound is quite
reasonable for the date, but if highlights
of this opera are enough for you, then
surely the recent Apex selection with
Jennifer Larmore would be a better buy.
There is no libretto
but a full synopsis of the opera is
provided by a commentator who was evidently
not told that the recording was not
complete, so if you try to follow the
discs with this you’ll have a puzzle
on your hands. Notes on the singers
would have been welcome.
Christopher Howell
Orchestra Sinfonica e Coro di Torino della RAI/Mario
Rossi 
