The best recordings of La boheme from the 1950s to 1970s have occupied the high ground and it is going to be difficult to dislodge them. None of the sets that has been issued in the last 15 years or so has provided a serious challenge, but some right decisions taken by EMI at the planning stage should have given this newcomer a fighting chance. The casting draws on a number of the company’s house singers, each in roles to which they are well suited, and a lively conductor with experience in the opera house.
This may not be the fashionable end of the cast-list at which to start, but in a Puccini opera the conductor is as important as anybody. Antonio Pappano is a man of the theatre, which is a distinct advantage after a number of sets of La boheme which have become mired in sentimentality, but his tempos here can be so swift that he is inclined to err the other way. The ensemble scenes positively fizz with energy (half this score belongs to the high spirits of youth and it is good to be reminded of the fact) but the serious side of the drama, including much of Act 3, gets hustled along impatiently. Like most younger conductors, Pappano is conscientious about observing Puccini’s detailed tempo markings, but the result does not sound natural. I still have an affection for the old school of Italians, like Serafin, who just conducted the music as they felt it.
Apart from one traditional Italian contribution – Enrico Fissore’s wickedly mean-spirited Benoit, fussing over his every phrase – the supporting cast is an international collection, with all the benefits and drawbacks that implies. Simon Keenlyside’s Schaunard tells his tale of the parrot with some humour. Samuel Ramey makes Colline a very lugubrious philosopher, which is fair enough, but is in uncharacteristically woolly voice for “Vecchia zimarra”. The most glossy singing of the set comes from the Marcello and Musetta, whose larynxes undeniably have star quality. Thomas Hampson rolls his ‘r’s to exaggerated effect and generally leaves no doubt that his is the most beautiful voice around; and Ruth Ann Swenson delivers a nicely teasing Waltz Song, capped by brilliant top notes.
An aura of magic (albeit one conceived for the privacy of the microphone) attends the first hushed meeting of the two protagonists. Roberto Alagna is not afraid of singing in a soft head voice when the occasion asks for it. But, as recorded here, his tenor seems to have picked up some dryish impurity in the tone, which dilutes the pleasure of encountering a voice of the right weight and Mediterranean ardour after a couple of pale American tenors in other recent sets. Overall, Alagna’s Rodolfo is on the right lines, but the singer was caught at less than his best in some of the sessions. Compared to the finest from the past, he lacks their liquid purity of line (there is never any portamento) and does not quite stamp his personality on the role. The crucial scene with Marcello in Act 3 left me unmoved. Try any phrase of Bjorling (Beecham) and shivers go down one’s back.
Leontina Vaduva’s Mimi is frankly a disappointment. The pure thread of tone which can be so effective in her live performance in the opera house turns into a sharp edge under the close scrutiny of the microphone, while at the climaxes her singing acquires a hard-pressed vibrato, no match for a firm-voiced soprano like Freni, let alone Tebaldi. By underplaying the role, she was presumably hoping to portray Mimi as opera’s most delicate heroine, but the subtlety does not work. From a very uneasy “Mi chiamano Mimi” her singing is simply not beautiful enough to carry it off. A recording which gave the voices more space and bloom would certainly have benefited her. Alongside other recent sets (or compare Alagna with Gheorghiu in “O soave fanciulla” on EMI’s own duets disc, 6/96) the singers here lack presence.
In short, this eagerly awaited new Boheme should have been better than it is. Among recent rivals, I would prefer it to the Bernstein, which is lamed by the conductor’s horribly sticky tempos. Conlon’s set, made as the soundtrack for a film, is rather self-regarding. Nagano’s recent Erato set is a decent, all-round alternative, but there is not much Italianate flavour to it. The Naxos, though uncultivated, has a life of its own and represents good value. The older favourites hold their ground.'