This Traviata features a cast headlined by stars of the operatic firmament circa 1962–Joan Sutherland, Carlo Bergonzi, and Robert Merrill. Alas, it’s a Traviata without a Traviata, so it falls far short of the best of the recorded competition, though it will be a must-have for Sutherland idolators and will be considered by some listeners seeking a well-recorded mid-price supplement to its more distinguished alternatives. Sutherland is both the big draw and the fatal flaw in this Traviata. To be blunt about it, La Stupenda never was much of a Verdi soprano and she’s definitely not a Violetta. Of course, her voice is a beautiful instrument, capable of soaring high notes and breathtaking diminuendos; but her phrasing is innocent of Verdi style, portamentos sag perilously, and it’s a kindness to say that her diction is approximate. At times, as in the Act 2 “Ed or so scriva a lui” with its flute accompaniment, she sounds like Lucia wandering onstage into the wrong opera. Sutherland’s at her best in the role’s more brilliant moments, though even there, as in the first-act “Ah, fors’ è lui…Sempre libera” scene, it’s disconcerting to hear a great singer unleash such power and sparkle alongside passages sung with alarmingly sluggish rhythm and lumpy, misplaced phrasing. She made another studio Traviata in 1979, this time with Richard Bonynge conducting, providing further evidence that it just wasn’t her role.
But there’s no mistaking Bergonzi’s Alfredo for anything but a superb assumption of the role and a lesson in stylish Verdi singing. He may have lacked the sheer animal excitement of Corelli, del Monaco, and others among his peers of the period, but his tonal strengths throughout his range, his flawlessly idiomatic phrasing and rhythm, and the sense of “rightness” he exudes in every note are riveting. He’s quite wonderful throughout, but his ravishing last-act duet, “Parigi, o cara”, also serves as a tutorial for Sutherland, whose clipped phrase endings and narrow column of sound contrast negatively with Bergonzi’s generous floating tones. Merrill’s Germont is a straightforward rendition, enhanced by his beautiful voice, which unfortunately is not sufficient on its own to rescue his big moments from their foursquare rhythmic straitjacket. John Pritchard’s conducting is fine, idiomatic, and without excesses.
The 1962 engineering (by the legendary Kenneth Wilkinson) is full and vibrant. A bare bones booklet is supplied but texts and translations are available only via inserting the discs into the CD-ROM drive of your computer, an idea of staggering stupidity. Unfortunately, this practice is a deplorable feature of Decca’s entire Compact Opera Collection, which features complete opera recordings but whose series name misleadingly implies “highlights”.
