Strange are the ways of record companies. They secure the world's most famous Italian tenor for his first recording of a complete opera, and the choice lights upon one which he has not sung on stage and which was never likely to bring out the best and most characteristic qualities of his art. Very wisely, Gigli waited till 1942 before taking Pagliacci into his active repertoire, but in 1934 he evidently felt that a recording could do no harm. His freshness in the role certainly does no harm to the performance; on the contrary, it brings a touch of real life into a gallery of operatic waxworks. The baritone, Mario Basiola, has seen nothing new in the Prologue and his Tonio does no more than go through the routine. Iva Pacetti is no Nedda, either dramatically (too grand, too much the prima donna) or vocally (joyless in her waltz, with scarcely even an apology for a trill). The Silvio, Leone Paci, is inelegant, and the Beppe, Giuseppe Nessi, has the wrong kind of voice-character for the Serenade, conscientiously as he sings it.
But Gigli is alive and new to it all. He sees his man, first with the comical pomp of the actor-manager advertising his show, then with the ominous change from the professional to the private man; grief and outrage in his cry of ''infamia'', quiet sorrow in his opening of ''Vesti la giubba''. There are limits: we must not expect a timbre as heroic as Caruso's or an art as tense and subtle as Martinelli's. But it is a genuine performance, and in it he is well supported by the Scala Chorus who also seem to have caught the sense of occasion, singing with spirit and taking some pride in their work.
Still, if a choice of these recordings has to be made and if it's Gigli you want, then of course it is to the Puccini operas that you go. The Boheme is a delight; or perhaps one should be more circumspect and say that most of his part in it and much of the rest are a delight. It's a pity about the Musetta: Tatiana Menotti was a lively presence on stage (Glyndebourne's Despina in 1936 and their Edinburgh Susanna after the war), but heard and not seen she gives pleasure only in her quietest moments. Licia Albanese's Mimi will not be to everyone's liking; the performance gains distinction as it deepens from act to act, but the first impression is of a rather coy little-girlishness, a winsome visitor who should be presented with a box of matches and sent on her way. Her real merit emerges most clearly in the Act 3 duet with Marcello, who is the admirable Afro Poli and a great strength throughout.
What is notable (and worth keeping in the ammunition stores for use against the complacent notion that until the modern enlightenment opera singers just stood in a line and sang) is the vividness and reciprocity of the ensemble-work: the four Bohemians in particular form an excellent team, the great tenor playing his part as a member of the company and clearly loving it. That is one of the great qualities in Gigli: he so enjoys every minute, the mock-heroic of ''Roma e in periglio'', the spontaneous thought that a glass of wine might not come amiss, the gently smiled question about the programme for the rest of the evening on return from the Momus, and so forth.
As for the voice itself, it is so ideally right for the music that its every reappearance is a joy, whether in the generous open resonance of ''Ebbene no, non lo son'' or in the almost shy affection of some of those magical tunes that weave their way in and out of the ensemble in Act 2. Of course a really severe external examiner could find fault: I personally felt the crosspatch in me arising at the next thing to crooning of ''vi piaccia di-hir?'' and at the exclamation which pre-empts the shocking cry of ''Mimi'' at the very end. But generally the spirit of enjoyment presides here and whey-faced nitpickers should cast their darting glances elsewhere.
So far there has seemed no call to mention the conductors: they do their job without drawing attention to themselves, and one can appreciate that. But in the Tosca set, for one thing the orchestra are more prominent, more finely recorded, and for another there is a sufficient degree of insight and individuality to make one enquire about who is in charge. Oliviero de Fabritiis gives more space and more sharply defined character to the music than was usual and the players are on their mettle. Although only a few months divide the two recordings, the Tosca is technically a considerable advance on the Boheme. And, again, Gigli is in his element, giving a performance that is always alive, full of humour as well as pathos; and he uses his voice not merely as a honeycomb but to characterize, sometimes with a sharp satirical sting in it.
The other principals every now and then do something to justify the casting, but Borgioli's Scarpia is as rough in singing-style as in characterization, and Caniglia makes a most unlovable Tosca, with exceptional material in the voice itself but so variable in its usage that the spoken words are often more impressive than the sung.
Caniglia's Tosca, however, is a great deal better than her Aida. It is not merely that she can't (she really can't) sing ''O patria mia'', but that she makes the character so aggressive as to disorientate the whole play of sympathies. And in this opera Gigli is not able to restore the balance. With occasional moments of insight, he does his duty, and is fervent, heroic, lyrical or declamatory as the need arises; but he is never right for this part, and in the Act 4 duet with Amneris he is quite clearly wrong for it. We almost have to wait for the ''O terra addio'' to hear the true Gigli and by then it's too late. Even the presence of Stignani fails to redeem the set: much is impressive, but the character rarely comes to any very convincing kind of life. Bechi's ''Questa assisa'' provides the first moment to relish, but in the Nile duet his habitual over-emphasis spoils the musical pleasure and encourages his partner to retort in kind. Nor does Serafin's direction seem to accomplish much more than keeping the performance within more or less sensible limits.
As a final disqualification, the recording is often quite unpleasantly harsh. Whether this is one of those for which the metal parts (the originals) have been destroyed I don't know. It should also be said that one triumph in the transfer is the off-stage trial scene, which is remarkably clear and clean. But the sound is preferable in all of the earlier sets, and in the Tosca particularly is of superlative quality. My own preference among these lies first with the Boheme, Tosca a close second. Pagliacci deserves its revival. Aida can return to the tomb.'