P.G. Hurst talks to John Freestone in 1967 about Caruso's best record, which turns out to be "O Paradiso" from Meyerbeer's opera L'Africana. It was recorded by Caruso on February 20, 1907. Here is what P.G. Hurst writes about Enrico Caruso in the former's book titled The Operatic Age of Jean de Reszke: The season of 1902 deserves to rank with that of 1887 in introducing another outstanding tenor. The very name of Caruso holds magic for all those who heard him, and especially perhaps for those who did so at the beginning of his great fame. It was in daily use with people who had never heard the name of any other opera singer, and was used as a sobriquet for anybody who made singing-like noises: "Why, you're a regular Caruso!" "Stop it, Caruso, we've had enough!" "Signor Caruso told me I ought to do so," drunkenly sang Wilkie Bard on the music halls where he was singing of his ambitions to become an Opera Singer. In those days there was no publicity as we today understand it; Caruso's fame just filtered through by sheer force of its weight. His singing defied description because it was so personal to himself, for, although he had studied voice production, he seemed to have a natural flair for what was right, as though the necessary control of throat, breath and muscles had been born in him. Not only had Caruso a voice of peach-like quality, the like of which has not been heard since, but he had a manner of delivering it which was beyond imitation, and he had at his command a range of vocal color which he applied with the taste and facility of a painter. He had three rather distinct periods : in the first, he was the gay and lighthearted singer, enjoying to the full his triumphs, the voice perfect and incomparable and the style seemingly incapable of improvement. He was then at his best in every role; whether (to conjure up those in which I heard him) as the Duke in Rigoletto never shall I forget the shiver of anticipation that ran through the audience as La donna I mobile opened, or the arrogant assurance of the indoor scenes; or as Don Jose, with the purity of his legato in the Flower Song. I remember his sentimental Rodolfo in La Boheme; the swagger of his Raoul in Les Huguenots, and the passionate abandon of the final duo. The second period, which was noticeable by 1906, was marked by a greater steadiness and a closer co- ordination of his vast resources, resulting in a degree of technical perfection which was recognised as being equal to that of Jean de Reszke himself. The stupendous breath control, the greater regard to note values, and above all the wonderful and massive phrasing placed Caruso on a pinnacle, used as these attributes were with a voice that, as it increased in power, in- creased also in sensuous and luscious quality. It was at this period that he was heard in the Albert Hall, London, while not singing at the Opera, and there one could observe the mechanism working under the massive wall of his ribs while the swelling note in Paradiso climbed to its overpowering climax with the little very little jerk of the head and snap of the glottis as he cleanly brought it to a close m fortissimo. The advance now noticeable was reflected in his records, which afford an admirable guide to the course of Caruso's voice; and it was at that period that he recorded the Paradiso, which from a singing and technical point of view may be selected as the peak of his achievement. The third period may have begun during the first war or just before. In his season at Covent Garden in 1914 the oncoming darkening of his timbre began to be noticed, although it was little if any less beautiful than of old. But he was growing more solemn, both in himself and in his art: there was less manifest enjoyment, except in spending the vast sums of money he was earning, both in opera and by his records. He bought vastly for his friends and acquaintances, and at Christmas time, accompanied by the young American wife he adored, he would make a progress through the big shops in New York with a huge bag, buying everything he could see that was expensive and beautiful this for So-and-so, and that for So-and-so else. After the war he lost his health and after much suffering he died in his native Italy, where he was out of reach of the type of surgical aid which he urgently required. It was as the Duke in Verdi's Rigoletto that he made his London debut, with Melba as Gilda and Renaud as the jester, and from that night his success was never in doubt. He sang in La Boheme with Melba; with Regina Pacini in Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor and L'Elisir famore and in Carmen with Calve. He sang also as Ottavio in Don Giovanni which he later sang with Agnes Nicholls and with him on that occasion were Renaud as his impressive Don, Litvinne, Suzanne Adams, Pini-Corsi, and Gilibert.

• published: 02 Jan 2015
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