The most interesting–and significant–aspect of this release is the (re)discovery of soprano Florence (referred to at the time as “Fiorenza”) Quartararo. The California-born soprano sang at the Met for only four seasons–37 times in nine roles–and made a few commercial recordings, then dropped out of sight. In fact, she married the bass Italo Tajo, who believed “one singer in the family was enough.” Bruno Walter and Arturo Toscanini greatly admired her. She died in 1994 at age 72. Most of the arias and scenes on this CD were recorded live. The voice is a stunning, good-sized, burnished soprano, dark in hue (not unlike Ponselle’s, just to offer a signpost), with a full, rich top, almost a real trill, agility (as witnessed in the cabaletta from the first act of Trovatore), and a fast vibrato that adds intensity. She inflects well and has ideas of her own and plenty of temperament. Very occasionally she’ll begin a phrase just under pitch, but she corrects it immediately.
Her “Care selve” from Handel’s Atalanta is lovely, the first-act Tosca duet with Vinay is colorful and vivid, and her “Les filles de Cadix” is sparkly and unexaggerated. In the “Taci, ingiusto core” trio from Don Giovanni (with Pinza and Baccaloni from The Standard Hour in 1947), her Elvira is beautifully sung if a bit undercharacterized. An odd excerpt from the Otello “Love Duet” finds her lovely alongside the very light, not-right tenor of Joseph Laderout (whoever he is), who pronounces “bacio” in three syllables and sometimes sings truly flat. Quartararo’s urgent, vibrato-filled “Mirror” aria from Thaïs is uniquely stirring. And all this from a soprano in her 20s; it’s too bad she didn’t continue singing. The sound on all the recordings is at least acceptable.
The February 28, 1948 Met broadcast of Pagliacci shows Quartararo in a complete role, and she’s excellent. Nedda can sound like a shrew or a sap; Quartararo avoids both caricatures. Her “Ballatella” is as natural as speech, and her womanly, earthy tone is just right throughout. She’s attractive in the duet with Silvio (a Broadway-sounding bore with a good voice named Hugh Thompson), doesn’t exaggerate in the play-within-a-play, and exhibits some real rage by the opera’s close–a most credible performance.
Ramon Vinay’s baritonal timbre is no problem for Canio; indeed, he treats the role as a mini-Otello and brings the poor jerk to life. The big aria is graceless but ends on a powerful note, and Vinay’s enormously effective in the opera’s last 10 minutes. After a pokey start, Leonard Warren sings the Prologue brilliantly, with long phrases at a sad whisper, and it is capped with a brilliant high A-flat and G. Later he’s snide and insinuating in the extreme, and it’s a pity he overacts in the play scene. The Met Chorus and Orchestra were having a good night under Giuseppe Antonicelli, who keeps the tension high. The sound is terrible, taken from scratchy 78s. Perhaps this is not a great Pagliacci, but it’s a good one, and this release is important as an intro to Quartararo.
