Original Broadway Cast, 1943 (Decca) (4 / 5) It’s easy to understand why Carmen Jones was such a hit on Broadway in 1943. Not only was it a novelty — an Americanized opera with an all-black cast — it was also valid on its own terms.  In writing the book and lyrics, Oscar Hammerstein adhered quite closely to Bizet’s opera Carmen. This was no jazzing-down of the score, but there were some bright vernacular equivalents: a factory that makes parachutes (it was during WW-II, remember) instead of cigarettes, a prize fighter (Husky Miller) in place of a toreador (Escamillo), and so on. The opera’s arias, ensembles, and choruses were adapted with great skill; for example, the famous quintet lost none of its spirit and dash in being revamped as “Whizzin’ Away Along de Track.” The show had spoken dialogue rather than recitatives, and what might now seem dated, jarring, and even offensive to some ears — “dat” and “dis” for “that” and “this,” and so on — was seen as candid at the time. As heard here, some cast members show the strain of singing this demanding material several times a week. Others seem intent on proving that this, too, is an opera! But, overall, the album is excellent. Muriel Smith, reportedly a knockout onstage, would be a good Carmen under any circumstances; she sings with fire and conviction. The rest of the company is pretty much up to her standards, with Luther Saxon offering a beautifully sung “Dis Flower.” The commitment level of the performance in general more than makes up for the recording’s minor flaws. (There’s a fun bonus track: Kitty Carlisle’s “Beat Out Dat Rhythm on a Drum.”) — Richard Barrios

Film Soundtrack, 1954 (RCA/no CD) (4 / 5) Otto Preminger’s movie version of Carmen Jones was daring on numerous fronts: a Hollywood film of an opera (albeit with spoken dialogue), an all-black cast, and a forward look at sexuality. It was a huge success. For movie purposes, a smaller-scale vocal approach than would be heard in an opera house or on Broadway was deemed necessary. Still, like the film itself, this recording works very well on its own terms. Setting the tone as Carmen is the 20-year-old Marilyn Horne, her first name listed in the credits as “Marilynn.” In voice and style, Horne is closer here to Dorothy Dandridge — the on-screen Carmen, and a pop singer of some merit — than to the later Horne, who was to become one of the greatest mezzo soprano divas of the 20th century with her rich low notes and electrifying Rossini roulades. Most of the remainder of the movie cast was dubbed as well, including two other pop singers, Harry Belafonte (by LeVern Hurcherson) and Diahann Carroll (by Bernice Peterson). As Cindy Lou, OlgaJames sings with warmth and sincerity even if she ducks a high note in her big aria, “My Joe.” Pearl Bailey avoids any such problem by singing “Beat  Out Dat Rhythm on a Drum” down in her own range; aided by no less than Max Roach on drums, she makes it a piece for the ages. Herschel Burke Gilbert’s musical arrangements are superb, and even though Dandridge’s scorching Carmen needs to be seen, this aural record of the movie is a winner. (Technical note: Although the score was recorded in stereo and may be heard that way on home video releases of the film, the soundtrack LP has never been issued in true stereo.)– R.B.

Studio Cast, 1967 (WRC/DRG) (2 / 5) Another opera diva, Grace Bumbry, built a sizable part of her career on Bizet’s Carmen and turned to the gypsy’s American sister in the recording studio. The result, if not theatrical, sounds beautiful. Bumbry had one of opera’s most luscious voices, and she could be a compelling dramatic performer as well. As Ms. Jones, her tone is plush, but the fire is there only intermittently. Since this recording is very much a “Diva Gets Down” kind of event, the supporting cast takes a back seat; in the case of Joe, that’s just as well, for George Webb is a milquetoast in voice and manner. Bumbry demolishes him in the last scene without so much as chipping her nail polish. The others fare better, and it’s worth noting that the veteran Elisabeth Welch gets to do “Beat Out Dat Rhythm,” which is again transposed down from the original score. She’s good, but Pearl Bailey still wins the prize. This is an acceptable Carmen Jones in true stereo, but a few minutes of either previous recording will show you what’s missing. — R.B.

Original London Cast, 1991 (EMI) (1 / 5) It took nearly 50 years for Carmen Jones to cross the Atlantic, and she picked up some baggage for her trip to the Old Vic. The show in its original version was felt to be old-hat, resulting in this glossy production by Simon Callow, with reduced orchestrations and a jazzed-up overture. There were rapturous reviews, numerous awards, and the production had a long run — but, apparently, it was an experience far better suited to live viewing than home listening. At least two factors make this recording unsatisfying: drastically cut-down orchestrations, and back-and-forth switching between the lead singers. Wilhelmenia Fernandez and Damon Evans sing Carmen and Joe in Acts I and IV, while Sharon Benson and Michael Austin do so in Acts II and III. Though all are committed to the task at hand, some fall a bit short. Fernandez has a warm tone but faulty diction. Even more unfortunate, Benson makes “De Cards Don’t Lie” sound nice, light, and even-tempered. (Yes, this is the number in which the cards foretell Carmen’s death!) Evans is a slightly more substantial Joe than the reedy Austin, whose “Dis Flower” is a trial. Karen Parks gets through “My Joe,” and Gregg Baker, another genuine opera singer, is a decent Husky.  — R.B.

Original Broadway Cast Members, 1980 (Original Cast Records) (3 / 5) Picture Mamma Mia! leavened with wit, charm, and soaring melody, and you’ll have some notion of this two-week 1979 flop. Both are based on the same source material, the 1968 film Buona Sera, Mrs. Campbell — although the creators of both shows denied any connection to it. With music by Burton Lane, lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner, and a book by Lerner and Joseph Stein, Carmelina was critically excoriated as “old-fashioned,” which is sort of like complaining that snowfalls and Courvoisier are old-fashioned. There’s plenty wrong with this not-quite-cast album, assembled well after the show’s closing: Leading man Paul Sorvino, filling in for Broadway lead Cesare Siepi, is vocally and temperamentally miscast; Hershy Kay’s original orchestrations have been replaced with thin, new charts by Philip J. Lang; and Virginia Martin is missing, as is her amusing reprise of “The Image of Me.” Even the vocal balances in the showstopping male trio “One More Walk Around the Garden” are off, robbing the listener of full enjoyment of one of Lane’s most gorgeous melodies. But this remains a rich, romantic score in the classic tradition, with a wonderful title-role turn by Georgia Brown. Convincingly Italian and Anna Magnani-earthy, Brown brilliantly navigates the plot exposition and character-conniving of “Someone in April,” commits wholeheartedly to “Why Him?” and “Love Before Breakfast,” and growls entertainingly through “I’m a Woman.” Note how ingeniously the score tells this offbeat story and compare it with the enormously successful but brainless ABBA-thon that is Mamma Mia! There is no justice.  — Marc Miller

Original London Cast, 1968 (Decca) No stars; not recommended. After a long period during which London produced few musicals of consequence, things picked up in the ’60s. Some even called it the Golden Age of British musicals. One of the London hits of that period, perhaps because it was “racy,” was Canterbury Tales — a loud, tuneless bleat of a musical that ineptly adapted the Chaucer stories. Martin Starkie, working with Professor Neville Coghill’s translation of the tales, dramatized them just as two young composers, Richard Hill and John Hawkins, were writing a suite based on the work. When an LP called The Canterbury Pilgrims, narrated by Starkie, proved successful, a full musicalization evolved with book by Starkie and Coghill, lyrics by Coghill, and music by Hill and Hawkins — none of whom had ever written a musical. The disc reveals no characters and no sense of plot, just a series of short, formless pieces couched in a weird, ugly combination of medieval harmonies and trashy rock music. The songs announce themselves but don’t develop; for example, a number called “Darling, Let Me Teach You How to Kiss” just keeps repeating that phrase. This is the kind of show whose writers think using the word “cock” for “rooster” is pretty hot stuff — ergo the “joke” behind the song “I Have a Noble Cock.” — David Wolf

Original Broadway Cast, 1969 (Capitol/Angel) (1 / 5) It isn’t just chauvinism that makes me prefer this recording of the failed New York production of Canterbury Tales to the cast album of the successful British original, and it isn’t just stubbornness that makes me tell you it’s still not good. But it is much better. For one thing, the cast is superior, almost without exception. Sandy Duncan, Ed Evanko, Ed Steffe, Martyn Green, Hermione Baddeley, and George Rose perform the mostly dreary material as if it were My Fair Lady. Rose, who brought great style and humor to a number of unfortunate musicals (and revivals of some really good ones), performs a remarkable bit of alchemy with “If She Has Never Loved Before,” in a recording so different from the original that it almost sounds like a new song; here, it’s alive and even funny, a kind of joyous calypso number. Of course, that’s partly thanks to musical director Oscar Kosarin, who really knows how to drive this shaky score while managing to downplay the ugly rock noises heard on the London cast album. This remains a show about a group of English travelers passing the time by telling each other stories. One of the stories, “The Priest’s Tale,” was cut for the American production, along with five songs. Three new songs were added, and one of the originals — “What Do Women Most Desire?” — was totally rewritten as “What Do Women Want?” But the improvements are largely negligible.  — D.W.

Original Broadway Cast, 1946 (Decca) (4 / 5) The well-produced CD transfer of recordings made by members of the original cast of Call Me Mister, featuring a rediscovered, extended version of composer-lyricist Harold Rome’s aristocratic ballad “When We Meet Again,” proves that the show had more of an emotional arc than most revues. It starts thrillingly with a racially integrated chorus (rare in 1946), led by the excellent baritone Lawrence Winters, singing “Going Home Train.” The number is a multi-part rondo, a Rome specialty (“Did our share for liberty / Fought the guys who would destroy it / Now we’re goin’ back to enjoy it”), and an unusual instance of postwar patriotism that’s neither mawkish nor overbearing. The same happy-returning-G.I. motif resurfaces in the roof-raising title song (“Just call me Mister from now on”). But the score isn’t all flag-waving: “Military Life” presents the funny flip side of army conditioning. A moving tribute to F.D.R., “The Face on the Dime,” is sung by Winters, and the show had some rising-star power in the person of Betty Garrett, whose spirited rendition of “South America, Take It Away” swept the country. Also appealing are Garrett’s wistfully comic “Little Surplus Me” and confidently satirical “Yuletide, Park Avenue.” At 30 minutes in length, the Call Me Mister portion of this CD (which also includes selections from This Is the Army and Winged Victory) must be missing loads of material that was performed in the show itself. But what’s here, as they used to say, is cherce. — Marc Miller

Original Broadway Cast, 1956 (Columbia/Sony) (5 / 5) This recording starts with the most exciting overture in Broadway history, and just keeps getting better after that. Leonard Bernstein’s gilded score for this adaptation of Voltaire’s classic is one of the great glories of the American musical theater. Unfortunately, Lillian Hellman’s libretto failed to please, and the show had a pitifully short run; but, happily, numerous “revisals” have kept the work alive. Here, Bernstein’s peerless melodies, and piercingly witty lyrics by a trio of poets — Richard Wilbur, John Latouche, and Dorothy Parker — are performed by a first-rate cast. Robert Rounseville plays the title role of the naïve youth whose optimism sees him through a series of disasters; he’s especially touching in the ballad “It Must Be So.” Max Adrian is delightful as Dr. Pangloss, whose boundless optimism infects his young charges; in “The Best of All Possible Worlds,” he gets things off to a jaunty start. Other standouts are William Olvis as a gleefully corrupt governor (his wooing ways are made explicit in “My Love”) and Irra Petina as the Old Lady (she leads the showstopping “I Am Easily Assimilated”). Best of all is young Barbara Cook as Cunegonde, Candide’s compromised love. She’s ravishingly innocent in the duet “Oh, Happy We” and then, a few tracks later, riotously cynical and corrupt in the stupendous aria “Glitter and Be Gay.” Her rendition of this number is one of the essential recorded performances in Broadway history. Among the album’s other highlights are “What’s the Use?”, performed by a quartet of connivers, and the stunning choral finale “Make Our Garden Grow.” The entire score is wrapped in the brilliant orchestrations of Bernstein and Hershy Kay. This recording is a permanent pleasure and a must for every musical theater collection. — David Barbour

Broadway Cast, 1974 (Columbia, 2LPs/2CDs) (1 / 5) For this production, Harold Prince gave Candide a new book by Hugh Wheeler and additional lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. Prince’s staging, with plenty of sight gags and sex jokes, enjoyed a good run. This album, however, is the least of the show’s many versions on disc. It includes most of the book, so you must endure long stretches of obvious humor to get to the songs. You also have to deal with Hershy Kay’s reduced orchestrations and the capable but unexciting voices of Mark Baker as Candide and Maureen Brennan as Cunegonde. June Gable makes an amusing Old Lady, but Lewis J. Stadlen, playing Voltaire (who narrates), Dr. Pangloss, the Governor, and others, offers a performance that consists mainly of trick voices. The song list includes the “Auto-Da-Fé” sequence and “Candide’s Lament,” a moving ballad, neither of which are on the original recording. But the fine “EI Dorado,” “What’s the Use?” and “Venice Gavotte” are gone; and “Sheep Song,” a too-cute entry, more or less replaces “EI Dorado.” A nice innovation is having “Life Is Happiness Indeed” introduce the lead characters. Another is having the Governor sing “My Love” not to Cunegonde but to Maximilian, her foppish brother, when the latter is dressed in drag. Paradoxically, the longest-running production of Candide yielded this least interesting recording, which perhaps explains why its CD release was belated. — D.B.

New York City Opera Cast, 1982 (New World Records, 2CDs) (2 / 5) Harold Prince supervised the creation of yet another version of Candide for the New York City Opera, combining elements of the previous two productions. The two-disc recording has its moments, but these opera singers don’t make the most of the brilliant lyrics, and at times they seem overwhelmed by the orchestra. The more serious songs come off best, including a superb “Make Our Garden Grow.” Erie Mills’ Cunegonde was much admired, and her “Glitter and Be Gay” is certainly adept. David Eisler and Joyce Castle are capable as Candide and the Old Lady, as is John lankston as Voltaire, Pangloss, and others. Pangloss has a new number, “Dear Boy,” and Candide has a “Ballad of the New World.” The first act “Quartet Finale” is back; so are the trio “Quiet” and “What’s the Use?” — D.B.

“Bernstein Conducts Candide,” 1989 (Deutsche Grammophon, 2CDs) (5 / 5) This is a welcome entry. The great composer-conductor Bernstein, who had little to do with the two Harold Prince productions, decided to compile everything for an all-conclusive, “final revised edition” of the Candide score. Eschewing the labored gags of the previous two versions, this one restores the somber undertone that is central to the composer’s original conception. Additions include the opening “Westphalia Chorale”; the frequently heard refrain “Universal Good”; “Words, Words, Words,” written for Martin, the alter ego of Pangloss; “We Are Women,” a duet for Cunegonde and the Old Lady; and “The King’s Barcarolle,” in which five deposed monarchs yearn for the simple life. Restored are “El Dorado” and “Venice Gavotte.” Best of all is “Nothing More Than This,” an anguished solo for Candide that functions as a kind of 11-o’clock number. Bernstein’s conducting is nothing less than thrilling; on no other disc does the orchestra make such an impression. The high-profile cast is led by opera stars Jerry Hadley (Candide), June Anderson (Cunegonde), Christa Ludwig (the Old Lady), and Nicolai Gedda (the Governor, among other roles). Although opera singers aren’t always at home with such challenging lyrics, this cast is fine in that regard, Ludwig and Gedda being the standouts. Leave it to Adolph Green, of all people, to shine in such company, showing off his clear diction and comic gusto in the dual role of Pangloss/Martin. This recording is a must for fans of the score, thanks to Bernstein’s conducting and the sheer mass of material. — D.B.

Scottish Opera Cast, 1991 (JAY) (3 / 5) This one-disc recording has a song stack that’s a close match to the original Broadway cast album. It’s also one of the more sparkling renditions of the score, with a cast of full-bodied opera singers. Nickolas Grace’s impeccable diction and comic sense make him a fine Pangloss, Mark Beudert offers an exceptionally well-sung Candide, and Ann Howard is a vivacious Old Lady. As Cunegonde, Marilyn Hill Smith delivers a memorable “Glitter and Be Gay” with a fine sense of high comedy. The orchestra, conducted by Justin Brown, tends to favor brass over strings, but Brown’s tempi are energetic throughout. — D.B.

Broadway Cast, 1997 (RCA) (3 / 5) Although this fussy, over-elaborate production quickly closed, the cast recording has its points of interest, beginning with Jim Dale’s urbanely witty performance as Voltaire, Pangloss, and others. The show’s book was retooled yet again, this time to give Andrea Martin more to do as the Old Lady, and she is a riotous presence; her rendition of “I Am Easily Assimilated” is a gem. Jason Danieley displays a golden voice and innocent manner that are are right on for the role of Candide, in contrast to Harolyn Blackwell’s well-sung but occasionally too knowing Cunegonde. Brent Barrett is very strong as Maximilian, and turning up here and there are Borscht Belt clowns Arte Johnson and Mal Z. Lawrence. While not on a par with the best Candide recordings, this one does offer acceptable performances of the score’s highlights. — D.B.

Royal National Theatre Cast, 1999 (First Night) (4 / 5) According to the notes on this recording, the Royal National Theatre production featured Hugh Wheeler’s book “in a new version by John Caird,” who also directed. Actually, it’s a blend of many previous editions. Bruce Coughlin’s orchestrations are not as sparkling as the Bernstein-Kay originals, but they have a pleasing intimacy, and music director Mark W. Dorrell takes the score to a rapid clip. Innovations include a slightly different opening sequence, “Life Is Happiness Unending”; a new version of “Universal Good”; new lyrics for “Nothing More Than This” and the “Quartet Finale”; and a totally new version of “What’s the Use?” Simon Russell Beale displays savoir faire and a fine voice as Voltaire/Pangloss. He’s particularly amusing in “Dear Boy,” rationalizing syphilis as a gift of the New World: “Without the little spirochete / We’d have no chocolate to eat!” The cast also includes distinguished artists Denis Quilley (the Baron/Martin) and Clive Rowe (the Drill Sargeant/Cacambo). In the latter role, Rowe sings “El Dorado” as a duet with the fine Candide of Daniel Evans. Alex Kelly is the best Cunegonde since Cook, delivering a grand “Glitter and Be Gay,” and Beverly Klein is a lively Old Woman. The entire company blends superb diction with fine musical values, skills that are particularly noticeable in the most exciting rendition ever of “Auto-da-Fé.” Not everything here works — the new version of “What’s the Use” disappoints, for example — but this recording is very worthy overall. — D.B.

Original Broadway Cast, 1953 (Capitol/Angel) (5 / 5) Although Gwen Verdon was catapulted to stardom in this pizzazz-y, Broadway-Gallic concoction, the true star of the show is Cole Porter. The great composer-lyricist wrote many songs dedicated to the “o-la-la” aspects of the Paris he adored, and Can-Can is his most melodic excursion into Parisian love, sex, and nightlife. The lyrics are as witty and lusty as the infectious music in a score that includes the much-loved standards “It’s All Right With Me,” “I Love Paris,” and “C’est Magnifique.” Happily, the cast album captures the exuberance of a live Broadway show, its clear, high-fidelity monophonic sound and crisp performances combining to make it an excellent example of 1950s showbiz chutzpah. Lilo, the lead chanteuse, belts out her numbers with tremendous joie de vivre. Her most effective song is the naughty, defiant “Live and Let Live.” Her authentic French accent adds to the fun, although it may take some doing to decipher all of Porter’s clever uses of the word “can” when Lilo tongue-twists her way through the title song. Verdon is heard only briefly on the recording, since she was the dancing star of the show, but her comedy number with the inimitable Hans Conried, “If You Loved Me Truly,” is a fun throwaway song. Peter Cookson is the stalwart baritone who beautifully, if somewhat stiffly, renders great lines like “It’s the wrong time and the wrong place.” His best number, “I Am in Love,” is a little-known Porter masterpiece, with such choice lyrics as “Should I order cyanide or order champagne?” You should definitely order champagne while listening to this gem. — Gerard Alessandrini

Film Soundtrack, 190 (Capitol) (2 / 5) Frank Sinatra, Shirley MacLaine, Maurice Chevalier, and Louis Jourdan were huge stars when this soundtrack for the film version of Can-Can was recorded. With all those famous names over the title, the flick was a hit, but an avalanche of Hollywood kitsch suffocated almost all of the charm and wit of Cole Porter’s Broadway show. Musical director Nelson Riddle provided overblown, frantic orchestrations. This isn’t music to drink French champagne by, it calls for several glasses of scotch in the leopard-skin lounge of a Pasadena golf course. However, Porter’s songs are so durable that even their saloon interpretations by Sinatra and MacLaine are somewhat appealing on their own terms. The French co-stars fare better: Chevalier’s devil-may-care performance of “Just One of Those Things” (added to the score) has its own charm, while Jourdan’s rendition of “You Do Something to Me” is surprisingly well sung. Indeed, it may be one of the most enchanting versions of the song ever recorded. But too much of the show score has been eliminated or altered. For example, although the title song is heard as an instrumental, MacLaine never gets to sing those witty Porter lyrics. Some of the better ballads, such as “Allez-Vous En,” are missing altogether, and “I Love Paris” is bizarrely performed as a romantic duet between Chevalier and Sinatra! — G.A.

Original Broadway Cast, 1960 (Columbia/Sony) (5 / 5) Composition, performance, and audio technology all came together to make this a first-rate cast recording. Although Camelot is not as highly regarded as Lerner and Loewe’s masterpiece My Fair Lady, this album makes it sound like one of the best Broadway musicals of all time. Richard Burton in the role of King Arthur is at his absolute peak as a great stage actor, bringing extra substance to the character by virtue of his classical training. Surprisingly, Burton’s singing voice is rich and clear; he easily sails through the score, serving the Frederick Loewe melodies beautifully and delivering the witty and romantic Alan Jay Lerner lyrics as if they were the immortal words of the Bard himself. Julie Andrews is Guenevere, and her performances of such songs as “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood” and “I Loved You Once in Silence” are as good as anything she has ever recorded. To round out the perfect casting, Robert Goulet is Lancelot; when he introduced the great love song “If Ever I Would Leave You,” Goulet had one of the finest baritone voices ever heard on Broadway. Roddy McDowell and Robert Coote are also on hand for some star-power fun. The book of Camelot, based on the massive novel The Once and Future King, by T. H. White, has often been called unwieldy; but with the score isolated, the album is a gem. The songs are variously intricate, operatic, lyrical, charming, and delightfully funny. Meticulously conducted by Franz Allers, the orchestrations by Philip J. Lang and Robert Russell Bennett are a fine example of the best of those written during the golden age of Broadway musicals. By 1960, stereophonic recording on magnetic tape had been perfected and, even by today’s digital standards, this glorious score sounds magnificent here. Avid collectors may want to seek out the original vinyl LP edition; look for a laminated, blue-and-gold, gatefold album loaded with stunning color photos that give it a lavish storybook quality. You may even find that a copy of the LP in good condition sounds more expansive and warmer than subsequent compact discs editions of the recording. It’s a grand memento of the glamorous Kennedy era and a time when Broadway shows were the ultimate in entertainment. — Gerard Alessandrini

Original London Cast, 1964 (First Night/no CD) (2 / 5) This recording lacks the fine musicality of the original Broadway cast album. In the role of King Arthur, Laurence Harvey displays a resonant voice, and his classical training and romantic appeal are evident. What’s missing is a melodic lilt to his voice, and, unlike Richard Burton, Harvey cannot sustain notes; the tempi of many of his songs are too fast, presumably in deference to his vocal limitations. His Guenevere, Elizabeth Larner, has a beautiful voice and delivers her songs very appealingly, but in her case and that of Barry Kent as Lancelot, listeners may feel as if they’re hearing standbys for the absent stars Julie Andrews and Robert Goulet.  Among the other soloists heard on the recording are Nicky Henson as Mordred and Josephine Gordon as Nimue. The album does include a recording of “The Joust,” which is not on the Broadway album. If only for that reason, it may be of interest to collectors. — G.A.

Film Soundtrack, 1967 (Warner Bros) (3 / 5) Wonderful orchestrations almost elevate this Hollywood version of the enduring Broadway hit into the category of great recorded music — but not quite. The team of Alfred Newman (conductor), Ken Darby (choral arrangements), and Edward Powell (orchestrations) gave the Lerner-Loewe songs the royal treatment, but uneven vocal performances keep this album from equaling the Broadway recording as a fully satisfying performance of the score. Although Vanessa Redgrave does a fine acting job in the film as Guenevere, her singing is barely adequate; she does her best to “act” her way through songs written for the voice of Julie Andrews, but she seems to be trying too hard for effect. As a result, Redgrave sounds campy in many of her musical moments. Richard Harris is a better singer with a greater range, but his acting is overwrought and forced in the role of King Arthur. Gene Merlino, dubbing Lancelot’s songs for Franco Nero, fares better. Fans of this durable score may delight in the magnificent arrangements of the overture and choral selections such as “Follow Me.” If Warner ever decides to issue a more complete version of the soundtrack album, including the Korngold-like treatment of Loewe’s background score, that would be a must-have item. As it is, this edition is disappointing. — G.A.

Studio Cast, 1968 (World Record Club) No stars; not recommended. This horror should never have been released, and one has to wonder if Lerner and/or Loewe considered pursuing a cease and desist order to have it withdrawn from the catalogue immediately. The chief villain here, in the role of King Arthur, is Patrick Macnee, who was famous at the time as one of the stars of the TV series The Avengers but who, on the basis of this recording, should never have come within 1000 miles of musical theater in a performance capacity. Not only does Macnee make no effort to sing the melodies of Arthur’s songs at any point during the proceedings, neither is he able to recite the lyrics in time to the music, constantly rushing ahead and thereby causing one train wreck after another. Madge Stephens as Guenevere displays a pretty soprano voice but makes many unfortunate choices in terms of phrasing and interpretation. And though Geoffrey Chard possesses a strong baritone, his renditions of Lancelot’s songs are done in by the stodginess of his singing and by rolled “r”s that make him sound like a refugee from an operetta or one of those hopelessly dated film musicals of the early 1930s. In addition to “C’est moi” and “If Ever I Would Leave You,” Chard has been handed Nimue’s beautiful song “Follow Me,” no doubt as a way for the record producers to avoid paying another salary; Macnee, Stephens, and Chard are the only three singers heard here, no Mordred or knight soloists or chorus to be found, leading to the excision of the songs “Fie on Goodness,” “Guenevere,” and “The Seven Deadly Virtues.” Capping the album is a weird “Finale” cut that sounds like an edited repeat of part of the “Overture” track, with no contribution at all from Macnee – a small mercy, under the circumstances. The new orchestrations are not terrible but certainly are not a patch on the originals. (Some of them call to mind the orchestral charts for the film version of Camelot, which was released about one year earlier.) In sum, this album is an extremely dispiriting affair. — Michael Portantiere

London Cast, 1982 (Varese Sarabande) (1 / 5) Richard Harris, who starred as King Arthur in the movie of Camelot, toured extensively in the role. By the time he recorded this London cast album, his performance was as petrified as aged wood, and anything that was good about his characterization in the film had been obliterated. The concept of the Lerner-Loewe musical was to portray King Arthur as a young, vibrant leader, not a stodgy old monarch. When Harris made the film, he was an attractive, sexually vital, youngish actor; when he returned to the part on tour years later, his age completely subverted the story. In this recording, Harris rasps his way through the jaunty title song and delivers an over-the-top performance more appropriate to the dusty old Shakespearean actor in The Fantasticks. By the end of the album, he is indulging in vocal histrionics that are ludicrous. Fiona Fullerton as Guenevere sounds quite lovely, but Robert Meadmore as Lancelot is no baritone; his voice has a bleating, high-tenor timbre that’s jarring. All in all, this recording is of little value except as one of the most unintentionally comedic cast albums of all time. Ultimately, Harris himself chisels its epitaph when, at the end, he screams insanely: “R-U-U-N-N, BOY! R-U-U-U-N-N-N!!!!” — G.A.

Broadway Cast, 2023 (Broadway Records) (1 / 5) This cast album is somewhat more enjoyable in its own right than the production that yielded it, which was a near-complete misfire — primarily due to the bizarre direction of Bartlett Sher and the too-clever-by-half, aggressively post-modern rewrite of Alan Jay Lerner’s book that Aaron Sorkin crafted for this show, which many consider a classic despite its flaws as originally written and conceived. Nor are the performances of the leads of this Lincoln Center Theater revisal good enough to compensate. Following a bland reading of the overture led by musical director/conductor Kimberly Grigsby, Andrew Burnap’s King Arthur comes across in “I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight” and the title song as a sweet, young guy of the type you might find in a Hallmark holiday TV movie. Phillipa Soo as Guenevere does an overall fine job with “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood,” and having her sing this song to Arthur, rather than to the audience as a musical monologue, was one of the few good ideas in this production. Jordan Donica’s virile baritone makes a strong first impression with “C’est Moi,” and Soo and company give us an enjoyable run-through of “The Lusty Month of May” — except for an annoying slow-down at the extended “tra-la” section. “Take Me to the Fair,” in which Guenevere responds so negatively to Lancelot’s personality upon their first meeting that she goads three of the knights to seriously injure or even kill him in the jousts, is done well enough, but this huge blot on the score should have remained forever cut from Camelot (as it was during the run of the original production). Burnap offers an ineffective performance of a severely truncated version of “How Handle a Woman,” and while Donica’s “If Ever I Would Leave You” is delivered with gorgeous sound, this classic Broadway love song is self-indulgently overacted here, damaged further by the singer’s questionable phrasing choices at the slow tempo set by the conductor. Taylor Tresnch as Mordred gives a pointed-enough rendition of “The Seven Deadly Virtues,” which is followed by one of the most disconcerting tracks on this recording: “What Do the Simple Folk Do?,” sunk by a lack of wit, charm, and chemistry in the performances of Burnap and Soo, not to mention the addition of some groan-inducing Sorkin dialogue. (At least the full ending of “Simple Folk” is heard on this recording; incredibly, it was cut from the production itself, thereby nullifying the entire point of the song.) Most of the solo voices in “Fie on Goodness” are not quite adequate — and fie on whoever is responsible for instructing or allowing the “How we roared and brawled in Scotland” soloist to grandstand by holding a high note beyond all reasonable measure. The decision to take “I Loved You Once in Silence” away from Guenevere and hand it to Lancelot might have seemed better justified if Donica hadn’t chosen to  over-inflect this song as a syrupy pop ballad. “Guenevere” is fairly exciting here at a brisk tempo, peppered with new dialogue that’s not half bad, but Burnap’s performance of the final scene is as weak as one might have expected, given what has come before it. All in all, this cast album is an unnecessary and unsatisfying addition to the discography. – M.P.

Dinah Shore With Original Broadway Cast, 1950 (RCA/Flare) (1 / 5) After the smash-hit Annie Get Your Gun, an Ethel Merman-Irving Berlin rematch was inevitable. In Call Me Madam, once again, a real-life character inspired a musical fantasy: Mrs. Perle Mesta, an American widow known for her financial largess and lavish parties, had been a major supporter of Harry Truman and, as a reward, was appointed ambassador to Luxembourg. In the show, she became Sally Adams, ambassador to Lichtenburg. Truman remained Truman, and the Howard Lindsay-Russel Crouse script contained any number of jokes about the President’s detractors and his singing daughter Margaret. Berlin’s score is good, not great; the standout number is the bouncy duet-in-counterpoint “You’re Just in Love,” which was added late in previews. RCA backed the hit show and owned the recording rights, but Merman was under contract to the rival Decca label, so two albums emerged. RCA made theirs with Dinah Shore instead of Merman, whose Decca set is reviewed below. Neither recording is very successful. RCA gives a fuller sense of the show, with overture, choruses, and a strong supporting studio cast. Unfortunately, there’s also some lame narration to explain the plot to home audiences. Shore sings with her trademark smoothness and verve but with no theatricality; for all its sly humor, “The Washington Square Dance” sounds like a generic pop tune when she delivers it. As for Paul Lukas, with just enough singing voice to get by, he makes as suavely Continental an impression here as he did in his movie roles. Russell Nype is an ideal juvenile, neither too light-voiced and callow nor heavy-handed, and Galina Talva does very well opposite him. The recording would be a worthy memento of the show were it not for the utterly miscast singer at its center. — Richard Barrios

Ethel Merman With Studio Cast, 1950 (Decca/MCA) (1 / 5) Ethel Merman’s star quality is present in spades on this album, but the Broadway aura is gone. Neither the recording acoustic nor the arrangements add up to a worthy equivalent of a “cast album.” Even Merman sounds a tad dispirited (for her), which is understandable under the circumstances; how could theatrical magic have been created when her cohort is the bland Dick Haymes? The rest of the support is equally uninspiring and shows just how much of a make-do effort this was. In theory, the recording is essential, but in reality, it’s for completists and Mermanites only.  — R.B.

Original London Cast, 1952 (Columbia/Stage Door) (2 / 5) Call Me Madam is so quintessentially American — one of its songs, “They Like Ike,” was later retooled by Berlin to serve as Eisenhower’s campaign song — that a successful overseas transfer might not have seemed to be in the cards. But even with a cast of mixed nationalities and no Merman in sight, the show was a hit in London. British affection for Berlin certainly helped, and so did the star. Billie Worth was a second-rank player in America, understudying Mary Martin and appearing in flops. As the London Sally Adams, she’s a delightful leading lady; if Merman’s voice suggested a trumpet, Worth’s is more like a muted cornet. Her singing is firm, her top notes ringing, her diction crisp, her mien enthusiastic. In the ballad “Marrying for Love,” her softer-grained tone is very appealing, and she holds up her end of “You’re Just in Love” nicely. Speaking of adventurous casting, Worth’s vis-a-vis is a real curio: Anton Walbrook, best known as the domineering impresario in the classic film The Red Shoes, is a suave Cosmo who does everything he can to sing as little as possible. Jeff Trent, another Yank, is nearly as good as Russell Nype; he’s partnered by the teenage Shani Wallis who, in her West End debut, sings with lovely ingenue tone and a bizarre heart-of-Transylvania accent. It’s also odd to hear “They Like Ike” with British accents. Still, on the whole, this is a worthy recording — R.B.

Film Soundtrack, 1953 (Decca/Hallmark) (3 / 5) Despite the usual deletions and toning-down that mark stage-to-silver screen transfers, Call Me Madam and its star worked well on film. In fact, the soundtrack is a far better representation of Merman in the show than the earlier Decca recording, with added vitality and Oscar-winning musical arrangements by Alfred Newman. Donald O’Connor is a splendid sidekick; his “You’re Just in Love” is a career highlight. George Sanders is the best singer of all the Continental actors who ever played Cosmo, and Carole Richards (dubbing for Vera-Ellen) is an acceptable Maria. The recording consists mostly of tracks by Merman, in top form. “The Washington Square Dance” is gone and “Something to Dance About” has been shifted to the O’Connor/Richards team, but compensation comes with a 1913 Berlin interpolation, “International Rag,” that’s as well suited to the star as anything else in the score. (A new Cold War lyric was added for the occasion.) Some people felt that Merman was too big for the movies, but here, the fit was just right. — R.B.

Encores! Cast, 1995 (DRG) (2 / 5) A great thing about the New York theater is that the sheer number of producers and available artists allows for both new musicals and revivals of all sorts. Some producing organizations are devoted to bringing back older properties, and none has done so more dynamically than City Center Encores! Having said that, the series’ presentation of Call Me Madam was not one of its best efforts. Sally Adams was played by Tyne Daly, who sounds oddly at sea on this recording. An intelligent and incisive actress, she tries too hard to “characterize” Sally with frontier inflections and a self-consciously hearty manner. Without the compensation of a strong singing voice, this quickly becomes tiring. Rob Fisher and his Coffee Club Orchestra play the score with a good deal of spirit, but while the remainder of the cast is adequate, no one makes a great impression; even Melissa Errico, whose later performance in One Touch of Venus was an Encores! high point, sounds correct rather than distinctive.  — R.B.

Film Soundtrack, 1943 (Rhino-Turner) (5 / 5) It may not have been Porgy and Bess, but Cabin in the Sky was, in 1940, a new type of all-black Broadway show. Its tale of a heaven-and-hell struggle for one man’s soul had the dignity of the Gershwin opera combined with the jazziness of some earlier black revues. Composer Vernon Duke, lyricist John Latouche, and director-choreographer George Balanchine propelled the efforts of a superb cast: Ethel Waters, Dooley Wilson, Katherine Dunham and her dancers, Todd Duncan, and Rex Ingram. The result was an overwhelming artistic (although not financial) success. Waters made records of four of the show’s songs, and MGM had the good sense to buy the property for the movies. Only Waters and Ingram remained from Broadway, but few could complain about the new cast members: Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, Lena Horne, Louis Armstrong, Butterfly McQueen, and Duke Ellington and his orchestra. With director Vincente Minnelli in charge, the film adhered closely to the stage show in terms of story and dialogue, but far less so in terms of the score. Still, this soundtrack disc is an absolute joy, a rare example of a movie adding a new song that’s fully equal to anything in the original score: the sublime Harold Arlen-E. Y Harburg ballad “Happiness Is a Thing Called Joe,” sung by Waters. Occasionally, the trademark sighing strings of the MGM orchestra threaten to make the score droop, but then another great performer comes along and things are set right. As icing on the cake, this disc gives us two performances, both cut from the film, of Arlen’s nifty “Ain’t It the Truth.” One is a big-scale production number headlining Armstrong, the other is a creamy purr from Horne. — Richard Barrios

Off-Broadway Cast, 1964 (Capitol/Angel) No stars; not recommended. After many years, a legendary Broadway musical score finally gets a full recording — and no one in the cast can sing! Okay, that’s an overstatement, but it’s close enough to the truth. Cabin in the Sky was revived Off-Broadway in 1964, and composer Vernon Duke declared he was pleased with the result. But, as heard on this Capitol recording, the show was little short of a disaster. Whose idea was it, for instance, to cast the fine, non-singing character actress Rosetta LeNoire in a role created by Ethel Waters, one of the greatest singers in the history of American music? In the Dunham/Horne role of Georgia Brown, Ketty Lester fares only marginally better; her “Honey in the Honeycomb” is frightening from a vocal standpoint, and about as seductive as a speech at a beekeeper’s convention. The men are not quite as bad. But, overall, the only value of this album is that it gives us the show’s full program of songs (excluding the dance music) plus some new/old additions by Duke — including the jaunty “Living It Up,” with Duke-penned lyrics. Still, it could be argued that Cabin in the Sky would have been better served had this album not been made at all.  — R.B.

Original Broadway Cast, 1966 (Columbia/Sony) (5 / 5) Christopher Isherwood’s play I Am a Camera, set in Berlin during the rise of Hitler, had been a notable stage success, but the property entered a new sphere with this musicalization. The John Kander-Fred Ebb score is rich in songs that move the plot. Directed by Harold Prince, the show darted effortlessly between the Isherwood narrative and the Kit Kat Club scenes dominated by
Joel Grey, whose Master of Ceremonies — insidious, humorous, and peerlessly decadent — was unlike anything ever seen on Broadway. His performance ignites the cast album from the first notes of “Willkommen,” but the show also featured another great casting choice. Who, after all, could bring more authority to a story set in this time and place, and one presented very much in the Brecht-Weill style, than Lotte Lenya? In “So What?”, Lenya as Fraulein Schneider growls out decades of cynicism and hope in the same haggard/grand style that she brought to “Pirate Jenny” and the rest of her Weill repertoire. Opposite her is Jack Gilford as the sweet, doomed Herr Schultz; his “Meeskite” is at once amusing and grotesque. Sally Bowles, played by Jill Haworth, is also central to the story. A big point of the role is that Sally’s not a good singer and her showbiz ambitions are among the greatest of her many delusions. Capturing that on a recording isn’t easy, and Haworth’s vocalism would be helped by more style; when Sally sings “Cabaret,” the song needs to matter more than it does here. As Cliff, Bert Convy is a comforting presence. All in all, this album is essential. — Richard Barrios

Original London Cast, 1968 (CBS/Sony) (4 / 5) It’s not surprising that the first London production of Cabaret kept close to the Broadway original, since Hal Prince was again in charge. But the cast differed, and in the case of Sally Bowles, this was particularly heartening. Judi Dench was no more of a singer than Jill Haworth had been, and possibly not even as good. Her cracked tones sometimes suggest Bette Davis on a dark night. But who needs vocal polish when your acting is this good and you’re playing an untalented fraud? Seldom has Sally’s mercurial nature been so evident; Dench is pushy, touchy, and insecure as she croaks out the title song. Fraulein Schneider fares well, too, as Lila Kedrova brings a layer of fragile appeal to the role. Kevin Colson is a good Cliff, and Peter Sallis is an adequate Schultz. As the Master of Ceremonies, Barry Dennen performs with distinction. The overall reading of the score is less glossy than the original, its rough edges entirely appropriate to the show and a harbinger of productions to come. — R.B.

Film Soundtrack, 1972 (ABC/MCA) (5 / 5) This is not Cabaret as seen onstage. In the hands of Bob Fosse, the film version is a true reimagining of the show, and it created a major sensation upon release. Gone are the plot songs and the relationship of Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schultz; with the exception of “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” and a brief rendition of “Married” as heard on a phonograph, all of the songs are confined to the Kit Kat Club. They comment on the action in brilliant fashion. The Kander-Ebb score went through several other changes, as well: “Don’t Tell Mama” was replaced with “Mein Herr,” “The Money Song” became the wicked “Money, Money,” and the new Sally Bowles — Liza Minnelli — got her own torch song, “Maybe This Time” (written years earlier by K&E, and performed by Minnelli on her first solo album in 1964). Some critics took issue with the gifted Minnelli playing the amateurish Sally, but such objections seem ultimately pointless. Simply put, this is a terrific recording. Minnelli and Joel Grey are in top form in their Oscar-winning roles, and Ralph Burns’ orchestrations have a more intimate period élan than those of the original show. — R.B.

London Cast, 1986 (First Night) (1 / 5) The Cabaret movie has thrown a long shadow over subsequent revivals, which have taken place in many different lands and languages. This first English-language recording after the soundtrack shows the film’s influence: “Mein Herr” and “Money, Money” replace their stage counterparts, and “Maybe This Time” is included as well. Also, the Master of Ceremonies has become the star of the show in both billing and emphasis. But it’s not clear why anyone thought that creating the role of Mr. Mistoffelees in Cats qualified Wayne Sleep for the star treatment he receives here; his mincing, cutesy Emcee displays no style or charm, let alone menace or danger. Kelly Hunter is an indifferent Sally, while Vivienne Martin is a vocal dead ringer for Lenya. The other players are adequate — at least in comparison with the show’s over-hyped, underachieving star. The best feature of this disc is the musical direction of Gareth Valentine;  here is one of the most authentic-sounding Cabaret bands ever. [Editor’s Note: At least on some editions of this recording, it’s erroneously labeled as the “Original London Cast Album,” which is an accurate designation only for the 1968 recording reviewed above.] — R.B.

Studio Cast, 1994 (JAY, 2 CDs) (3 / 5) With the rise of the compact disc, longer recordings became possible. Spreading Cabaret over two CDs allowed the inclusion of all the music from the original version plus the movie variants and songs added for the 1987 Broadway revival (which yielded no cast album). But since this is a familiar and popular score, the interest shifted to some fascinating casting: Judi Dench moving from Sally in the 1960s to Schneider in the 1990s, Jonathan Pryce as the Master of Ceremonies, and lyricist Fred Ebb as Schultz. Dench’s performance is the most successful; her throaty tones fit the saturnine character, yet she doesn’t hit us over the head with faux-Lenya posturing. Ebb, for his part, sings well and lacks only the last degree of Gilfordesque skill needed for this endearing role. Pryce approaches the emcee with intelligence, striving for something free of the influence of Joel Grey, but without the visual element, the performance comes off as rather mousy and tentative. Gregg Edelman does his usual adequate job as Cliff, a role he played on Broadway in 1987, and Maria Friedman’s Sally is terrific. The recorded sound gives the orchestra a bit of a slick sheen, but it’s nice to have all the music for this fine show in one place. — R.B.

Studio Cast, 1997 (Carlton) No stars; not recommended. In 1997, the world wasn’t exactly holding its breath for another Cabaret recording — especially not a badly performed, half-hour rundown of the movie songs alone. But, evidently, British record companies abhor a vacuum. The result is this silly mess, with just two singers and a cut down band. The notes tell us that Toyah Willcox and Nigel Planer are big stars and great performers. It’s good to have these statements in writing, because nothing that’s heard of them would clue us in. There’s no need to spend much time detailing how ghastly this disc is, but if you’re just dying for an instrumental version of “Two Ladies” or for a “Willkommen” without a chorus, here you go. — R.B.

Broadway Cast, 1998 (RCA) (4 / 5) Few were prepared for what Sam Mendes wrought with this revisal of Cabaret. (His interpretation of the show opened in London in 1993 and moved to Broadway five years later.) Not everyone appreciated this darker take on the show, with its overt sexuality and actual cabaret-style audience seating, but the imagination and theatricality of Mendes and co-director/choreographer Rob Marshall’s vision could not be denied. The cast album, riveting and unsettling, evokes the production as accurately as possible without the visual element of S.S. grunge/chic. Alan Cumming makes the Master of Ceremonies more athletic and nasty than ever, dripping with sleazy sexuality. His success in the role proves that this show is good enough to hold up to widely varying interpretations. Natasha Richardson’s Sally is in the Judi Dench mold; she has enough musicality to carry the tunes, and her acting ability takes care of the rest. Her “Cabaret” is as far as it could be from Liza Minnelli’s force-of-nature defiance, yet both versions work. Mary Louise Wilson and Ron Rifkin are touching as Schneider and Schultz, even if their accents are shaky. Everyone else works hard and well, and the atmosphere of the production is powerfully conveyed on disc.  — R.B.

London Cast, 2021 (Decca) No stars, not recommended. The vulgarization of the musical theater masterpiece Cabaret began with the Donmar Warehouse revisal and the rejiggered version of same that came to Broadway in 1998. Now, judging on the basis of this cast album of a 2021 West End production — much of which was recorded during live performances with audience — we seem to have reached rock bottom in that regard. It begins with a repellent performance of “Wilkommen” led by Eddie Redmayne as the creepiest, sleaziest Master of Ceremonies one’s brain could ever conjure in a nightmare. Redmayne all but destroys this iconic opening number with his cavernous pauses for “effect” and shameless overacting; for example, the lines “Leave your troubles outside” and “So, life is disappointing?” are delivered in the bizarre, sing-song voice of a demented Looney Tunes character, and “Do you feel good?” is screamed when repeated (“DO YOU FEEL GOOD?!!!!”), as if the M.C. had suddenly morphed into Caligula. As for Sally Bowles: Jessie Buckley’s rendition of the title song starts out well, but it’s severely marred by the fact that she speaks rather than sings most of the central section (“I used to have a girlfriend known as Elsie…”) and then overacts the climax to such a degree that she gives Redmayne a run for his money. Similar misjudgments are sadly evident in Buckley’s performances of her other numbers, and she also has to deliver such vulgarities as her remark, during “Don’t Tell Mama,” to one of the Kit Kat Club patrons: “Take your hands out of your pockets, sir, where I can see them.” Searching for non-repellant tracks on this recording, you’ll find that Liza Sadovy does a fine job with Fraulein Schneider’s “So What?”; Elliot Levey as Herr Schultz sounds charming and understated when partnering Sadovy on “It Couldn’t Please Me More”; and Redmayne’s lovely singing of “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” is a nice surprise, given his flagrant self-indulgence everywhere else. (Has this song ever been handed to the M.C. in any previous production?) But these few moments of respite are hardly enough to recommend a cast album that must be rated as one of the worst in the entire catalogue. — Michael Portantiere

Original Broadway Cast, 1954 (Capitol/DRG) No stars; not recommended. Shirley Booth never had much luck with musicals. Witness this elegant piece of hackwork — which, at eight months, ran longer than most of her shows. Here, she’s cast as vaudeville star Lottie Gibson, who, with her father, owns a boarding house on Coney Island. (Herbert and Dorothy Fields’ libretto is set in 1907.) The plot consists of some thoroughly manufactured romantic mix-ups, and the score, by Arthur Schwartz and Dorothy Fields, is overburdened with interchangeable production numbers that could have been authorized by the Coney Island Chamber of Commerce. (The weirdest of them is “Hooray for George the Third.”) Booth has one dryly amusing solo, “I’d Rather Wake Up By Myself,” in which she recalls her many exes; and Mae Barnes, as Lottie’s black housekeeper, sasses up a couple of tunes (“Happy Habit,” “Hang Up”). In the role of Booth’s love interest, a Shakespearean actor, Wilbur Evans is suitably stentorian. Robert Russell Bennett’s orchestrations add a bit of zing. Still, minutes after this disc is finished, you’ll have forgotten that you ever listened to it.  — David Barbour

Off-Broadway Cast, 1967 (RCA/DRG) (3 / 5) While this production did not achieve great success onstage, it did yield a cast album to be reckoned with. Most important, this is the only complete recording of one of the longest running musicals by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart; the original 1941 production opened before cast albums became a popular commodity. The score contains some of the team’s catchiest up-tempo numbers (“Ev’rything I’ve Got,” “Jupiter Forbid”) and loveliest ballads (“Wait Till You See Her,” “Nobody’s Heart,” “Careless Rhapsody”), all performed with gusto. Bob Dishy is very suitable as Sapiens, the reluctant groom to the Amazon Queen Hippolyta, whose numbers are sensationally belted out by Jackie Alloway. Meanwhile, the songs of the secondary romantic couple are beautifully delivered by Sheila Sullivan and Robert R. Kaye. — Jeffrey Dunn

London Cast, 1996 (Polydor) (3 / 5) Andrew Lloyd Webber and Alan Ayckbourn cleverly reworked their 1975 flop ]eeves into this chamber-size musical chronicling the misadventures of the hapless, rich-and-spoiled-but-lovable Bertie Wooster and his invaluable manservant. In size and style, it’s not that different from the musical comedies that the characters’ creator, P. G. Wodehouse, wrote with Guy Bolton and Jerome Kern. Lloyd Webber, after many years of creating supersized neo-operettas with awful lyrics, downscaled his ambitions and found his most sympathetic wordsmith yet; the distinguished playwright Ayckbourn turns out to be a deft lyrical craftsman with a gift for light verse. The modestly orchestrated songs are slight but ingratiating, and this London cast recording sets them up quite brilliantly with a running commentary by Jeeves and Wooster that untangles the convoluted plot with precision and aplomb. Malcolm Sinclair is an ideal gentleman’s gentleman, Steven Pacey a dexterous Wooster. Unfortunately, Lucy Tregear as Honoria Glossop and Cathy Sara as Stiffy Byng grate their way through such good songs as “Half a Moment” and “That Was Nearly Us.” Also, pleasant though the proceedings generally are, they’re a little forced; you can almost hear the creative team in the sound booth, yelling “More charm! More charm!” — Marc Miller

American Premiere Recording, 2001 (Decca) (2 / 5) In New York, By ]eeves honorably attempted to inject some Wodehousian fun into the very tense, post-9/11 Broadway atmosphere. The show struggled for about two months, shuttering the night before New Year’s Eve. The selling points of this cast album are mainly on the distaff side. Donna Lynne Champlin’s Honoria Glossop is more vocally assured than Lucy Tregear’s on the London recording, but Champlin, too, goes overboard, hamming through “That Was Nearly Us.” Emily Loesser’s Stiffy Bing has it all over Cathy Sara’s turn in London. Becky Watson’s Madeline Bassett is charming in “When Love Arrives” and “It’s a Pig!” As Bertie Wooster and Bingo Little, respectively,John Scherer and DonStephenson sing well. But the CD is poorly packaged, with only a few thumbnail photos and no lyrics or plot synopsis. And while the London cast album has all that smart verbal interplay between Jeeves and Wooster, this edition gives us just the songs. Martin Jarvis’ Jeeves is on hand for a few tracks and then slips discreetly away — very Jeevesian of him but, plot-wise, it leaves us hanging.  — M.M.

Original Broadway Cast, 1960 (Columbia/Sony) (5 / 5) Here is pure pleasure. Bye Bye Birdie, with a book by Michael Stewart, managed to satirize the Elvis Presley craze, racial prejudice, the generation gap, the Shriners, and so on, while retaining a thoroughly plausible air of innocence. The cast is ideal:  Dick Van Dyke has an easy charm and faultless timing as pop songwriter Albert, who faces disaster when his meal ticket, the hip-swiveling teen idol Conrad Birdie (Dick Gautier), is drafted. Chita Rivera is sensational as Albert’s exasperated assistant/girlfriend, Rosie. As Kim, the winsome teenager chosen to kiss Birdie in a televised farewell, Susan Watson shows why she was a top Broadway ingenue in her day. Paul Lynde, as Kim’s harried dad, is the least likely husband and father imaginable but is hilarious nonetheless. Birdie was the making of composer Charles Strouse and lyricist Lee Adams, for good reason. This is the rare Broadway score in which the comedy numbers retain their humor. Among the comedic highlights are “The Telephone Hour,” in which a horde of teenagers gossip about the budding romance in their midst; “Healthy, Normal American Boy,” in which Albert and Rosie feed outrageous lies about Conrad to the press; “Hymn for a Sunday Evening,” a paean to Ed Sullivan’s insanely popular TV variety show, complete with Lynde’s priceless reading of the line, “Ed, I love you!”; “Kids,” the parents’ cri-de-coeur; and “Spanish Rose,” in which Rivera is a campy delight (“I’Il be more Español than Abbe Lane!”). Add a couple of songs that became standards (“Put On a Happy Face,” “A Lot of Livin’ to Do”) and what more do you need? Robert Ginzler’s orchestrations keep the tone light and bright throughout. This recording is essential to any Broadway collection. (A CD bonus track features Strouse discussing the show and singing “Put On a Happy Face.”) — David Barbour

Original London Cast, 1961 (Philips/Decca) No stars; not recommended. This show did not thrive in the West End, and the cast recording is inferior to the Broadway album in almost every way. Rivera is still on hand, but Peter Marshall, as Albert, tends to overwhelm the numbers — although he does a nice job with “Baby, Talk to Me.” Sylvia Tysick’s chirping as Kim is a trial, and Robert Nichols’ straightforward approach (emphasis on the “straight”) to Mr. MacAfee results in no laughs whatever. Marty Wilde, a British pop star at the time, is a persuasive Birdie; but conductor Alyn Ainsworth’s slower tempi undermine the score’s humor and brio, especially in “The Telephone Hour,” which is further marred by the cast’s pitch problems and shaky American accents. — D.B.

Film Soundtrack, 1963 (RCA) (1 / 5) Irving Brecher’s screenplay altered the show’s plot to the point of terminal silliness, adding such complications as a troupe of snooty Russian dancers and a super-effective pep pill. But Strouse and Adams did come up with a kicky new title tune, delivered with gusto by Ann-Margret’s Kim, played as a voluptuous teenager. Van Dyke is still charming and Lynde is still a riot, but a game Janet Leigh isn’t an acceptable substitute for Rivera; the role of Rosie has lost much of its humor along with the songs “An English Teacher,” “Normal American Boy,” and “Spanish Rose.” The soundtrack recording doesn’t replace the Broadway album, but it’s fun if you’re an Ann-Margret fan, and the most recent CD edition features three previously unreleased tracks. — D.B.

Television Film Soundtrack, 1995 (RCA Victor) (1 / 5) The TV film that yielded this recording is more faithful to the Broadway production than was the 1963 big-screen version. The soundtrack recording benefits from the charmingly sung Kim of Chynna Phillips and the amusingly over-the-top Birdie of Marc Kudisch. George Wendt offers a refreshing take on Mr. MacAfee, but Jason Alexander as Albert pushes too hard for his laughs; 30 seconds into “Put On a Happy Face,” you’ll be yearning for Dick Van Dyke. Vanessa Williams is a vocally confident Rosie, yet her performance lacks fire; even outfitted with clever new lyrics, “Spanish Rose” isn’t really her thing. Two numbers have been added: “A Mother Doesn’t Matter Anymore,” sung by Tyne Daly as Albert’s castrating mom, makes an obvious point obviously; and “Let’s Settle Down,” a ballad for Williams, sounds jarringly like one of the singer’s pop hits.  — D.B.

Studio Cast, 2002 (Original Cast Records) (3 / 5) Five city dwellers share a brownstone but only occasionally interact with one another in this show by Josh Rubins, Andrew Cadiff, and Peter Larson. Brownstone feels more like a song cycle than a full-blown musical, which may explain why it disappeared after two brief Off-Broadway runs in the mid-1980s. This studio album, recorded after a well-received revival at the Berkshire Theatre Festival, makes a strong case for the score. Liz Callaway is Claudia, who is getting over a recent breakup. Brian d’Arcy James is Howard, a struggling novelist, and Rebecca Luker is Mary, his wife, who wants their future to include children. Debbie Gravitte plays Joan, a high-powered lawyer with a boyfriend in Maine. Kevin Reed is Stuart, the new guy, eager to find excitement and romance in the big city. Song by song, there’s much to enjoy here. Highlights include the scene-setting “Someone’s Moving In”; “Fiction Writer,” in which Howard fantasizes grinding out a best-selling thriller; “Not Today,” Joan’s dream of another life; and the achingly beautiful “Since You Stayed Here,” in which Claudia reviews the changes in her life after her break with her lover. The problem with the show is cumulative: Practically nothing happens, and the single note of wistful longing mixed with ambivalence is stretched extremely thin. Then again, with a first-class cast and a range of material that runs from not bad to very, very good, there’s much to like here. Plus, there are nice orchestrations by Harold Wheeler throughout.  — David Barbour

Original Broadway Cast, 1996 (RCA) (4 / 5) The songs aren’t the main point of this brilliant revue, which uses dance to chart the history of black men in America. The hip, hip-hop survey stretches from the days of slavery, when people were brought to this country in chains, to the “freedom” of today, when hailing a taxi to certain neighborhoods is still a challenge. It makes cogent stops at cotton fields, factories, sound stages, and prisons. Savion Glover, the musical’s driving force, astounded audiences with his groundbreaking approach to tap dancing. He calls what he does “hitting” — and, in an endless series of lightning fast, bravura movements, he changed the face (the feet?) of an ever-adaptable art form. Considering that dance was the impetus for Bring in ‘Da Noise, Bring in ‘Da Funk, which was skillfully directed by George C. Wolfe, one might expect that the cast recording would suffer. But Glover and Wolfe knew that rhythm was the underpinning of the show, and the album features lots of recorded footwork. A rock contingent headed by pianist Zane Mark provides the metaphorical floor on which Glover and fellow dancers Baakari Wilder, Jimmy Tate, and Vincent Bingham do their forceful, fanciful stuff. The music is by Mark, Daryl Waters, and Ann Duquesnay. Reg E. Gaines contributed the book, which covers some fantastical and brutal territory, and some of the lyrics, which do the same. Jeffrey Wright speaks most of the narration, and Duquesnay, who boasts a great growl, sings most of the songs, some of the time hurling lyrics that she herself came up with. Accompanying the CD is a booklet in which each segment is helpfully described. When musical theater historians look back on the 1990s, they will agree that this innovative show was one of the decade’s true triumphs.  — David Finkle

Original London Cast, 2002 (Sony) (3 / 5) This is the world’s first pop-rock, English-Hindi-Punjabi stage musical — but it isn’t as exotic as it sounds. Andrew Lloyd Webber produced the show, “based on an idea” that he and Shekar Kapur devised, about a naif finding fame in the hyperactive Bombay film industry known as Bollywood. Like most Lloyd Webber shows, Bombay Dreams is big on spectacle (the saris! the fountains!) but short on logic; it exists mainly as a showcase for a popular young composer, in this case, A. R. Rahman, who has written the music for dozens of Bollywood films. Rahman is a real talent with a lively gift for melody and a wide palette of styles. The recording opens with quiet mystery: Chords waft in as chant-like singing creates an atmosphere of suspense, then you can practically hear the smoke clearing as the slums of Bombay (now called Mumbai) awaken. The pace picks up and a beguiling tune kicks in, along with Don Black’s leaden lyrics, as the ambitious hero Akaash (Raza Jaffrey) dreams of stardom: “Like an eagle was born to fly, ride across the open sky / I was born to be seen on a screen in Bollywood.” And then the show plows through the expected: good guys versus bad, concerned families, broad humor, splashy musical numbers. It all adds up to a boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, eunuch-sings-about-love musical. With breathy voices given digital treatments a la Cher, the album has a trendy pop sound that’s impossible to resist. The lyrics of “Shakalaka Baby” are silly, yet the song is infectious and lots of fun. (Note: A revised version of Bombay Dreams, with a book adapted by Thomas Meehan and some new songs, opened on Broadway in 2004 and ran for eight months, but did not yield a cast recording.)  — Robert Sandla

Original Australian Cast, 1998 (EMI) (3 / 5) Peter Allen wrote only one musical — the inane Legs Diamond, still prized by connoisseurs of flops — but his life story plays itself out in this glossy show. The Boy From Oz is a fast-paced biography and the first home-grown Australian musical theater hit. It traces Allen’s life from his tap dancing, piano-playing youth through his career as pop songwriter, showman, and celebrity gadabout. His meteoric rise to fame ended with his death from AIDS in 1992. The musical covers Allen’s work with Judy Garland, his marriage to Liza Minnelli, and, to no one’s surprise but his own, his belated realization that he was gay. Nick Enright’s flimsy book shoehorns Allen’s songs into dramatic contexts with varying success. “When I Get My Name in Lights” (from Legs Diamond) works well for the young Peter (Mathew Waters). Todd McKenney is charming and engaged as the adult Allen, with a reedy tenor that sails through the anthemic “I Still Call Australia Home.” Chrissie Amphlett makes an interesting Garland — she and McKenney have great rapport in “Only an Older Woman” — while Angela Toohey’s Liza is a dizzy whirlwind. Bits of the script heard on the recording, such as a news flash about the Stonewall Riots, give context to Allen’s growing self-knowledge. Although the album has an earnest, unpretentious feel, Allen’s original renditions of his songs are catchier than these, and no one can beat Olivia Newton-John’s version of “I Honestly Love You” for syrupy bathos. Still, this is a fun album, hokey but warm-hearted.  — Robert Sandla

Original Broadway Cast, 2004 (Decca) (3 / 5) The Broadway cast album of The Boy From Oz is like the Australian album on steroids: It boasts punchier orchestrations, stronger voices, and, most crucially, Hugh Jackman in the title role. All of this plus superior sound gives this recording lots of presence and oomph — just what Peter Allen was all about. Even the CD packaging is more luxurious, with crisp graphics, complete lyrics, and colorful production shots. The Broadway version retains the structure of the Australian original, but some songs have been assigned to different characters or scenes, and the show now opens with the ruminative “The Lives of Me.” None of this disguises the facts that the musical is insubstantial and Jackman was the sole reason for the Broadway production.  His strong, flexible voice is full of energy, easy confidence, and star power. While his thrilling stage performance does not translate fully to the recording, he is still an engaging leading man; his “Bi-coastal” and “Everything Is New Again” shine with showbiz know-how. Isabel Keating’s Judy Garland is febrile and funny, delivered with a fine belt. Stephanie J. Block rises to the challenge of the dramatic range that the Liza character gets in this version; she seems to grow in her songs, climaxing with a frenetic “She Loves to Hear the Music.” Jarrod Emick does what he can with the treacly “I Honestly Love You,” and Beth Fowler, as Allen’s mother, is a quiet powerhouse in “Don’t Cry Out Loud.” Of the two recordings of the show, this is the one to get.  — R.S.

Original Broadway Cast, 1980 (Varèse Sarabande) No stars; not recommended. What were they thinking? Clearly unaware that Elvis had left the building, the creators of Bye Bye Birdie reunited in 1980 for this misbegotten sequel, which trashed everything that was charming about the original. The cast album proves that even Charles Strouse and Lee Adams are capable of writing a lousy score. In Michael Stewart’s barely coherent story line, Albert and Rose, happily married for 20 years, search for the vanished Birdie to have him appear on a Grammy Awards telecast. They wind up in Bent River Junction, Arizona, where an overweight Birdie is the mayor and Albert’s mother, Mae, is a bartender. Meanwhile, daughter Jenny takes up with the religious cult “The Sunnies,” and son Albert, Jr. joins a band called Filth (they perform on toilets). Presiding over the mishmash is Chita Rivera — who, amazingly, never condescends to the material. For her efforts, she gets the score’s two most pleasant items, “Twenty Happy Years” and “Well, I’m Not!” Donald O’Connor does what he can with several numbers that make Albert out to be a selfish dope. Other hard workers include Maurice Hines as a private eye and Maria Karnilova as Mae; she gets the 11-o’clock number, a pointless Charleston titled “I Love ‘Em All.” As Birdie, Elvis impersonator Marcel Forestieri is amusing in “You Can Never Go Back,” words that the show’s creators might have heeded. With this as an example of what can happen when you try to make lighting strike twice, how did Strouse ever get involved with Annie Warbucks as one of his subsequent projects? — David Barbour

Original Broadway Cast, 1947 (RCA) (4 / 5) This is one of the most exciting cast albums of the pre-LP era. It was RCA’s first stab at Broadway, and although the mono sound is antique by today’s standards, it’s crisp for its era. The orchestra seems augmented for the recording, and Franz Allers’ conducting is rousing. David Brooks plays Tommy, a world-weary romantic who, with his cynical friend Jeff, stumbles upon a Scottish village that comes to life for only one day every 100 years. Tommy falls in love with the lass Fiona, played by Marion Bell. The two leads combine legitimate vocal training and a full-bodied Broadway sound with believable acting and unaffected diction, soaring through such magnificent Alan Jay Lerner-Frederick Loewe songs as “The Heather on the Hill” and “Almost Like Being in Love.” Lee Sullivan as Charlie Dalrymple delivers impeccable renditions of ”I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean” and the wistful ballad “Come to Me, Bend to Me.” Since these recordings were originally released as a 78-rpm set, the score is truncated, but the cuts were made so carefully that the album doesn’t sound incomplete — except for the excision of the character Meg Brockie’s wonderfully witty Act I number “The Love of My Life.” What we have here is a vibrant reading of highlights of a great score that has all the freshness of a new Broadway smash by two songwriters who went on to more than fulfill their promise. — Gerard Alessandrini

Film Soundtrack, 1954 (MGM/Rhino-Turner) (2 / 5) MGM’s screen version of Brigadoon was misguided in many ways. Lerner and Loewe’s great score is not well served here. The orchestrations sound transparent and timid, and the casting of Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse in what were rich singing roles in the Broadway show transformed them into dancing roles, causing some beautiful ballads to be discarded. Also cut were both of Meg Brockie’s songs, because they were considered too risqué for 1954 movie audiences. However, some of what remains is robustly performed. The dance music will entertain those who love “The MGM Musical Sound,” and if you’re a big Gene Kelly fan, you may enjoy Rhino’s expanded CD, which includes Kelly’s renditions of the cut songs “There But for You Go I” and “From This Day On.” Also included is another number that was excised from the film, “Come to Me, Bend to Me,” sweetly sung by John Gustafsen, who dubbed for Jimmie Thompson.  But this isn’t Brigadoon as we all know and love it. — G.A.

Studio Cast, 1957 (Columbia/Sony) (4 / 5) Here is one of the best studio cast albums of the 1950s, conducted by the great Lehman Engel. The orchestral and choral work is excellent, and the cast is strong  — especially the female leads. Shirley Jones is the embodiment of Fiona, but the most thrilling bit of casting is Susan Johnson as Meg; both of that colorful character’s  great comic songs, “The Love of My Life” and “My Mother’s Weddin’ Day,” are here in their raunchy entirety, and Johnson’s delivery of Lerner’s witty lyrics is brassy and brilliant. As for the men, Jack Cassidy brings star power to the role of Tommy, but some listeners may feel that he doesn’t have quite the right sort of legit Broadway voice for these songs; and Frank Poretta as Charlie, although a fine tenor, arguably sounds too mature for this boyish part. — G.A.

Television Cast, 1966 (Columbia Special Projects/Sony) (2 / 5) This recording contains only nine songs from the Brigadoon score, eliminating both of Meg Brockie’s songs as well as the opening chorus (“Once in the Highlands”), “Jeannie’s Packin’ Up,” “The Chase” sequence, the Wedding Dance, and the Sword Dance. The songs that were retained are presented on this album in some weird, random order, rather than as they appeared in the Broadway show and in the actual 1966 TV broadcast. Most of the keys have been significantly lowered from the originals, and the arrangements and orchestrations sound much more “pop” than “musical theater.” All of that makes this come across as more of an enjoyable, mid-’60s pop album of songs from Brigadoon than a cast recording, but the presence of Robert Goulet and Sally Ann Howes in the roles of Tommy and Fiona does give it some theater cred. Both sound glorious here, even in the lower keys, and someone named Tommy Carlisle does a lovely job with Charlie Dalrymple’s “I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean” and “Come to Me, Bend to Me.” Marlyn Mason delivers Meg Brockie’s few sung lines in “McConnachy Square” with enough charisma that it’s a shame she wasn’t given a shot at “The Love of My Life” and “My Mother’s Weddin’ Day.”  [Note: This recording as originally released on LP had such a brief running time that it was later combined with the cast album of the 1968 TV version of Kiss Me, Kate, in which Goulet also starred, for Sony’s single-disc CD release.] — Michael Portantiere

Studio Cast, 1992 (Angel) (4 / 5) If you’re looking for an excellent, complete recording of Brigadoon in modern digital sound, here it is. The London Sinfonietta lovingly performs every bar of the score, and the cast is top-notch. Conductor John McGlinn presents the songs in a most lyrical, lush setting, achieving the perfection of a fine classical music recording. As Tommy, Brent Barrett sounds gorgeous. Rebecca Luker is just as well cast; she glides through Fiona’s numbers blissfully, her standout performance being “Waitin’ for My Dearie.” John Mark Ainsley is first-rate as Charlie in “I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean” and “Come to Me, Bend to Me,” and Judy Kaye is a terrific Meg, giving her character’s comic turns just the right amount of sass. Most of the ensemble work is excellent, although some of the chorus members sound a bit too operatic in their solo lines, and McGlinn’s conducting is impeccable.  — G.A.

Studio Cast, 1999 (JAY) (3 / 5) While many of the JAY company’s studio recordings of classic musicals are note-complete presentations of the respective scores, this album is a more traditional compilation of the songs from Brigadoon, for the most part eschewing the show’s dance music, scene transitions, etc. — although the extended dance section of “I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean” and the entr’acte are both included. Interestingly, this recording employs the character surnames that were swapped in for the original London production of Brigadoon in order to comport with authentic Scottish clan names. (Apparently, Alan Jay Lerner had failed to do his research in this regard, just as he had not studied British speech well enough to avoid using some American English phrases in his lyrics for My Fair Lady.) Thus, the MacLarens are here the MacKeiths, Charlie Dalrymple is Charlie Cameron, and so on. But since the only surnames sung in the lyrics are “Harry Beaton” (now “Harry Ritchie”) and the list of names in “My Mother’s Wedding Day,” this change is mostly evident from reading the cast of characters list in the notes for the album. Yet another anomaly: While George Dvorsky sings the leading male role of Tommy Albright on the edition of the recording that was distributed in the U.S., Ethan Freeman is heard on the version that was issued in the U.K. and elsewhere in Europe. Dvorsky does a lovely job with Tommy’s songs in the fine, authentically Scottish-sounding company of Janis Kelly as Fiona, Megan Kelly as Meg, and Maurice Clarke as Charlie. Though some of conductor Martin Yates’ tempo choices are very odd — the choral prologue is lethargically slow, “The Chase” is really too fast, etc. — the National Symphony Orchestra sounds great in a reverberant acoustic. — M.P.

Encores! Cast, 2018 (Ghostlight) (4 / 5) Here’s a valuable aural document of one of the most moving and thrilling staged concert presentations of Brigadoon that one could ever hope to see. Kelli O’Hara and Patrick Wilson are sheer perfection in the leads; with her lush soprano, superb acting ability, and organic-sounding Scottish accent, O’Hara is a Fiona for the ages, while Wilson’s gorgeous, ringing baritenor and wonderfully natural way with spoken dialogue make him the ideal Tommy. Stephanie Block is spot-on luxury casting as Meg, and Ross Lekites sings Charlie’s songs with a melting beauty to rival the best of his recorded predecessors. Rob Berman conducts the large orchestra with a marvelously theatrical sense of forward motion, and the ensemble is exceptionally strong, whether its members are singing as a group or persuasively delivering solo lines in such songs as “Down on MacConnachy Square,” “Waitin’ for My Dearie,” and “The Chase.” Some listeners will miss the opening chorale “Once in the highlands….” and the charming if rather twee “Jeannie’s Packin’ Up,” both cut from the production and not heard here, plus there are some other minor excisions and revisions to the score that may bother purists. Still, overall, this is a treasurable cast album of a production as miraculous as the town of Brigadoon itself.  — M.P.