In its 78-rpm form, the Paris recording, released in this country by Columbia, probably did not enjoy boffo sales, and it did not emerge on LP until Pathé re-released it in 1959 or ’60. Meanwhile, though, RCA Victor released a single LP of extended scenes from Samson et Dalila. This was LM-1848, and since I’d been mulling over Samson, I pulled it down from the shelf for the first time in many years. Looking over the jacket copy, I found myself back in the exciting early LP days, and even faintly charmed by the promotional wordage I would then have scorned (especially in the absence of much in the way of helpful material on the contents). It informed me that the disc was recorded in the Manhattan Center using an “ultra-directional microphone, the newest acoustical [?] development of the David Sarnoff Research Center,” and boasting “1) Ideal dynamic range plus clarity and brilliance. 2) Complete frequency range. 3) Constant fidelity from outside to inside of record. 4) Improved quiet surface.” The first thing that might have caught your eye about this record had you been with me back then (apart from the cover photo of our Dalila, Risë Stevens, reclining voluptuously while awaiting the arrival of her Samson or of you, Mr. Male Record Buyer) would have been the name of the conductor, Leopold Stokowski, and the second and third (if we turned the album over) could have been the participation of “Members of the NBC Symphony Orchestra” and of the Robert Shaw Chorale, Robert Shaw, Conductor. And so, hype aside and assuming that you knew a bit about the advertised individuals and aggregations, this “New Orthophonic” disc would have held some promise of a colorful, well-played performance, in excellent sound, of what was, rather remarkably, the closest to a complete Samson then available. (The major S/D sequences are here, but no Abimélech or Old Hebrew, none of the major Act 1 choruses except the responses to Samson’s “Arrêtez, ô mes frères,” and nothing of the High Priest’s until Act 3.)

Stevens, the Met’s almost invariable Dalila in the 1940s and ’50s (Kerstin Thorborg sneaked in there for a performance or two early on; likewise Blanche Thebom later) and my first (opposite Ramón Vinay, under Monteux), had the physique du rôle for the part, as for her most famous one, Carmen, and for what I thought was her best one, Octavian. As heard here, she’s just at the trailing edge of her good singing days. Her warm lyric mezzo voice sounds lovely when she isn’t pushing for urgency, and there’s an enjoyable, inviting blend in that lower-middle area. She sounds really happy to see Samson at “C’est  toi,” etc., in Act 2; has a unique phrasing notion in “Mon coeur” (carrying over the rest to traverse the half-step between “A voler dans tes bras!” and “Ah!“, then breaking for breath before “réponds,” etc.); and eschews the interpolated high B-flat in “Amour, viens aider,” which even many of the old contraltos embrace, though briefly. It’s not an ideal Dalila set-up, but as always, she gives a performance.