In the course of preparing for Teatro Nuovo’s Callas birthday party, I was mildly astonished to be reminded of the deluge of her complete opera recordings in which we’d been drenched in the three years preceding her New York debut. Cetra had released two (Traviata and Gioconda), and EMI’s new American label, Angel, no fewer than eleven (Puritani, Lucia, Cavalleria, Tosca, Norma, Pagliacci, Forza, Turco in Italia, Butterfly, Aida, and Rigoletto, in their order of release)—thirteen studio recordings of complete operas over that span, with one more (Trovatore) to come while the season was still underway. All this was part of the boom in classical recordings and hi-fi equipment that followed on the introduction of the LP (1949), and it must be remembered that these studio recordings were utterly dominant. Collectors had no access to the Scala Macbeth, the Mexico City performances, etc., etc.—parts of a pirate underground that did not emerge in any force for several more years. Angel’s releases were in hot competition for opera-market share with those of another new American label, London, and with the deeply entrenched RCA Victor. Each company formed its stock company of artists to group around its leading lady. Angel: Callas, di Stefano (with Tucker stepping in for the more robusto assignments), and Gobbi, with Panerai and Rossi-Lemeni in frequent attendance. RCA: Milanov, Barbieri, Björling, Warren and Merrill. London had more difficulty putting together tenor/baritone combinations for Tebaldi: Del Monaco was there for Manon Lescaut, Aïda,  Otello, and Turandot (Tebaldi as Liù), and he and Bastianini for Forza; but for Traviata and her first series of marvelous Puccini heroines, there were respectable but less alluring options (Prandelli, Campora, Poggi for tenors, Protti, Mascherini, and the veteran Inghilleri among baritones). By and large, Angel had an edge with conductors (Serafin, with de Sabata for Tosca and Karajan for Butterfly). For the American market, RCA offered its preponderance of Met regulars (including Albanese, Peerce, and Merrill on the Toscanini broadcast releases), while London sold the breadth and range of its recorded sound. Tebaldi had preceded Callas onto the international recording scene, and had a number of sets in circulation. But in the three-year runup to Callas’ Met debut, she had recorded twice as many roles as Tebaldi and Milanov combined, and of much more varied repertory. The devotees and adherents were prepped, and for the keener among them, a tinge of anxiety could be detected. Tebaldi had been here for two seasons, and with her Desdemona, Tosca, Maddalena, Aïda, and Leonora (Forza) had quickly shown that as lovely as her recordings were, they had undersold the beauty and enveloping amplitude of her voice. Milanov had been singing for thirty years, and had been a house favorite for nearly twenty, reigning over most of the big Italian roles. In some reports from Europe and even Chicago, the customary praise had been tempered with timid suggestions that the La Divina voice was already not quite what it had been. And had we picked up hints of that on her most recent recordings?