“I would listen to them, and then break them into pieces” wrote Raisa in 1962, explaining why she possessed none of her own records. It is a pity she could not have heard them in these fine transfers and reproduced on modern equipment. Her objection was that they failed to show the volume of her voice, and that is very probably true. The impression they give is that of an ample lyric soprano with a dramatic style rather than a full dramatic voice that would ride the ensembles of Aida and be a natural choice for the first Turandot. But there will be no breaking of CDs now, for what they preserve is a sound of exceptional beauty and in several instances singing of equally exceptional skill.
Outstanding is the single previously unpublished item, the cabaletta “Ah! bello a me ritorna” from Norma, recorded for Brunswick in 1929. A superb demonstration of vocal mastery, it seems totally unaware of difficulties. The semiquaver passagework, the bold intervals, the matching of rhythmic energy with lyric grace, all are mastered with apparent ease; and, having a whole record to itself (rather than sharing with the “Casta diva” as on the earlier Pathe version), the piece can be given complete, with the luxury of a second verse skilfully embellished. Going back to the two recordings of “Casta diva” itself, one realizes rather more clearly what was not caught by the pre-electricals: even so, it is a great treat to hear for once those famous first phrases sung with a true legato. It is of course sad to think that this is all that remains of a Norma often reported as having been the finest of all in this century, at any rate up to Callas’s time. The comparison naturally arises with Rosa Ponselle, whose special magic lies in the loveliness of her indrawn piano singing in combination with the splendour of regal power held in reserve. Raisa is more outgoing, perhaps less poetical, but she is much happier than Ponselle in the top end of the range and her cabaletta exhibits a more assured technique.
There are many lovely things here. Raisa’s chequered career as a recording artist began with the aria from Andrea Chenier, “La mamma morta”, on Pathe in 1917, and this was also the subject of her last recording, in 1933. Despite the difference in tempo (the later version being more expansive), they are very alike in style and affectionate in feeling. Similarly with the six (no less) versions of “Voi lo sapete”. Her “Un bel di” is unexpectedly touching and intimate, the manner delicate and girlish, till the “per non morir”, when the girl becomes woman. The duets with her baritone husband, Giacomo Rimini, include one (clear-voiced and dramatic against a scrunchy background) from Il trovatore on a Vitaphone soundtrack. Then the third disc ends with an interview, not especially illuminating but nice to have, given in 1962 and in lively style, a year before her death.
Raisa was one of the great singers of her time, and among them perhaps the most outstanding example of neglect by the major record companies. A selection of her records appeared on Club 99 (1/94 – nla) but this new issue is better in every way: a handsome reparation for long neglect. The Marston catalogue is significantly enriched, and we owe much to Charles Mintzer, producer of this complete edition and writer of the valuable introductory notes.'