THE VIABLE ROSSINI: ‘BARBIERE,’ ETC.

During the last quarter-century, several of the serious operas of Gioacchino Rossini have been revived--”Tancredi,” “Semiramide,” “Le Siege de Corinthe” among them--as vehicles for a Sutherland, Horne or Sills. They cause a small stir, then are returned to the shelf, rightfully regarded as musically not quite worth the effort and dramatically so preposterous as to be unstageable.

What the world wants is the Rossini of “Il Barbiere di Siviglia,” “L’Italiana in Algeri” and “La Cenerentola,” with their marvelously human characters and situations, their verbal wit, their musical pungency and gracefulness. They remain his most viable stage works--and, indeed, among the treasures of the repertory.

Deutsche Grammophon has reissued its 1972 “Barbiere” on two generously filled compacts discs (415 695-2). The recording was the first to employ the scholarly edition of Alberto Zedda, which cleansed the score of the interpolations, exaggerations and just plain errors in scoring and notation accumulated by 1 1/2 centuries of performance malpractice.

The job needed doing, but not in the way it was done in this charmless performance, with its extravagant regard for the clarity of Rossini’s notes and Cesare Sterbini’s words and virtually none for their animating humor.

Claudio Abbado energetically leads a chamber-size London Symphony and a cast that includes Hermann Prey’s brusque, unengaging Figaro; Teresa Berganza (Rosina) and Luigi Alva (Almaviva), both well below the technical standards they set in earlier recorded efforts in the same roles, and with intermittent doses of the right, idiomatic stuff only from Enzo Dara (Bartolo) and Paolo Montarsolo (Basilio).

Zedda’s cleanup efforts are better realized in “L’Italiana in Algeri” (CBS/Sony 425-7, 3 compact discs) and “La Cenerentola” (CBS/Sony 341-3, 3 compact discs) which further improve on Deutsche Grammophon by employing period instruments and vocalists imbued with the “authentic” musical style as well as a feeling for the laughter implicit in the librettos: Angelo Anelli’s ingratiatingly silly one for “L’Italiana,” Jacopo Ferretti’s subtle and penetrating one for “Cenerentola.” The recitatives, lumbering interruptions in the DG “Barbiere,” are here lively and integral to the action.

Both title roles on CBS are taken by mezzo-soprano Lucia Valentini-Terrani, who sails through Rossini’s taxing coloratura effortlessly, accurately and with a relaxed wit that serves as well for the virago of “L’Italiana” as for the docile Cinderella. Her love interest in each instance is Francisco Araiza, today’s tenorino assoluto, not quite Valentini-Terrani’s match in ease of production or charm, but a strong partner nonetheless.

Enzo Dara gives a pair of strongly contrasted, well-sung performances: as the heroine’s chicken-hearted sidekick in “L’Italiana” and as the hilariously pompous father of the ugly daughters in “Cenerentola.” Basso Wladimiro Ganzarolli occasionally fakes his notes but gives a delectably broad characterization of the lubricious, bullying Bey of Algiers (“L’Italiana”).

Gabriele Ferro is the deft, invigorating conductor of both operas, leading the Capella Coloniensis, Germany’s outstanding period-instrument ensemble, and the excellent Cologne Radio Chorus.

It should be noted that both recordings are pricey Japanese imports. But their recorded sound is warmer, more spacious, with a much wider dynamic range than that of their LP counterparts on domestic CBS, which does not expect to release its own CDs of these performances.

Rossini’s Stabat Mater, may not be an opera, but, like Verdi’s Requiem, it sure sounds like one. And it is projected with becoming operatic fire by Riccardo Muti, who conducts the lusty Chorus and Orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino (Angel 47402, CD; LP previously issued).

The soloists blend smoothly in the ensembles but, with the exception of the stylish bass Gwynne Howell, prove less impressive in their big solos.

The soprano’s “Inflammatus,” which calls for an avenging angel sort of protagonist, able to hold her own against the full orchestra, finds in Catherine Malfitano an interpreter of exquisite taste and limited vocal resources. Mezzo Agnes Baltsa, too, is vocally and dramatically lightweight.

And Robert Gambill is a Sunday-morning singer in a Saturday-night assignment, but then there’s never been a surplus of tenors able to realize Rossini’s demand for a high D-flat and make it sound, as Gambill does, like a musical note rather than the result of being poked by something particularly sharp and nasty.