Just for the record, there’s about 45 minutes of music cut from this performance, which was recorded live in Rome in 1969 (possibly a concert performance–no stage noises are audible). This includes all of the ballet sequences and most other non-vocal moments (no, not the Royal Hunt and Storm). Georges Prêtre’s tempos can be wickedly fast, occasionally bending the score out of shape: the opening chorus is maniacal; the gorgeous, fourth-act love duet, which should define the word “languid”, sounds like a horserace (certainly not Berlioz’s intention!); and even the Cassandra/Corebus duet seems a bit quicker than needed to make its catastrophic point. Prêtre may have felt that an Italian audience would lose patience for Berlioz’s extremely long arc–but whatever he was thinking, every so often throughout this performance you get the terrible feeling that a train is leaving the station.
That having been said, the three most important roles are cast more strongly than anywhere else on disc. Marilyn Horne, though out of her fach, is a remarkable, dark-hued Cassandra, singing with an urgency that might never have been presumed from her Rossini/Handel roles. And rhythmically she’s right on, particularly at the tricky close of Act 2, where, incidentally, the women’s chorus sings itself proud. As Dido, Shirley Verrett occasionally overplays her hand. She can underline each phrase as if she were Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, and this somewhat undercuts the true rage and despair of her last act; but she sings the role more beautifully than anyone I’ve heard. Her warm, true mezzo (this was taped before she opted to become a soprano) ideally encompasses the notes and the character. As mentioned, the interpretation is a bit overwrought, but from her final duet with Aeneas to the opera’s end she burns the character and situation in the memory as no other Dido.
Nicolai Gedda’s Aeneas is better than you might expect. Since he is primarily a lyric tenor and Aeneas requires more heft (Vickers and Heppner have been the two most important Enée’s of the last 30 years), there was a chance that he’d be underpowered in the role. In fact his leaner, more focused tone, which actually sits in a more comfortable, higher spot than either Vickers’ or Heppner’s, is more apt; on stage he might have had to struggle too hard against the orchestra, but here he’s magnificent. His French is impeccable, he seems totally “in” the character, and the voice is even and glorious from top to bottom.
As Corebus, Robert Massard is the best and most sympathetic on CD. Giovanna Fioroni’s Anna is ungainly. Veriano Luchetti’s Iopas is too muscularly veristic and Carlo Gaifa’s lovely Hylus would be ideal if Prêtre hadn’t rushed him through his beautiful homesickness-tune in the fifth act. The other roles, taken by Italians one-and-all, are lacking in French style but are nonetheless well sung if just a bit too, well, Italian. The Rome forces play as if this were the only thing they were involved with during May of 1969, with the winds graceful and the brass ringing out. The sound (this must have been a broadcast) is excellent. Of course true Berliozians will stick with the complete versions under Colin Davis–but blasphemy or not, this set has given me more pleasure than either of his. [7/1/2003]
