Marina: Kerstin Thorborg/Kerstin Thorborg. This potentially fascinating role, in which so much performative shape-shifting is packed into so compact a dramatic unit, and whose requirements of physique and voice are those of a leading contralto or mezzo beguiler-dominatrix (think Dalila) without much of the concomitant reward, has been powerfully cast in a past sufficiently distant to belong to companies that could afford to squander great singers (Homer, Arndt-Ober, et al.) on less-than-plum assignments. The young Obraztsova was probably the last of those, the Soviet Union having trailed the West by a quarter-century or more in the matter of vocal downsizing. So it is a pleasure to encounter an artist of Thorborg’s standing, with the fullness, bite, and dynamic shading that made her so effective in her Wagnerian roles, in this one on both of these broadcasts. For whatever combination of reasons (microphone placement, deeper familiarity with the role, or simply in better voice?), she is more present and more firmly in command in ’43, sounding like a world-class Italian dramatic mezzo with a good feel for the angular line and propulsive rhythms of the Polish Act. She’s already good in ’39, but some of the lower-middle dialogue has a threadbare quality, and the overall impression is paler.

Varlaam: Norman Cordon/Norman Cordon. This American bass, who for a decade put his powerful, dark-timbred bass to valuable use in the more important secondary bass parts and the occasional leading one at the Met and went on to create the part of Frank Maurrant in the Weill/Rice Street Scene on Broadway, is in good form on the ’39 broadcast. The Siege of Kazan song goes with appropriate raucous force without breaking the bonds of good singing, and the drinking sequence and reading of the proclamation register all their points. In ’43, the upper notes have turned raw, and the effect of the song, though still spirited, is as much shouted as sung.

Rangoni: Leonard Warren/Leonard Warren. One of my favorite roles in the opera, and perhaps Mussorgsky’s most ingenious creation. In Pushkin, there is only a fleeting scene for an unnamed Jesuit who urges Dimitri to carry the Roman faith to Russia, and I assume that Mussorgsky, needing to put together a Polish interlude of some plot complexity for his revision, pulled the figure out of Karamzin’s history (Rangoni was evidently a Cardinal, and Papal Nuncio to the Polish court) to develop this hint into the character he made so intriguing (in both senses) in his music. To say that Warren is lagniappe in the role is understatement. In ’39 he is at the beginning of the journey that will make him the company’s (and arguably, the world’s) leading Verdi baritone for over fifteen years, the voice fresh and solid on its legato featherbed, the interpretation already informed by a measure of nuance. By ’43 he is on the high road, bringing to the part a more sophisticated play with word and phrase, and the confidence of a star baritone taking the stage—the voice is even more enfolding. The interchange with Thorborg’s Marina, molded tautly by Szell, becomes a central scene. A shame that the Rangoni/Dimitri duologue is among the cuts.