As Rosenthal concedes, all these manifestations (except for the last, as yet unborn) served some artistically valid mission. And in my opinion, he’s right on point with respect to Figaro‘s unsuitability for such treatment. He did not foresee that the real artistic value of the Royal Albert performance would emerge more than a half-century later, when it would make a contribution to the 21st Century’s need for some serious historical perspective. My own ears were frequently in disagreement with H.R.’s. But based on the recording (and he, of course, was in the hall), I’m mostly in accord with him here. I agree with his very positive assessments of Giulini and Berganza, and to a degree with his less rapturous one of the “ever accomplished” Schwarzkopf. While her voice was at an ideal weight for the part at this point, that was bought by the loss of some of the fresh, soaring quality of a few years earlier. I also share his captivation with Söderström. But I don’t think she’s at all “reminiscent of Elisabeth Schumann”—in fact, the thing that most struck me about her singing here was the distinct element of pungency in her lovely lyric tone, the alacrity of her textual pointing, and the degree to which this Swedish soprano fit the behavioral mode of a good Italian singer of similar weight (Margherita Carosio, let’s say), or of the Brazilian Bidù Sayão. When she joins Schwarzkopf for the Letter Duet, we get two distinct timbres that alternate and come together, not simply a lovely, soothing blend. I concur, too, on the excellence of the Italian soprano Marcellina, Edda Vincenzi, and of the superbly wormlike, yet unexaggerated, doubling of Basilio and Don Curzio by Hugues Cuénod, and would support Rosenthal’s observation of an opportunity lost for inclusion of their Act 4 arias, especially in this concert format. Completeness would be one of the latter’s justifications.

I assume that the presence of Corena as Figaro owed to the unavailability of Giuseppe Taddei, the Figaro of the EMI recording—though Taddei was back in London as Leporello just two weeks later for yet another Giulini/EMI/Legge/Schwarzkopf concert-opera extravaganza. Yet this casting, unconventional as it seems, is by no means a total loss. Corena had a big, biting bass voice, superb pronuncia, great specificity of both vocal and physical action, and a lively, essentially genial personality that could command the largest auditoriums. These were the assets that made him successor to Salvatore Baccaloni as the world’s pre-eminent basso buffo, and they serve well for much of Figaro’s music, too. What he did not have was sheer tonal beauty, or quite the sustaining capability to uphold a legato line beyond a brief extension. Thus, all the recitative and ensemble work goes fine here, and so does “Se vuol ballare.” Corena even does well enough by “Tutto è tranquillo è placido,” etc., in Act 4. But “Non più andrai,” though it has plenty of cheerful bounce, suffers from an urge to get off those top Es (and a few other notes) with a quick downward portamento, and the brassy pounding on the repeated Ds and E-flats of “Aprite un po’ quegl’ occhi” tires the ear. These things detract, even as we recall that the first Figaro was also the first Leporello, so we aren’t too far off the intended track.