Let's first try—a difficult assignment—to approach this set with an innocent ear and a mind, unaware of the artists' reputations, taking the score as our sole guide. Here is Cheryl Studer, a Violetta with seemingly practically all the attributes her demanding music requires. The voice is full-blooded and warm, yet flexible enough to encompass the difficulties of Act 1, a trifle heavy perhaps at the rising phrase on ''allor'', marked dolcissimo in the duet with Alfredo, but beautifully focused in the succeeding aria, with a nicely differentiated treatment of the second verse (happily included). Particularly felicitous is the way Studer carries over the voice from ''error'' to ''sentia che amore'' and follows the injunction con espansione. Throughout this act, the wonder and incredulity at a love Violetta never expected are manifest, and the scena's cabaletta, though showing one or two signs of strain around the break, is appropriately elating.
In the first scene of Act 2, the emotions properly deepen, the single phrase ''Oh come dolce mi suona il vostro accento!'' ideally weighted, tells us as much, but something seems to be missing here. The sense of a developing drama between courtesan and antagonist is missing, not because of Studer's estimable contribution but because the conductor plods and Pons's Germont is uninspired. Nothing, not even Studer's part, seems quite 'felt'. The opposite is true of the act's second scene where Studer evinces all Violetta's anxiety of unexpectedly encountering her lover again—the appeal ''Alfredo, Alfredo'' truly moving. And throughout this scene Levine marvellously seconds the mood of nervous tension, not even allowing Violetta a ritardando at ''Ah, perche''.
The finale is deeply satisfying where Violetta is concerned. After a restrained reading of Germont's letter, ''Ogni speranza e morta'' is sung exactly as marked, a simple expression of Violetta's desperate state. Allowed two verses of her ''Addio del passato'', Studer makes full use of the opportunity with long-breathed phrasing, and generous, genuine use of portamento and catches in the voice, to enhance the solo's effect—even if the tone is a mite healthy for a dying consumptive. The trills at ''ora son forte'' are significantly sung to express Violetta's abortive attempt to baulk the inevitable. Finally, ''Se una pudica'', simple and unadorned legato singing, is eloquent indeed, and the death throes themselves finely encompassed.
Her Alfredo, an admirable tenor called Pavarotti, sounds a Verdi tenor to be reckoned with. Words always clear, ardent and impulsive as the hero should be, he fulfils practically all the score's and the part's demands, not least in both verses of ''Oh mio rimorso'', though we notice he doesn't take note of the composer's demands for some pp phrases in the Brindisi, the Act 1 duet or ''De' miei bollenti spiriti'', but he does provide an exquisitely soft start to ''Parigi, o cara'' but how can Levine make a cut in this and the succeeding cabaletta, thus destroying the form of both?
As Germont, Pons seems to have the best of intentions, but proves himself a rather clumsy executant, slack in rhythm and allowing his tone to lose resonance at the top. That's in the long and all-important meeting with Violetta. When his son confronts him, he finds his form, singing ''Di Provenza'' with a long breath and a welcome attention to dynamic detail. The supporting singers are a rough and unconvincing lot, some with poor Italian. The Annina mars the opening to the final scene with her intrusive wobble.
Levine is self-evidently inside the work, conducting it with welcome attention to detail, vocal and instrumental, and forceful authority, rather too much of that as he ruthlessly hammers some salient points in the drama. We admire his insistence on obeying note values, most obviously so in the Gipsy and Spanish gaieties at Flora's party. We are moved by the most delicate and refined playing of the orchestra in the two preludes, carefully balanced by the engineers. Elsewhere, the orchestral sound is often intrusively loud. Levine explores much of the score's soul, but we feel that isn't quite the whole story—and certainly not the whole score, with the disfiguring cuts allowed in Act 3 and the second verse of Germont's cabaletta disallowed.
The critic now has to put his memory and experience back in place, resuming odious comparisons and taking a peak at The Good CD Guide. There he is reminded that Callas remains an irreplaceable Violetta, to be heard not once but twice live on EMI (in 1955 at La Scala, Milan with Giulini and 1958 at the Teatro Nacional de San Carlos, Lisbon with Ghione). Taking the discs from the shelves, he hears a Violetta obviously more experienced in the theatre and more able or willing to vary her tonal palette than is Studer,
more individual even if not so secure or refulgent in tone, an individually accented interpreter—but, be it said, not to every taste. Also, both her versions are more drastically foreshortened than Levine's—Muti, for one, changed all that and in his EMI account included every bar in the score and forbade variations from the printed text. Scotto, Muti's Violetta, is, like Callas, replete with years of singing the part on stage. No longer fresh in voice, she can't compete with Studer for steadiness or security of line but she does identify even more closely and immediately with Violetta's predicament. Nor should Caballe (Pretre, RCA), in another full version, be forgotten: hers remains one of the best-sung accounts on disc, and in many ways a very affecting one; a pity about her ill-suited conductor. And Cotrubas and Kleiber remain a potent, insightful combination in DG's earlier version; indeed, returning to long stretches, of this set, I found it wonderfully compelling. On the historic set reviewed on page 232 you'll catch an individuality of style in Gigli's singing that not even Pavarotti can match.
Both Scotto and Callas (in her Lisbon incarnation) have Kraus as Alfredo, more stylish than Pavarotti, less full in voice for Muti, but the supreme Alfredo on CD in Lisbon. As Germont, Sereni (Ghione), and especially Bruson (Muti), are subtler singers and more moving interpreters than Pons; so, to a lesser extent, is Milnes (Kleiber). In the conducting department, Ghione is well versed in every aspect of the score and never calls attention to himself. Muti has most of Levine's attributes and, for all his innate discipline, doesn't interpose himself so forcibly between us and the singers. Kleiber has every attribute this piece needs; my ideal—a few cuts apart—in this score.
The new recording has us very much on top of singers and players, even to the extent of allowing us to hear Studer's breathing. EMI's approach for Muti is more spacious, but in that case too reverberant. If you want a touch of opera-house atmosphere, EMI's Callas/Lisbon set gives it to you but in mono and at the expense of the prompter's all-too-audible participation. Indeed, if you want an ideal balance and sound you need to hear the Kleiber (produced by Hans Hirsch), where the sound itself is at once natural, forward and spacious, and quite avoiding the over-emphasis of the new version, made in New York. Indeed, with Kleiber's superb conducting, Cotrubas's deeply moving, unaffected, naturally inflected Violetta and Domingo's appealingly youthful Alfredo, this is my favourite among ''modern'' sets. That, supplemented by Callas's unique interpretation, at Lisbon with the best of all Alfredos in the young Kraus, is my answer to the Traviata conundrum—despite the grievous cuts. But Studer, thoughtful and intelligent, has much to offer—if only she'd waited until she had more stage experience and chosen a more sympathetic conductor... For Pavarotti fans, this issue will be a sine qua non, and they won't be disappointed in their hero.'