This recording, taken from Lord Harewood’s personal collection and apparently not previously known to exist (or certainly not issued), was taped at Covent Garden on February 23, 1962. A minute or two is missing from the close of the first scene of the third act (the music just fades to black), but this is not much of an impediment. The producers have opted to truncate (or eliminate) the applause at the ends of numbers and acts wherever possible, and this often leaves us with a smattering of applause for two seconds–far more irritating than a true round of appreciation would be–but the decision was made and we’re stuck with it. In addition, the sonics are not up to current standards–much of the performance blares–but the recording is perfectly listenable and every note is audible and clear. Just don’t turn the volume up too high.
That having been said, it really doesn’t matter much. The lure of this set is primarily Jon Vickers’ Gustavo. Recorded five years after his Covent Garden debut in the same role, it gives us (again, after the recently released Don Carlo) a good look at his early career, when Italian opera played a larger role than it later would. There are those who will always argue that Vickers’ sound was not quite Italianate enough for Italian opera, that his timbre lacked the necessary juice. Perhaps. But his Don Carlo turned out to be revelatory, and here, even more-so, does his Gustavo.
It isn’t merely the terrific condition of his voice–there’s no evidence of the later hoarseness or tendency to croon in softer passages; rather, it’s his always remarkable concentration, his inability to deliver a phrase out of character–in short, his utter commitment. In the ensemble that closes the first scene he is positively jolly; “Di tu se fedele”, taken at a terrific clip, is rhythmically flawless and the storm and tossed seas are as vivid as they are in an aria by Vivaldi. His delivery of “Forse la soglia attinse” and his death scene are ravishing in their tenderness and feeling. When Vickers was contemplative he was at his best (except when he was angry, which could scare the Hell’s Angels). And did I mention that his gigantic, solid high B-flats could blow you out of your seat? The joke at the Met used to be that his voice was actually too big for the house; here he stuns with his power as well. And all this without a truly Italianate sound!
Would that he were in equally fine company. The appeal of Amy Shuard has always escaped me. There’s no denying that hers is a quality sound–big, expansive, solid. But she’s not a great vocal actress and there are moments of awkwardness in “Ecco l’orrido campo” and in the following aria. Her top notes are impressive, and she certainly does not spoil the performance, but she does not add much to the documentation of recorded Amelias. Ettore Bastianini is the only true Italian in the cast and he’s a beautiful-sounding Renato, but for some reason he is at his least dramatic. The Oscar of Joan Carlyle is entirely lacking pertness, but she sings the role handsomely if too seriously. Regina Resnik’s grand-voiced Ulrica is dynamite; she actually sounds as if she’s in some sort of spooky trance in her big aria, though a few minor pitch issues occur later. Michael Langdon and David Kelly are a dark, effective Horn and Ribbing, and the smaller roles are well taken.
Edward Downes’ leadership is marvelous. The great, spirited conclusion to the first scene is without peer–quick, accurate, and zippy–and when he lingers, mostly for Vickers in the last act, it is for dramatic purpose. The ensemble briefly falters at the start of the last scene, but overall Downes is in fine control, milking the score for all of its Verdian energy and beauty. He makes the opera “work”.
I doubt if this will or should be anyone’s first or only Ballo recording; that would be Callas on EMI, with the little-known 1975 live-from-La Scala Caballé/Carreras (Opera d’Oro) running second despite not-very-good sound. This ROH performance has a special appeal and Vickers’ fans will want and need it.
