Il trovatore (review)

Just when we seem to have scraped clean the bottom of the live-performance Björling barrel and concluded there are no further discoveries to be made, surprise! Up crops a never-before-heard aria or encore, a first-generation tape of an old release, or, marvel of marvels, even a complete live performance.

Counting the well-known commercial recording (about to be re-released—in good sound, finally, as I have been assured by previewers), this live Trovatore brings to six the number of complete Björling Manricos preserved on record. They are: Covent Garden (1939), Met (1941 and 1947, the latter unissued in complete form), New York studio (1952), and Stockholm (1957 and 1960). In other words, we have more recordings of his Manrico than of any other role he sang. Perhaps one day someone (other than I) will confront the challenge of analyzing and comparing all six versions. ¹

Before we delve into the musical end of "What have we here?" a preliminary discussion is perhaps in order. This recording has an unusual history, and, to paraphrase the illuminating liner notes of Stefan Johansson, head of dramaturgy of the Royal Swedish Opera, I repeat it here to inform rather than to fill space.

Starting in 1956, Royal Opera intendant Valter Valentin made several tape recordings from the front box in the first tier of the house. Sometimes the microphone was placed in the wings, as on this occasion—that's why we hear the clanging of swords, the shuffling of feet, the moving of scenery, and even the stagehands' cheering of Jussi at the end of the third act. The soldiers dragging Azucena off at one point audibly block the microphone from some of the chorus, and when the curtain falls the applause turns into a muffled murmur.

The tragedy is that many of these tapes disappeared: some were borrowed, some intentionally erased and recorded over. Clearly, the incentive of historical preservation was absent in those who could have cared for the precious material. Most of what survived was deposited with the National Archive of Recorded Sound in 1969, where it remained, in the words of Johansson, "fortunately buried." A few specimens survived in private hands, and this particular performance was recorded for "one singer's private use."

The bad news concerning this release is that act 1, scene 1, is missing. This shortcoming can be artificially remedied, as the Ferrando of the worthy bass Erik Saedén was recorded complete on 6 March 1960 in the same venue (Bluebell ABCD 045). The good news is that the sound quality of the recording exceeds all expectations, and that Verdi's opera is sung in Italian.

One must bear in mind from the outset that, apart from Björling, the cast members are all house "regulars," making the performance just another night at the opera for the local audience—festive, perhaps, only on account of the presence of their beloved peregrinating tenor; nonetheless, these are the artists who sang a wide repertory week after week with the company. The booklet notes tell us, for instance, that in this season alone the Norwegian soprano Aase Nordmo-Lövberg (the Leonora) sang fifty times, premiering four new major roles; Margreta Bergström sang fifty-six performances; slacker Hugo Hasslo appeared only thirty-nine times; and Björling guest-sang fourteen performances of five operas. Other members of the company in the 1950s who come to mind are (selectively and alphabetically) Kjerstin Dellert, Helga Görlin (retired 1954), Kerstin Meyer, Birgit Nilsson...