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Recently, I heard a "live" monaural CD of Madama Butterfly, featuring Victoria de Los Angeles. Despite low-fi sound and orchestral work that might charitably be described as scrappy, it was revelatory. The soprano's tender involvement and silvery voice were true to my fond recollections of her onstage. Solely by vocal means she elevated the role from pathos to high tragedy. The effect was so vivid, it was a virtual aural hologram.
In the afterglow, a question hovered: why do I choose certain opera recordings from my absurdly large collection to hear over and over, skittering past the same works cast with different singers? Even allowing for my personal ...