There must be someone who doesn’t like this legendary recording from 1972, but I’ve yet to meet them. Yes, perhaps one could consider it too rich, too sumptuous, too slow, verging on self-indulgent – just too EVERYTHING. But consider the pluses. Karajan, often guilty of over-egging the pudding, creates a glorious confection. The Berlin Philharmonic provides not just sheen but exquisite details and Karajan weaves everything into an impressively homogenous whole. The drama has consistent pace and, apart from glorious voices, the key seems to be that everyone is listening to each other.
The lads’ opening banter is realistic – people are actually communicating and laughing, not just singing – and Rodolfo and Mimì might chat each other up impressively quickly (I doubt she’s that innocent) but they’re not just warbling arias but telling each other their story in broad outline because time is not on their side, as we soon realise.
As Mimì, Mirella Freni is nigh on perfect, her rounded but fresh soprano providing hope and pathos in equal measure. Her change of colours, her vocal ‘lift’, when she sings the phrase ‘Mi piaccion quelle cose’, is heartbreaking and tells you everything you need to know about Mimì; you suddenly see the real and vulnerable young woman. As Rodolfo, Pavarotti stamps his considerable personality on the role. This is one of his very best recordings; the tenor has vigour and vocal thrust, plus elegance and plangency. Rolando Panerai’s compact baritone makes for a perfect Marcello, and Elizabeth Harwood’s Musetta shows the heart beneath the coquette we first meet. Add Nicolai Ghiaurov’s mock-sepulchral Colline and you have a perfect cast. How often is that true. Re-released by Decca with bells and whistles, this would make a sumptuous gift.
