Turandot is the culmination of Puccini’s compositional journey, where everything he learned, empirically and eclectically, comes together in an almost magical way. There are the unmistakable Puccinian melodies, but pushed to the extreme, as in ‘Nessun dorma’ (too often dismissed nowadays simply because it is popular), there is also a touch of impressionism and hints of modernism, as in ‘Ho una casa nell’Honan’, while throughout Act I you can already hear a preview of what cinematic music would later become, an act which is, by the way, almost perfectly shaped from start to finish. Few scenes in all opera are more exhilarating than the riddle scene, from ‘In questa reggia’ onwards, and few moments are more heartbreaking than ‘Tu che di gel sei cinta’. It is also a second, and more ambitious, foray into orientalism, with traditional melodies woven throughout the score. Free from the shackles of verismo, Puccini allows himself to experiment, with astonishing results across the entire opera. It’s a shame that he didn’t get to finish it, but everything from ‘Popolo di Pekino’ to ‘Tu che di gel sei cinta’ is some of the best hours and a half of music ever written.
For Turandot to truly work on record, the bar is unusually high. It starts with a conductor who treats the opera as drama, not as a mere “battle of the voices” designed to showcase the two leads at the expense of everything else. Then you need two completely different sopranos: a genuine dramatic soprano for Turandot, the Ice Princess, and a lyric soprano for Liù, the slave, plus a top-class spinto tenor who not only has the vocal substance to carry Calàf but also the imagination to make him a real character. And that is before you even get to the supporting cast: a sizeable ensemble of roles that must be not only well sung but vividly characterised, because Turandot demands personality from almost everyone on stage.
Without further ado, here are my ten essential recordings of Puccini’s Turandot, in no particular order.
Roberto Abbado / Münchner Rundfunkorchester (RCA)
This 1993 recording finds Roberto Abbado, Claudio Abbado’s nephew, conducting the score with a very human touch. The opera’s thrilling, high-voltage side can feel slightly underplayed, lacking a bit of the necessary bite and intensity, but the more delicate and introspective pages are shaped with real care and insight. Éva Marton’s Turandot is correct and, dramatically, more engaged than in other performances, though the voice sounds more tired here, with a noticeable wobble at times. Ben Heppner offers a solid Calàf, not especially distinctive, but well sung and strongly committed as an actor-singer. His ‘Nessun dorma’ shows secure technique, a clear understanding of the line and a seamless transition between registers. As Liù, Margaret Price sings beautifully, sustaining a poised legato and rounding out a cast that may not be the most glamorous on this list, yet still delivers a genuinely compelling performance.
Alberto Erede / Orchestra dell’Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia (Decca)
From Alberto Erede’s recording of 1955, correctly conducted if a touch bland and directing an orchestra that was at the time weaker than most great orchestras in Europe, the most notable aspect is Renata Tebaldi’s flawless Liù. The phrasing, the expression and the sheer beauty of her voice at the time make her unsurpassable in the role. Inge Borkh’s powerful Turandot, if sung with a slightly coarse edge, is still a net positive thanks to the compelling way she inhabits the character. Mario Del Monaco’s Calàf is vigorous and exciting, a testament to one of the best tenor voices of the 1950s and 1960s, yet he can miss the last degree of nuance and musicality the role sometimes demands.
Herbert von Karajan / Wiener Philharmoniker (Deutsche Grammophon)
Herbert von Karajan, alongside conductors such as Leinsdorf, Mehta and Maazel, is one of the few who grants Turandot the full importance it deserves. Too often the score is treated as a superficial vehicle for big voices, offering set piece after set piece while neglecting the dramatic and orchestral fabric that actually gives the work its power. Karajan’s approach in this 1981 version is the opposite: thoroughly theatrical and intensely dramatic, alive to color and atmosphere, moving seamlessly, for instance, from the barbaric frenzy of ‘Gira la cote’ to the diaphanous, inward glow of ‘Perché tarda la luna?’ without ever breaking the opera’s spell. Plácido Domingo is a solid Calàf, with superb phrasing, though his top can sound a little strained. Barbara Hendricks makes a fine Liù, perhaps not the most expansive emotionally and occasionally a touch reserved, but musically reliable and affecting in her own way, while Ruggero Raimondi contributes a genuinely impressive Timur. The major drawback, however, is Katia Ricciarelli’s Turandot. Reportedly heavily persuaded by Karajan to take on the role, she is simply overmatched: the part overwhelms her, and even her chief asset, the natural beauty of her timbre, is compromised as she is forced into yelling and pushing to compensate for the weight and technique she lacks for the role’s demands. Remarkable, though, are Gottfried Hornik, Heinz Zednik and Francisco Araiza as Ping, Pang and Pong.
Franco Ghione / Orchestra Sinfonica di Torino della RAI (Naxos)
From the first complete recording of the opera, made in 1938, the most enduringly admired element is arguably Francesco Merli’s Calàf: robust and heroic, yet never at the expense of elegance and quality in the role’s more lyrical pages. For many listeners, and with good reason, his portrayal has remained unsurpassed. As Turandot, Gina Cigna offers a fiery interpretation, her powerful voice bristling with rage, but leaving little room for the tenderness the ice-cold princess reveals at the opera’s close. Completing the principal cast, Magda Olivero is a superb Liù. Later celebrated in roles such as Adriana Lecouvreur and Tosca, she is heard here at an earlier stage of her career, delivering a wholly compelling ‘Tu che di gel sei cinta’. On the podium, Franco Ghione leads an adequate performance. The dated audio quality is an inevitable drawback of this recording.
Erich Leinsorf / Orchestra del Teatro dell’Opera di Roma (RCA)
Fantastically conducted by the underrated Erich Leinsdorf, this 1960 recording boasts the ultimate Turandot in the Swedish soprano Birgit Nilsson. The way her voice can feel almost like a cannon as it rises to the top without losing an ounce of clarity is one of the most thrilling sounds in all of opera. Her assumption of the role became the model for later sopranos, but it has not been surpassed, or even equalled. Alongside Nilsson, Jussi Björling is not a conventional Calàf, in that he does not have the overtly heroic traits often associated with the part, but he makes up for it with the sheer beauty of his tone, even if the interpretation can feel a little cool at times. Renata Tebaldi reprises her Liù with great distinction, though she does not quite match what she achieved seven years earlier for Alberto Erede.
Francesco Molinari-Pradelli / Orchester der Wiener Staatsoper (Myto Records)
In this 1961 live performance from the Wiener Staatsoper, Francesco Molinari-Pradelli conducts with noticeably more personality and drive than in his 1965 studio recording. Birgit Nilsson is, once again, the unsurpassable Turandot she was and remains, but her Calàf this time is, somewhat unexpectedly, Giuseppe Di Stefano. Admittedly, he is operating at the outer limits of his vocal means in the role, yet he gets through it on sheer artistry and the instinct of a singing actor. His exchanges with Nilsson may not feel as evenly matched as with a tenor like Corelli, but there is a distinctive temperament to his singing that makes his Unknown Prince well worth hearing. As Liù, Leontyne Price is superb, unusually intense and never resorting to the over-emphasized fragility that can cheapen the character. All in all, it is a superb live Turandot, with surprisingly good sound for a live performance.
Francesco Molinari-Pradelli / Orchestra del Teatro dell’Opera di Roma (EMI/Warner)
Nilsson returned to the studio to sing Turandot in this 1965 recording, almost reprising her Leinsdorf account, though with slightly less precision and expressive bite, probably because of the conductor. Alongside her, Franco Corelli comes close to the ideal Calàf: heroic and strong, yet also capable of musicality and introspection. Renata Scotto’s Liù feels vividly characterized and, while not always vocally precise, she delivers some of the recording’s most gripping moments, especially in ‘Tu che di gel sei cinta‘. Always underrated, Bonaldo Giaiotti’s Timur is also of great quality. The weak link, however, is Molinari-Pradelli’s conducting, which comes across as casual and superficial, draining the score of its emotional charge.
Riccardo Chailly / San Francisco Opera Orchestra (Gala)
This 1977 live recording from the San Francisco Opera features 24-year-old prodigy Riccardo Chailly in the pit, and he rightly infuses the score with youthful energy and theatricality, resulting in a highly dynamic, if at times slightly shallow, reading of the work. Turandot is clearly not an ideal fit for Montserrat Caballé’s voice or repertoire, yet she fares better here than in her studio recording with Lombard from the same year (which did not make the cut for this article), simply by singing the role in a way her instrument can sustain, without trying to be something she isn’t. In his stage debut as Calàf, Luciano Pavarotti is splendid, his voice full of clarity and warmth, and his ability to shape the text with real expressive intent makes this a compelling assumption of the role, even if some listeners might occasionally miss a touch more overt heroism. Leona Mitchell is one of the great Liùs of the 1970s and 1980s, her voice is beautiful and her portrayal in this version is genuinely heartwarming.
Lorin Maazel / Orchester der Wiener Staatsoper (Sony)
This 1983 live recording from the Wiener Staatsoper earns its place largely on the strength of Lorin Maazel’s conducting, which is rich in color and texture, intellectually alert without turning pedantic, and refreshingly far from the superficial “battle of the voices” approach that so often distorts Turandot. The opening alone, in its first five minutes, plunges you into a hostile, menacing ancient China with a vividness few conductors have matched, and Maazel can also turn sections of Acts I and II almost weightless and ethereal, as if channeling Debussy or Ravel, an entirely apt choice given how Puccini, ever eclectic, let hints of impressionism seep into his later works. The cast, however, while solid, rarely rises to Maazel’s level. Éva Marton clearly looks to Nilsson as a model and has a bit of that vocal horsepower, but her portrayal can feel too focused on landing the notes rather than shaping the character. José Carreras is a thoughtful, nuanced Calàf, bringing uncommon introspection to the role, though the part sits a size too big for him despite some genuinely beautiful passages. Not as Turandot, but as Liù, Katia Ricciarelli fares far better: this is the role that truly suits her voice, and she proves once again how insane it was for Karajan to have cast her as the Ice Princess a couple of years earlier.
Zubin Mehta / London Philharmonic Orchestra (Decca)
This 1972 recording is very well regarded for many reasons, not least Zubin Mehta’s conducting. He seems to grasp every nuance within Puccini’s score, delivering something theatrical and exciting, yet reined in when expression and intimacy take center stage. Joan Sutherland as Turandot might not seem an obvious fit at first, especially given how far the role sits from her usual repertoire, but her performance is terrific and a reminder that, had she not devoted her life to belcanto, the sheer size and weight of her voice would have been more than enough for much of the dramatic repertoire. Something similar happens with Luciano Pavarotti, whose forays into the spinto repertoire, while mostly well regarded, do not quite compare to his Calàf. His warm, musical approach makes the performance anthological, and it is no coincidence that ‘Nessun dorma‘ later became his signature aria. Montserrat Caballé’s Liù is second only to Tebaldi’s, while Nicolai Ghiaurov’s Timur rounds out the main cast superbly. A luxury roster for the secondary roles, such as Peter Pears as Emperor Altoum or Tom Krause as Ping, and astonishing sound quality make this not only one of the finest Turandot recordings, but one of the greatest opera recordings of all time.
Bonus
In excerpts from a 1937 Covent Garden performance, superbly conducted by Sir John Barbirolli, we hear a clash of two titanic voices: Eva Turner’s Turandot and Giovanni Martinelli’s Calàf. Sound quality aside, every encounter between them, especially the Act II riddle scene, is electrifying and few performances capture this confrontation with such visceral excitement. The only drawback is that the performance survives only in excerpts rather than as a complete recording.
