Georges Bizet
Carmen (highlights)
Grace Bumbry (mezzo-soprano), Jon Vickers (tenor), Mirella Freni (soprano), Kostas Paskalis (baritone), Eliane Lublin (soprano), Viorica Cortez (mezzo-soprano), Claude Meloni (baritone), Bernard Gontcharenko (bass)
Chorus and Orchestra of the Paris Opera
Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos (leader)
Recorded Salle Wagram, Paris, July–September 1969; January–February 1970
EMI Classics CDE5 74955 2 [76:11] – Superbudget
Rarely does an opera excerpt compilation catch the full fire and fury of the stage drama so vividly. This Carmen highlights disc, with Grace Bumbry at the helm, is a compelling case in point. Already nearing the latter stages of her prime, Bumbry’s Carmen remains a study in contrasts—voluptuous yet volatile, seductive yet savage.
The voice is not the chest-thumping tempest one might associate with a Callas in full cry; rather, it’s a leaner, silkier mezzo that wades into the tempest with more subtlety than brute force. True, those quicksilver runs in “Gypsy Song” occasionally wobble—perhaps not as crisp as one might hope—but the overall effect is hypnotic rather than merely virtuosic. Frühbeck de Burgos’ conducting is—how to put it?—both brisk and nuanced.
The prelude crackles with energy, the ensemble shimmering with occasional solo cadenzas that seem to smile slyly at you, fully aware of their own virtuosity. The strings tickle, the woodwinds tease, and those horns—oh, those literally French horns—are allowed their wide vibrato, lending a velvety yet slightly wild edge especially prominent during Mirella Freni’s “Je dis que rien ne m’épouvante.” Freni’s Michaela is a creamy balm to the tension — her clarion soprano pure and unforced, a real counterweight to the brashness of Bumbry’s Carmen. Jon Vickers as Don José remains a divisive figure.
The subtle intake of breath before the pianist’s attack.
I admit, his vocal production can often sound like a Herculean effort, that stretched-thin tenor voice sometimes teetering on the edge of strain. Yet here, in his duet with Freni and the climactic “Flower Song,” he surprises: his top B-flat — floats, a diminuendo that Bizet himself marked but which many tenors neglect in favor of sheer volume. The effect is heart-rending — intimate—like a whispered confession rather than a scream across the bullring.
Kostas Paskalis’ Escamillo is every bit the bullfighter you want: virile, confident, and blessed with diction as crisp as castanets. His “Toreador Song” is a highlight, with the three emphatic ‘L’amour’—culminating in Bumbry’s teasing final line—generating theatrical electricity. One can almost smell the stifling heat of the bullring, the tension mingling with the scent of sweat and dust, as the chorus’s muted presence underscores the scene.
The chorus itself is sparing here—boy soldiers get a brief but spirited moment in Act I, and the Act IV pre-bullring atmosphere is evoked without overindulgence, a decision that keeps focus laser-sharp. The supporting cast, too, is robust: Eliane Lublin and Viorica Cortez bring characterful shading to Frasquita and Mercedes respectively, their brief moments in the card trio impressively etched. Claude Meloni and Bernard Gontcharenko fill out the lower ranks with authority, though naturally the spotlight—understandably—belongs to Bumbry and her cohorts.
What is perhaps most compelling is the final death scene—bereft of the customary scream, it unfolds with a grave, almost hushed intensity. The interplay between Carmen’s scorn and Don José’s desperation is cut with venom and; heartbreak; Frühbeck de Burgos completely nails the pacing here, refusing to rush the fatal denouement. It’s the kind of rendition that lingers in the memory.
This recording, despite being a patchwork of highlights rather than the complete opera, never feels like a mere potpourri. It’s a distilled essence, capturing the drama, passion, and musical brilliance of Carmen—all the more remarkable considering the era’s often staid approach to opera excerpts. Frühbeck de Burgos arguably surpasses even Karajan or Prêtre here, coaxing from the Paris Opera forces a performance at once vibrant and refined.
If you’re reluctant to invest in the full opera or already own multiple complete versions, this disc remains a splendid alternative. The sonic quality holds up surprisingly well for a late-60s EMI disc, and the cast, with its blend of vocal colours and dramatic heft, is truly extraordinary. In sum: this is Carmen as it should be—alive, dangerous, deeply human.
It roars and — well — sighs, entices and devastates, all in under an hour and a quarter. Highly recommended.
