This was Joan Sutherland’s first recorded Traviata. The performance is note-complete, with cabalettas for both Germonts, the second verses of Violetta’s first and last act arias, and all of the little interjections that are normally cut. This is primarily a “singer’s” Traviata; for real drama you must go to Callas (or elsewhere). But what singing it is! Listening to “Sempre libera” is like a comfortable trip to the moon: every note is perfectly placed, the sheer joy of singing is in every bar, there’s never a doubt that a phrase will be sculpted in any manner other than perfectly. Sutherland’s huge tone is limpid, her passagework almost terrifying in its precision–but without the usual high coloratura’s automatic-pilot type of glibness. But as we know, she has a fatal flaw of almost Aristotelian magnitude: There are almost no consonants (the occasional sibilant, “m,” “p,” and “t” notwithstanding), and in order to keep the tone round, pure, and exquisite, the jaw is slack to the point of making soft tones and long, legato lines droopy. We might overlook the droop–it can be seen as effective given the character’s emotional state (as in “Dite alla giovane”)–but the potato-in-mouth relentlessly gets in the way. (And frankly, “Addio del passato” is a bag of mush.) That having been said, I wouldn’t want to contemplate life without Sutherland.
Moving on to other matters, Carlo Bergonzi is a perfect Alfredo: elegant, enraged, golden-of-tone (an ever-so-slightly flat high C at the close of his cabaletta is quickly forgotten), singing off the text, and partnering Sutherland brilliantly. Robert Merrill’s Germont is one-dimensional (was he ever else?), but again, the sheer sound he emits is enough to make you want to applaud for days. The rest of the cast is passable to good, and John Pritchard’s leadership is efficient without any insights. As I said, this is dynamite for the singing; if you wish to be moved by Violetta’s plight, you’ll have to listen to Callas, Scotto, or (second string) Caballé or Cotrubas. [7/15/2002]
