Revisiting (after decades)
Donizetti’s
Linda di Chamounix:

I’ve always had a certain “antipathy” towards
Donizetti (despite some magnificent moments in some of his works), as I find his art much cruder than that of
Rossini and
Bellini, and see him as a trailblazer of the more vulgar aspects that permeate much of
Verdi’s output.
This
dramma semiserio (or
comédie larmoyante) was composed for Vienna, and earned its composer a great success, but is now almost forgotten. With a Savoyard and Parisian setting, the story is one of a girl deceived, who then goes mad, recovers, and in the end love triumphs. In other words, there’s no interest whatsoever to the plot. What we do have is a sort of “Italian Biedermeier”, which is a historical curiosity.
The recording (from Naples in 1956) boasts many starry names: the eternal also-ran —in a decade dominated by the
Callas /
Tebaldi “rivalry”—
Antonietta Stella (whose coloratura is approximative, but has a sweet tone),
Fedora Barbieri (more suited to e.g. Amneris than to the breeches rôle of Pierotto), the ever elegant
Cesare Valletti, and two notable baritones,
Giuseppe Taddei and
Renato Capecchi. All led with gusto by that doyen of the Italian opera pit in the post-WW2 years,
Tullio Serafin.
A period piece (the work
and the recording), but with a certain quaint charm.
And boy, the photographer who took Signora
Stella’s picture for the cover deserves to be summarily shot! The cover designer mustn’t have been the sharpest tool in the box either, and what he did is invert the picture of the original LP cover (which in itself was no masterpiece — see below), and for some unfathomable reason add two brushes and what looks like a torn carpet.
