Record Reviews

Monteverdi: L’lncoronazione di Poppea

L’ Incoronazione di Poppea wasn’t the first opera ever written; it wasn’t even the first opera ever written by Monteverdi. But it is old enough (1642) to pass for a work of musical antiquity, and one which seems all the more surprising, then, in its general feeling of vitality and directness. The version of Poppea recorded here is based upon a stage presentation at the Glyndebourne Festival in England. It has been edited by Raymond Leppard, and is abridged, so it may not be a version for purists or perfectionists. But it makes for a powerful drama of human beings caught up in love and intrigue that seems curiously modern in its motivations and complexities. Although Id Incoronazione deals with such figures as Nero and Poppea, Hollywood could never accept its plot, for Monteverdi’s librettist was content to let vice stand rewarded and virtue go unrequited. Furthermore, the composer gave Poppea and Nero love music so ravishing in its beauty as to melt the heart of even the sternist moralist. Who could resist the appeal of her seductively reiterated “Tornerai?” (“You will return?”) as Nero tries to tear himself away to pursue his nefarious schemes? But musically as well as morally the noblest Roman of them all is the philosopher Seneca, compelled by Nero to kill himself for his opposition to the emperor. Seneca’s Socratic death scene is the musical high point of the opera, with Carlo Cava’s magnificently dark bass voice bidding a dignified but deeply moving farewell to life against the background of his disciples’ anguished cries. The other singers, too, are well equipped for their roles; the result is a revelation of the strength and beauty an ancient score can hold for modern ears.

Nicanor Zabaleta, Harpist

Bach: Suite for Harp after Partita No. 3 in E-flat for Unaccompanied Violin; Corelli: Sonata in D Minor after Violin Sonata, Opus 5, No. 7: Spohr: Variations for Harp, Opus 36; Albeniz; Malaguena, from “España” Suite for Piano; and others; Deutsche Grammophon 138890 (stereo) and 18890 That this record is entitled with the name of the performer rather than the composers illustrates the plight faced by the serious harpist — the harp has had very little great solo music written for it. In such a dilemma, the performer does what many composers through history have not been above doing: he borrows. No one is more assiduous than the Spanish harpist Nicanor Zabaleta in his efforts to adapt music for the harp, to find neglected works by old composers, and to encourage modern composers to write new ones. This record represents for the most part works borrowed from the violin and the piano, although the Spohr Variations and Gabriel Fauré’s “Une châtelaine en sa tour” (a little tone painting based on a poem by Paul Verlaine) are original harp works. Perhaps the most spectacular transcription on the record, and certainly the longest, is Bach’s Partita in E-flat for Unaccompanied Violin. There is extant an old manuscript of this work re-arranged for harp which some attribute to Bach himself; however authentic it may or may not be, Mr. Zabaleta makes the work seem thoroughly at home on his expressive instrument.

Stravinsky: The Rake’s Progress

Igor Stravinsky conducting Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and Sadler’s Wells Opera Chorus, with Judith Raskin, soprano; Regina Sarfaty, mezzo-soprano; Alexander Young, tenor; and John Reardon, baritone; Columbia M3S-7I0 (stereo) and M3L-3I0: three records The best proof that Igor Stravinsky did not like the old recording of The Rake’s Progress, with a Metropolitan Opera cast, is that he has caused this new one to be made. And in its crispness of singing line, its bright orchestral texture, and its general feeling of musical graciousness it is decidedly superior to the earlier version. All one misses from the old set is the rich baritone of the late Mack Harrell, who made the Mephistophelian Nick Shadow such a memorable character. And how does the opera itself stand up after nearly fourteen years? The answer is, very well — in fact, considering how the Rake has been quietly shelved by some of the opera houses that were so avid to perform it after its completion in 1951, one is tempted to say that it has stood up surprisingly well. Certainly in this recording Stravinsky’s score is easy to listen to, filled as it is with lovely sounds, subtle touches, and inventive departures. Much of it, especially during the first half, seems like Mozart modernized, and modernized with such skill as to make one think Stravinsky could compose convincingly in any style he desired. One could wish, perhaps, for more sharply differentiated musical characters; and the scenes concerning the bearded lady, Baba the Turk, are musically rather unsubstantial. But the overall impression is that of a modern masterpiece which is one of Stravinsky’s prime achievements.

Scbubert: Songs

Hugues Cuétiod, tenor; David Garvey, pianist; Cambridge CRS-1703 (stereo) and 703

Hugues Cuénod, is a singer of rare taste, finesse, and discernment, even if of no great vocal power. In this artfully selected program of eighteen lieder he displays his ability to convey to the listener the inner sentiment as well as the outer shape of a song. Some of the numbers selected are familiar, many are rare, all are choice. It is hard to imagine songs like the bittersweet “Im FrÜhling” or the caressing “Der liebliche Stern” sung more exquisitely. David Garvey’s accompaniments are graceful without being weak. Texts and translations are included on the jacket, but in type so tiny that 20-20 vision is almost a prerequisite for following the singer.

Verdi: Arias From Ten Operas

Richard Tucker, tenor, with Vienna State Opera Orchestra conducted by Nello Santi; Columbia MS-6668 (stereo) and ML-6068

Richard Tucker is currently celebrating his twentieth year with the Metropolitan Opera, where he has sung most of the great, and not-sogreat, Italian tenor roles in the repertory. So dependable a craftsman and willing a performer he is that at times there is almost a tendency to take him for granted — as if singing of such power, brilliance, and musicianship were the stuff of everyday operatic life. It’s unfortunate that so many of his recordings take the form of collections of arias rather than complete works. Nevertheless, a collection such as this demonstrates that Tucker has a sense of musical adventurousness to go along with his natural vocal endowments. The familiar arias from Aida, Trovatore, and Rigoletto are here. But so are “Non maledirmi, o prode” from I Due Foscari, “Giorno di pianto” from I Vespri Siciliani, and “La mia letigia infondere” from I Lombardi. After repertory of this sort, arias from Luisa Miller and Simon Boccanegra come almost as familiar friends. Most of these arias will inevitably seem curiosities, but a singer of Tucker’s ability imbues them with character. One hopes that with two decades behind him at the Met he is still looking for new roles to conquer, and new recordings to complete.

Eddie Cantor — Original Recordings

Eddie Cantor, with Henri René and his orchestra and the Bill Thompson Singers; RCA Camden CAS-870 (stereo) and CAL-870

Anyone can tell the era when Eddie Cantor flourished merely by consulting the vintage of such songs as “Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me,” “Margie,” “Baby Face,” and “Ain’t She Sweet.” Obviously these songs weren’t written yesterday. And no one ever sang them with as much bounciness and charm as Eddie Cantor, who died last October, aged seventy-two. Sentimentality was nothing to be feared when Cantor sang; even his spoken interlude to his wife in “Ida, Sweet As Apple Cider” managed to be affectionate without becoming sticky. All the songs cited so far are included in this recorded tribute, along with that supreme and wryly lugubrious Cantor specialty “Makin’ Whoopee,” plus half a dozen others. The reproduction of these old recordings, whether in monaural or pseudostereo, is excellent. In more ways than one, these songs never sounded better.

Byron: Don Juan, Cantos I and II (excerpts)

Richard Johnson, Peggy Ashcroft, and Janette Richer, readers; Argo RG-374 (monaural)

Even the long-playing record recoils from Byron’s mock-heroic poem Don Juan, with its 16 cantos and its 200-odd pages of closely printed verses. But the Argo Record Company of England, whose product is distributed in this country by London, has made an intelligent sampling of Don Juan by selecting portions of the first two cantos and turning them over to Richard Johnson (assisted by Peggy Ashcroft and Janette Richer) to read. Mr. Johnson recounts with relish the Byronic hero’s adventures with young women both experienced and innocent; the intricacy of the verses and the imaginativeness of the rhymes contribute to the piquancy of the story. This delightful record is part of a series on the English poets from Chaucer to Yeats, put out by Argo in conjunction with the British Council and Oxford University Press, which eventually will comprise some sixty LPs.

“Who Can I Turn To?” and Other Soups From The Roar of the Greasepaint — The Smell of the Crowd

Anthony Newley, singer, with an orchestra conducted by Peter Knight; RCA Victor LSP-3347 (stereo) and LPM3347

The Roar of the Greasepaint, like Stop the World — I Want to Get Off, is a creation of the team of Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse. Like the earlier show, it migrated from the London stage to Broadway, and it has a similar sharpness of outlook and deftness of touch. In this album, Mr. Newley sings twelve songs from his score. One of these achieved hit status well in advance of the arrival of the show. “Who Can I Turn To” may make a grammarian wince (like a grammarian should), but it is a catchy and engaging sort of ballad whose plaintiveness need not be believed to be enjoyed. “The Beautiful Land” has a nice folkish air about it, and most of the other songs have a distinctive musical flair. Obviously the entire score isn’t intended to be sung by one man, but if one is entitled to try, surely it is Mr. Newley. His enthusiasm and affection for his own songs are contagious, and his Cockney accent adds a special flavor.