Turandot is a great work, there's no denying that. But its greatness is sometimes overwhelming. Here is the last cry of the great Italian dramatic tradition, and what a cry it is: long arching lines at impossible tessitura sung at impossible dynamics and competing against impossible orchestrations. A Turandot is a rare animal, a precious phoenix, one in a generation. As of now, if I were an impressario the only singer I would trust with a Turandot assignment would be the lovely Lise Lindstrom (that is, if she develop her chest voice more!)
But at 1961, Leopold Stokowski assembled what would become the greatest cast of Turandot ever assembled. Well, the greatest cast of the characters that matter: the Emperor has so often landed in the lap of Wobbly Jobless it hardly concerns anyone anymore.
Birgit Nilsson had a gift. Her soprano was like a weapon: a spear-thrust, a laser beam that could cut through anything. And I mean anything: just before Tre enigmi m'hai proposto, her voice sailed over a brass-chorus chorale like a latter day Noah's ark, overwhelmingly secure and relentless. On its own, it was like listening to a silver trumpet: Straniero, ascolta! was almost instrumental in its perfection. Critics often ventured that her tone sometimes veers towards the sharp side of the note, but happily that occasion in this release is rare. In fact that may be her strength in this repertoire: it made her voice more chinoise in terms of timbre.
Franco Corelli was what he is: the greatest romantic-dramatic tenor of the '60s. His phrasing was heaven in itself: for example Il mio nome non sai was almost a sexual caress, while Non piangere, Liù was an affective flashback - hearing him I can understand why Liù would have fallen in love with this guy, which is saying a lot considering the Calafs strutting onstage these days. Usually what Italian tenors have ended with a sweet timbre and adept phrasing, but with Corelli it is so much more than that.
Anna Moffo is a sweet-yet-tough Liù, the sort of characterization Asians would have no problem identifying: the loyal servant tied by bonds of love. Her Lasciatemi passare! was so heartfelt, and her Tu, che di gel sei cinta was what vocal art is all about. I can safely say she is the only Liù I cried with when she died.
However this release is not perfect: it was after all a live occasion. The Emperor, Alessio de Paolis, almost destroyed it with his vibrato-laden voice. Anna Moffo dragged the entire end of Act 1 all by herself (starting in the middle of Non piangere), robbing necessary drive from Ah, per l'ultima volta. The Ping (Frank Guarrera) was quite good - sadly the rest of the P*ng trio were not. And I don't know what had happened but at the end of Act 2 all the trumpets were suddenly out of tune! It was unfortunate because the whole thing was fortissimo, so what was supposed to be a grandiose cadence turned into a very loud castrated duck, with the poor thing still bleeding lots.
The chorus was adequate, but at times they were very good: the reading of the Liù death scene was very electric. Maybe I am biased: I always think that Liù's death music is the best death scene music in opera. The orchestra was polished, save for a few occasions like the one above. Stokowski was a singer's conductor, probably because he knew what he was dealing with: operatic divinities.
Verdict: very highly recommended especially to Turandot virgins, even over any studio recordings: this is perhaps the best wedding night you'll ever get. Not so for operatic first-timers: you'll end up getting awakened in the middle of the night for a few weeks to Nilsson's Straniero, ascolta!
TURANDOT (1961)
GIACOMO PUCCINI
LEOPOLD STOKOWSKI conductor
TURANDOT Birgit Nilsson
CALAF Franco Corelli
LIÙ Anna Moffo
TIMUR Bonaldo Giaiotti
ALTOUM Alessio de Paolis
PING Frank Guarrera
PANG Robert Nagy
PONG Charles Anthony
CHORUS & ORCHESTRA : THE METROPOLITAN OPERA NY
GOLDEN MELODRAM OPERA LIVE
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