Prima la musica, poi le parole

Hansel and Gretel / The Carmelites

Notes on two more Chandos Opera in English releases.

Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel is not an opera I can claim huge familiarity with. And yet, with all the folk tunes it incorporates, it's hard not to at least recognise parts of it. This recording has quite a bit going for it — Charles Mackerras conducting, for one thing, which is always a good thing; and a pretty starry cast, including Jennifer Larmore as Hansel, Rosalind Plowright as the Mother and a rather lovely cameo from Diana Montague as the Sandman. There are those who'd question the need for German opera auf Englisch, but then an opera such as this surely benefits from being made as accessible as possible. That said, I can't help thinking that the folksongs at least probably do sound a bit more appealing in their native tongue, which is so much better than ours at cutesy diminutives and nonsense rhymes.

There's attractive singing all round here, but in the case of the children, it has to be said, a little too grown up and polished. Jennifer is an experienced Hansel and a master of the pants role, it's true, but I've always felt her voice in such roles was more man than boy — she's a better Sesto than a Cherubino, and her Cesare is superior to both. She sings beautifully, even if without quite the incredible radiance of a few years ago, but is only occasionally truly convincing; the role also emphasises her slightly bothersome tendency to over-enunciate her final consonants. Rebecca Evans is sweet enough as Gretel, but again, she sounds too much like a sensible grown up. Robert Hayward is jocular in a generic sort of a way, while Rosalind Plowright is spot-on as their frazzled mother Gertrude. I was interested to see that the Mother here is a slightly more sympathetic character than the one I'm used to — it's true she allows her children to wander into a dangerous forest but at least she doesn't actually send them out there specifically to get rid of them. As is no doubt always the case, the Witch steals the show. Jane Henschel puts on a brilliant show, terrifying as she shrieks her spells but with enough beauty of tone when she sings straight to add a sort of dangerous sophistication to her evil deeds. Diana Montague, as I've mentioned, puts in a characteristically excellent appearance as the Sandman; but the vocal highlight of this Hansel and Gretel is undoubtedly the enchanting Sarah Tynan as the Dew Fairy, whose gossamer aria gives the recording its moment of purest magic.

The Philharmonia Orchestra, which can be a bit on the nondescript side under house conductor David Parry, displays a bit more verve and awareness under Sir Charles — the atmosphere of slightly frightening enchantment in the forest scenes is especially well captured. However, I suspect this is an opera which really needs to be seen as well as heard, and which perhaps more vivid performances from its singers in a live situation. Musically it's relatively satisfying, but it lacks a certain exuberance which you might expect from an opera so full of children and magical characters. It's also not, if I'm honest, in a style which I'm ever likely to find hugely engaging.

Whereas Poulenc's The Carmelites (its Opera in English title omits mentions of any Dialogues) is in quite the opposite situation. Despite the fact that he only wrote three of them, Poulenc remains one of my favouritest composers of opera. La voix humaine is among the pieces of music closest to my heart. And while The Carmelites deals with vastly different subject matter and in a very different way, there is nevertheless a recognisable musical language which the two share — moments which, though I don't know The Carmelites nearly so well as La voix humaine, make me feel I'm in familiar surroundings.

Poulenc was very much in favour of his operas being performed in the vernacular. The translation here works particularly well, with none of those obviously twisted phrases or unidiomatic expressions which remind you you're not hearing the original words. Unsurprising, then, that it's by Joseph Machlis, also responsible for the excellent translation of La voix humaine which Opera Australia used in 2005.

For Chandos, Paul Daniel conducts the English National Opera Orchestra and a very strong cast in an absolutely riveting performance. Among them is none other than the incomparable Josephine Barstow, a moving Mother Marie; I think she is actually in better voice here than she was for Gloriana, recorded back in 1992. Felicity Palmer is gut-wrenching as Madame de Croissy, throwing herself into the role — and the death scene in particular — with unsettling vigour. Her death rattle is realistic enough to make one feel vaguely voyeuristic; and the shadow of her electrifying Prioress hangs over the opera long after she herself has died.

Blanche de la Force is Catrin Wyn Davies, a somewhat surprising casting choice — her rather dark toned, earthy soprano is hardly immediately suggestive of a nervy, neurotic girl such as Blanche. This disadvantage becomes rather less as the opera progresses, however, as Blanche's own fortitude grows, and ultimately she delivers an expressive and persuasive performance. Once again, though, it is Sarah Tynan who is the opera's stand out performer. As Sister Constance she is utterly beautiful, by turns frivolous, playful and genuinely touching. Her singing is unfailingly gorgeous, sweet and bright but with a real backbone to it, no saccharine mannerisms or overacting. Elsewhere, casting is strong across the board; particular kudos to the chorus of Nuns, whose solemn and transcendent singing is ideal.

You could say that The Carmelites hinges on that final scene. Here it is managed with chilling panache, building to a point of excruciating intensity as the blade falls faster and faster, before falling away into beatific peace. Daniels draws all his orchestral and vocal forces together to create a scene both hard to bear and eerily beautiful — a description which could in fact be applied to the recording as a whole. Quite stunning actually; a definite recommendation from me.

Senza Cheryl (io son morta)

As a gift to myself, I went to a third Il Trittico last night. Let me put that another way — I went to see Cheryl Barker a third time. An excursion which yielded a number of results.

A catastrophe. She cancelled. There was no Cheryl. Nicole Youl sang Giorgetta and Angelica, and Hye Seoung Kwon was Lauretta.

A supplementary catastrophe. This was the broadcast. I had somebody organised to capture it, so that I would have a record of Cheryl's triple triumph for all eternity. As it turned out, the somebody forgot to record it. Nevertheless, what a shame.

A silver lining. I don't respond well to cancellations. They upset me. But the experience did at least re-affirm and deepen my adoration of Cheryl, which is no bad thing. Absence makes the heart grow stronger, even if it does also break it a little.

A mystery. Who in the world is Carlo Barricelli and why has he been given the last two performances of Trittico and, as far as I can see, nothing else this season or next? He sang Luigi, Dennis O'Neill having finished his run with the previous performance. Out of nowhere, here was this swaggering, thoroughly Italianate voice, coupled with a far more convincing stage presence — why in the world wasn't he given more performances to sing? My first thought was: who is this guy? My second: he must be Italian, or he's at least studied there. My third: he's been listening to his predecessors, Corelli et al. I got home and looked him up — he's Italian-Australian and, yes, studied in Italy. With Corelli. Voilà.

A reassurance. It's hard to enjoy an understudy on her own merits when you're tearfully (yes, really) longing for the scheduled star. But, having missed her in Trovatore, at least now I know Nicole Youl will be very good in Ballo.

Just quietly. Hye-Seoung Kwon probably makes a tiny bit more sense as Lauretta. BUT I'd still rather have Cheryl in the role, because she's Cheryl.

Anticipation. I'm not risking — nor can I afford — another attempt to see Cheryl in Trittico. So now I wait until October 18th, when she sings Agnes in Isaac Nathan's Don John of Austria at Angel Place. After that, nothing until 2008 — but then, at least, there's Cheryl aplenty. 

Jennifer Larmore — Great Operatic Arias

It's my birthday today, and I'm taking myself to the opera to see Cheryl to celebrate. But the best present of all came a couple of weeks ago in fact, when Chandos very kindly sent review copies my way of several new Opera in English releases. I could hardly imagine a selection better suited to my tastes — two Jennifer Larmore recordings (a recital disc and Hansel & Gretel), a Poulenc opera (The Carmelites) and, double joy, a Janacek opera starring Cheryl (The Makropulos Case). I'm beginning with Jennifer's Great Operatic Arias. More to follow.

The working title for this CD was apparently The Best of Both Worlds. It might also have been titled Jennifer Larmore: Look What Else I Can Do! This is no English-language rehash of previous recitals; rather, it's Jennifer in a selection of often surprising operatic repertoire, which just happens to be sung in English. The first surprise — half the selections are soprano repertoire, whence the working title. Among her mezzo arias, too, there are a few familiar Jennifer selections but also some unexpected choices.

The Princesse's de Bouillon's aria ("Star of the Evening", or "O vagabonda stella") is not something I was at all familiar with, but it certainly makes for an electrifying beginning. Forget refined Baroque Jennifer, here she bares her sharp verismo teeth. They come out again a few tracks later, too, with the brilliantly venomous duet "Love like mine is the light of creation" ("L'amo come il fulgor del creator") from La Gioconda, both she and her rival (soprano Susan Patterson) in excellent form. But is in bel canto that Jennifer is really beyond reproach. Leonora's "O my beloved" ("O mio Fernando") from La favorita, is an ideal showcase for the contours and colours of her darkening voice. Even better is her "Tell me, my beating heart" ("Di tanti palpiti", from Rossini's Tancredi). I have always loved Jennifer best in Rossini, and this is no exception, her singing at once fluid and dazzlingly precise. Marginally less successful is Elvira's "That ungrateful man betrayed me" ("Mi tradi"), which is ferociously sung but a little thin up top.

There is Verdi here too, another surprise. She sings "Fierce flames are raging" ("Stride la vampa") and "O hated gift" ("O don fatale") with remarkable power. This is not the sort of repertoire I ever expected to hear Jennifer in it, but she's rather persuasive. And Wagner! In one of only two pants role arias on the CD, she gives us, of all things, "Where was I?" ("Wo war ich?") from Rienzi, a passionate and lyrical thrill. Returning to slightly more familiar territory, she is a moving Adalgisa to Susan Patterson's Norma; their duet is a little on the heavy side, but still beautiful. The disc ends, oddly enough, with Juliette's Waltz Song. I did come across this aria in an anthology for mezzo soprano once, so perhaps there is a precedent here. In any case, she sings this superbly. Vocally she doesn't at all resemble a fourteen year old girl; but musically she is impeccable.

I cannot claim this is my favourite of Jennifer's solo releases, but I'm certainly impressed. It's an ambitious programme — can there be any other solo recital disc which begins with the Princesse de Bouillon and ends with Gounod's Juliette? — but Jennifer is Jennifer, and she pulls it off. Not all of this repertoire is ideally suited to her, but then that's sort of the point — when Jennifer strays, she does it in style.

Commandment

I can think of no earthly reason why anybody with ears and a love of beautiful things would not find their life improved at least a little by owning Sandrine Piau's new recital disc, Evocation. La reine du baroque sings Chausson, Strauss, Débussy, Zemlinsky, Koechlin and Schoenberg. It is practically the best thing I have heard all year (and perhaps longer). When it's released in your country, buy it. Or ask Santa to put it in your stocking. Or something. You need this. Then you can come back here and tell me how right I was.

Competitions

Two big aria competitions this weekend. In Dunedin, the ODT Aria Final. Far away though I may be, I knew Claire Barton would win. And of course she did. I don't need to have heard her to know it was a richly deserved triumph — but I wish I had heard her. Claire's singing is still one of the things I miss most about Dunedin. So if you still read this blog from time to time, Claire — a thousand congratulations. (And on a related note — how dare you wait until I'm gone before taking on the Sea Pictures?)

Meanwhile in my own fair city — Sunday was finals night of the McDonald's Operatic Aria. Huge award, this: $5000 cash, a $35,000 scholarship and a return economy airfare, not to mention various other prizes. Not bad. It was a reasonably impressive night. Not as enchantingly enjoyable as the Mathy Award semis were, but still, a competition is a competition and you know how I feel about them.

However. Whereas I had no trouble picking the outcome of the ODT Aria from this vast distance, on Sunday evening I sat ten rows from the stage and got it totally and completely wrong. I could not have been more surprised by the result. Obviously three opera singing judges know a million times more than I do, so I bow to their superior knowledge and judgement — and to the fact that they were unanimous in their choice — and say congratulations to tenor David Corcoran and mezzo soprano Helen Sherman, both whom I've no doubt will put their winnings to brilliant use.

Meanwhile, though, I'd like to make briefish mention of the unplaced competitors. First, the fabulously named soprano Suzanne Shakespeare. I was sure she would win something. She took on two taxing and fireworks-full arias — "Où va la jeune hindoue", followed in the second half by "Ah fors'è lui...Sempre libera". It was just such a joy for me to hear all that coloratura sung with such clarity, such precision and, for lack of a prettier word, such bite. Coloratura which doesn't sound like lace and frills, but like something fiery and fierce and interesting. And how wonderful to see a virtuoso at work — pinpoint high notes sung with a smile. I was also impressed by the slightly unusual Jane Parkin, who opened by singing the other aria from Rusalka, with almost unnerving intensity. And then another acrobatic treat, Elena's "Mercè, dilette amiche" from I Vespri Siciliani, which was a bit patchy in the middle but good lord, what a sit-up-and-take-notice upper register! Lovely Lucinda Mirikata-Deacon showed off a rather sweet, luxurious voice in her two arias which perhaps just needs a bit more dramatic abandon to transform it into something truly special; she was best I thought in "Come scoglio", in which she was backed by the orchestra (the contestants all sang their first arias with piano only.) Andrew Moran was another I thought was bound to pick up a prize, but no — then again, he probably doesn't need it. He seems to be doing just fine. To be quite honest, he's not entirely my cup of tea, but he gave two very self-assured and polished performances — "Un dottor della mia sorte" and "Hai gia vinta la causa", both of them stage-ready. But I would be interested to hear him have a shot at something not comic — he's very good at blustery indignation, but can he do pathos?

Having said all the above, it's perhaps only fair that I return to the winner and runner-up. David Corcoran's first selection was not at all to my taste, a "Tombe degli avi miei" which I found altogether too excruciatingly laboured to watch or listen to. However, his "La fleur que tu m'avais jetée" was a rather more refined and appealing affair. Helen Sherman was also best in her second aria. Her "Parto, parto" was impassioned but lacked fluency; her "Una voce poco fa", on the other hand, was just gorgeous — relaxed, engaging and mellifluous, and nicely ornamented to boot. (And I have to say this, even though perhaps two people reading this blog will actually have any idea what I'm saying: she strikes me as Sydney's answer to Brigitte Heuser. This is a compliment to both.)

As I say, the judges were unanimous, and enthusiastically so, in their choice. So I'm sure they're right. All six finalists sang wonderfully and so of course they all deserve recognition. As for me, well, if I had my own $35,000 scholarship to hand out, it would go to Suzanne Shakespeare. But then, she's a soprano, and a glittery coloratura at that — so of course I'd say that.

First flush

Please meet my latest mania — the very very special Cheryl Barker. Yes, I have been slow on the uptake with this one. She is most famous worldwide for her appearance as Mimì in Baz Luhrmann's La bohème, which I have not seen. I came through her Jenufa, which should by rights have torn me to shreds, relatively unscathed — with respect for her talents and credentials, but free of devotion. Her Rusalka was rather more revelatory; I began with a bad attitude and ended up utterly enthralled. So I've been her supporter ever since. But not actively and not every day. Her three heroines in Il Trittico, however, have proved to be the defining experience. That Puccini should accomplish what Janacek (with whom I'm also falling quite head-over-heels in love) did not seems strange, to say the least, but there it is. And Cheryl in Puccini? She had me at Giorgetta.

One of the things I love best about Cheryl — and this has been true since Rusalka — is how much I can trust her. Cheryl on stage is a guarantee of real quality; of the true operatic experience. A contradiction of terms in a way: she is a reliable thrill. Her singing will always be first rate because she is, if you'll allow me to be circular, a first rate singer. For heaven's sake, her Rusalka was preceded by an announcement that she had bronchitis and craved indulgence — and it was still some of the most stirringly gorgeous singing I've ever heard in that theatre. So whereas there are some singers in this city who even on their best day are never mindblowing, Cheryl provides true excellence even on her less-than-best days.

That excellence incorporates a world of attributes. Her voice has grown on me. I initially thought it — dare I speak the word? — a bit generic. I was quite wrong; now I know that Cheryl's voice could only be Cheryl's. Perhaps my misconception was praise in disguise, however. There is a sense in which she sounds just like my imagined ideal of a certain type of soprano. Thus she sounds "generic" because in some strange way she embodies for me a certain genre of soprano style; but at the same time, she's the sole real-life representative of that ideal. Take, for instance, her recording of the confrontation between Violetta and Germont père (with her husband Peter Coleman-Wright as prospective daddy-in-law). Her Violetta doesn't scream her interpreter's name, in the the Annas' (Moffo et Netrebko) scream theirs or Joanie's screams hers. At first I wasn't sure quite what or who she sounded like. Until I realised — she sounds like Violetta. And through that, emerges the distinctive, inimitable voice which is uniquely Cheryl's. Likewise in Puccini, the first thing her singing suggests to me is Puccini as an operatic genre; and then I realise that she does so in a way which is pure Cheryl. I couldn't have said it after Jenufa but now I can — I would know her voice in the dark.

I have strayed into the realm of style, so why not stay there? Puccini has been one of the mainstays of her career, so it's only to be expected that she would absorb and thus exude the peculiar fiery grace of Italian opera. Yet the thrill she provides in doing so is far from predictable; I've neither heard nor seen nor detected any evidence of any stereotypes or prima donna clichés. No clutching of bosoms or wild hand gestures. She has a full, lyric voice but not a vast one, and so doesn't strive for vastness in her performances. Instead she brings subtlety, clarity and above all humanity to these terribly recognisable Italian heroines. Violetta, Manon Lescaut and Santuzza on disc (the CD in question is Persuasion and Seduction, and it's become my essential daily listening); the Trittico heroines on stage; and by all accounts, her Butterly and her Mimì on film — all of them as musically idiomatic as it comes, and none of them shallow caricature. However Italy, though the centre of the universe, isn't the universe in its entirety. Never in her Rusalka was I struck by the though of a Puccini soprano visiting a foreign land — her mastery in Czech was just as complete. I return to Persuasion and Seduction (since, tragedy of tragedies, it's the only recorded Cheryl I own) and point in particular to the three final scenes. Santuzza, followed by Arabella, followed by Thaïs, each one a shining success and each so vividly portrayed that, were they all sung in Italian, you'd still know who was who.

Still, as addicted as I am to Cheryl on disc, I am beyond grateful that my introduction to her was not via CD but via live performance. She is a stage creature. I saw that even before I thought I liked her; I appreciated her theatrical talents before I fell for her vocal talents. Again, it's not grand-gesture acting she engages in, but the simple, persuasive portrayal of real life. I remember — and indeed, I wrote — that in Rusalka, she was dominated the stage completely even while mute. Her instincts on stage are impeccable; she is as captivating an actress as she is a singer. Her voice holds all manner of surprising colours, each flicker and flash of emotion registered and captured; and all that you hear in her, you see. She gives of herself and of her voice with a sometimes startling, always magnetic, generosity and intensity. The outcome is neither a singer who can also act beautifully, nor an actress who can also sing beautifully, but a beautiful singing actress — the whole package, indivisible and exquisite. Lovely, devastating Cheryl; I am converted.

Surfeit

 

The bad news: one of the city's major music retailers (not the one I work for, Gott sei Dank) has brutally halved its already patchy classical section. The good news: as a result of this clearance, I bought all the above (plus one) for less than $150. At their original prices, that's about $400 worth of CDs. So of course now, I can't help but gloat. Indulge me as I parade my pretty new children.

Maria Bayo — Canciones espanolas. I have a vaguely troubled relationship with Maria. I adore her Chants d'Auvergne, was disappointed by her Handel and couldn't abide her weak and watery Amenaide in Rossini's Tancredi on film. But I suspected this kind of repertoire would suit her as magically as the Canteloube and sure enough, it does. I'm again enchanted. Sunshiney and delicious.

Juan Diego Florez — Sentimiento Latino. Utterly utterly irresistible. Crossover? If it is, then I'm happy for him to do all the crossing he likes. Dangerously catchy, this — but then, who wouldn't want this in their head all day? Is there no limit to the gorgeousness this boy can produce?

Victoria de los Angeles — "The Modest Prima Donna". I have to confess that, to my unending shame, I don't know Victoria nearly as well as I ought. However, this CD helps a lot. Everything she sings is just so right. And I think of her as being small, sweet and pretty but there are some astonishing reserves of power in this voice too.

Rossini — La Cenerentola (Carlo Rizzi). Two words: Jennifer Larmore. Dazzling always, and especially in Rossini. There was a time when I'd accept nobody but Cecilia as Angiolina, but times have changed and there's room enough in my heart for both of them now. (Not to mention Glorious Joyce.) It does help, though, that this is the issue with a nice, innocuous painting on the cover — not the one which had Jennifer posing in her rival's costume.

Mario del Monaco — Great Tenor Arias.
Giuseppe Di Stefano — Operatic Recital.
Rolando Villazon — Italian Opera Arias.
Three tenors. My horizons are broadening. Of the three I think perhaps Mario is my favourite; there is something wonderfully decadent about basking in so much voice. Giuseppe is a bit quieter and less lavish. Very Italian and yet my favourite tracks are all the French ones — "En fermant les yeux" is perfectly floaty and dreamlike and "Salut! Demeure chaste et pure" make me care more about Gounod's Faust than I ever have before. Rolando always surprises me — he's sweeter here than I expected. Quite a vibrato, but it's rather appealing most of the time. I especially like his Donizetti.

Anna Netrebko — Violetta. It's all about the packaging. This is actually just a highlights disc of the now almost legendary Salzburg Traviata — but the more Netrebko-centric a thing is, the more it will sell, and so it's called Violetta and features Anya looking sinful on the cover. And why not? I go back and forth still about Anna — and the interviews making the rounds at the moment don't help — but here she is magnificent without question. Thomas Hampson bothers me far less than usual when I don't have to look at him. Rolando is excellent again but it's inevitably Anna's show and she rises to the occasion with what must be one of the classiest and most exciting of her performances on record.

Mozart — Messe en ut mineur (Emmanuel Krivine). 2007 seems to have become, among other things, my Year of the Mass in C Minor. I've bought two recordings, listened to several others, and I'll hear it at the Opera House three times next month. I'm not sure about this. It's all very crisp and precise, which is a positive attribute to a certain extent but occasionally comes across as a bit soulless and clinical — military almost. It's all relatively Mozartean but not very spiritual. However, it does offer a radiant Sandrine Piau as Soprano I. Soprano II Anne-Lise Sollied, on the other hand, is listenable but far from amazing. Accentus are in fine form though they tend to overshadow the orchestra when they get going.

Renata Tebaldi — The Best of Tebaldi. Just as the title suggests, Renata at her best. Beautiful golden Renata in beautiful golden repertoire. Just quietly: I think I sigh over her "Si, mi chiamano Mimi" even more than I do over Mirella's. And I have always been in love with her Liu — her "Tu che di gel sei cinta" gets to me every time, as I simultaneously swoon over Renata and rail against that insensitive idiot Calaf for ruining her life.

Inessa Galante — Heroines. Bought mostly out of curiosity. This is an enjoyable enough recital, though I doubt she's destined to become one of the loves of my life. Most of it is pretty standard soprano fare — "Caro nome", "Io son l'umile ancella" and a Jewel Song in some the weirdest French I've ever heard from a singer. The highlight for me is the Russian repertoire — one selection from Tchaikovsky's Pique Dame and two from Rimsky-Korsakov's The Snow Maiden. They're familiar to me from Anna's fabulous Russian Album but Inessa makes for an interesting contrast — her voice is lighter than Anna's, with a bit more silver in it, and somehow more friendly.

Barbara Bonney — Im chambre séparée: The Operetta Album. Perfection. I've said so before. I re-discovered this CD a few months and now I own it and it's still just as adorable and perfect as I thought. By singing these arias with piano instead of orchestra, she's removed the schmaltz and kept the sparkle; and because she's not competing to be heard, her voice in its full bloom is on delightful display.

Barbara Bonney — On Angels' Wings. More Barbara, this time a double disc "best of" compilation . I needed this. Not just because she's Barbara and she's beautiful, but because most of what's on this CD I don't own in any other form. Most of the Barbara I listened to back home belonged to either my father or the library. And then there's music on this compilation which I've never even heard before. Her "Exsultate, jubilate", for instance, is a treasure; not to mention the excerpts from her Susanna, her Zerlina, her Servilia and her Pamina. And Strauss Lieder. All of it bliss. I adore Barbara — I'm so glad she's back.

Handel — Clori, Tirsi e Fileno / Apolle e Dafne. Actually I've only listened to Clori, Tirsi e Fileno so far, but that's reason enough to own this because it contains the incomparable Lorraine Hunt Lieberson. She's singing as a soprano and she is mindbendingly exquisite. Transcendent is such an obvious word to use for Lorraine but it's true, and so here it is — she's transcendent here, elevating a slightly silly pastoral to a thing of such beauty and sincerity you'd swear it must have a deeper meaning lurking somewhere.

Felicity Lott — Sings Schumann and Mélodies sur des poèmes de Victor Hugo. It was always going to happen. I am learning to love my bête noire. I knew, deep down, that one day I would. Especially since an experience a few months ago, when I walked into a classical music store and they were playing something which stopped me in my tracks. I thought, this is actually the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in all my life. And it was Felicity Lott singing Reynaldo Hahn. So I when I saw these two CDs on sale I decided it was time. The Schumann is lovely, though the darker moments of Liederkreis probably do really need a male voice to do them justice. The real revelation, not surprisingly, is the disc of French songs. It's a couple of decades old, and she's in ravishing voice. The repertoire helps as well — I could just about re-title this Felicity Lott Sings MY Favourite French Songs. Gounod's "Sérénade", Fauré's "Le papillon et la fleur" and Bizet's "Les adieux de l'hotesse arabe" are all among the mélodies I love best. Alongside the favourites are songs I've never heard before — Bizet's  florid and fabulous "Guitare" and Wagner's "L'attente" which, weirdly enough, is the shortest track on the disc. Both CDs are excellent but this French recital is the real tour de force — if Felicity is now to be friend rather than foe, I couldn't have chosen a better starting point.

RIP Luciano Pavarotti (1935 — 2007)

Mathy Awards semi finals

I love competitive singing. All the musical pleasures of a normal concert, with just a hint of bloodsport to make life a bit more interesting. So I always enjoy vocal competitions. But my excursion to North Sydney for the semi finals of the Mathy Awards last Thursday night was a particular pleasure. As a concert and as a competition, everything about this event was right — a gorgeous and appropriate venue, an informed, appreciative audience (who didn't cough), an entertaining compere and, most importantly, a series of polished performances by singers with musical intelligence and excellent voices.

Soprano Sarah Jones opened the evening with "Johnny" from Britten's Cabaret Songs, by turns knowing, arch and touching as she moved through the song's ever-changing moods and (parodied) musical styles. It was perhaps more an acting showcase than a vocal one, but no less appealing for that. In the second half, her "No word from Tom...I go to him" (from Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress) saw a little less at ease, but was nevertheless engagingly sung. Both pieces suffered initialy from slightly fuzzy diction, but in both cases this cleared up as the songs progressed. Sarah didn't make the finals but was quite rightly awarded the competition's Encouragement Award.

She was followed by Emily Blanch, who was for me the stand-out of the evening. Her stage presence was not the strongest of the evening, nor were her interpretations the most detailed; but Emily has been blessed with something none of her fellow semi-finalists yet possesses — a unique, distinctive and breathtakingly beautiful voice. In terms of sheer beauty of sound, she was the clear winner. Hers is the kind of voice critics like to call "creamy" or "golden" but which possesses far more colours than either word suggests; a large voice but not so large it's beyond her control; aural luxury. Nor is sonic gorgeousness all she possesses; she is an appealing performer, obviously committed to text as well as music. The details can (and I'm sure will) come later, and when they do, Emily Blanch will be somebody very special indeed. In fact I think she already is — I became her totally biased fan when she reduced me to tears in the first two seconds of her first (wholly appropriate) selection, "Io son l'umile ancella". Again, in Strauss' "An die Nacht" she was exquisite and I was in ecstasy.

Helen Sherman was the evening's first mezzo and had my attention right from the start with a very interesting repertoire choice — a song by Schreker, "Stimmen des Tages" which she delivered with plenty of Romantic lyricism. Her second, slightly more conventional selection was perhaps even more impressive, the "Laudamus te" from Mozart Mass in C minor, which she totally aced — all the more so because she was the second singer of the evening to perform it. Soprano Lauren Oldham had performed it earlier in the evening,  but had rather less success with both the aria's technical demands and its sense of pious ecstasy. Lauren did better in her own second selection, "Le spectre de la rose" from Les nuits d'été, having more luck with those long, arching French lines than the coloratura flourishes of the Mozart, but ultimately I think lacked the stamina to carry the song (and it is a long one) cohesively to its conclusion. Both pieces were perhaps slightly too ambitious.

Happily for me, this was a very soprano/mezzo heavy evening, with only two men among the ten semi finalists, both of them baritones. Of these, the first was Laurence Meikle, with two vastly different pieces. First, Schubert — "Der Doppelgänger" from Schwanengesang; and then, of all things, Rossini — Dandini's aria "Come un'ape ne' giorni d'aprile" from La Cenerentola. Both were basically successful though the Schubert was probably the more fully realised and accomplished of the two. His fellow baritone was Michael Lampard — a finalist in the same competition last year — with more Schubert, "Wer sich der Einsamkeit", and Figaro's "Aprite un po'quegl'ochhi". Michael has several important things going for him: real musicality, for one, and a rich, glowing voice which belies his age (at 21, he was the youngest in the competition). But though his performances sound beautiful, and they're intelligently executed, for now he still lacks that certain spark which engages an audience, and which is definitely needed for an operatic (or Lieder) career.

Another of evening's revelations was the wonderful soprano Natalie Aroyan. Though a bit of breathiness in her first selection suggested she might have been suffering from the currently omnipresent flu, she nevertheless gave an enchanting performance, of Rachmaninov's "Ne poy Krasavitsa". Like many of the others, the nerves allayed somewhat, she shone even brighter in the second half. Natalie's second selection was an exquisitely shaped and compelling "Il est doux, il est bon" from Massenet's Hérodiade. Along with Emily's two selections, it provided one of the evening's loveliest and most thrilling moments. Natalie was followed in both halves of the programme by mezzo soprano Margaret Plummer. Again, Margaret's second selection was her best. Brahms' "Von ewiger Liebe" was sweetly sung but somehow never quite there; but her "Werther, Werther" on the other hand was excellent, lyrical and genuinely moving.

Soprano Mary-Jean O'Doherty came representing the stratosphere, beginning with a fiendish Mozart concert aria, "Ah, che non sei capace" — Natalie Dessay territory, this. I had to admire her courage and poise in taking this piece on, and there were some very impressive passages, though all in all I suspect it's not quite within her grasp yet. Nerves played their part too, though — she seemed altogether happier in Milhaud's "A Cupidon", which is in its own way just as acrobatic. Here her high high notes were rather more secure, and the piece as a whole had more shape to it. And finally, at the end of the evening — she's to be congratulated for her patience — was a mezzo soprano, Victoria Wallace. Both she and Mary-Jean before her were familiar from their participation in the early stages of Operatunity Oz (which makes me wonder about how stringent the selection criteria for that show — which is supposed to discover untutored amateurs — really are. But never mind.) Victoria gave us a sensitive, though slightly harsh-edged rendition of Gurney's "Sleep" and an impassioned "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix", which has certainly improved since she sang for Richard Gill et al in Operatunity.

Of the five finalists selected, I successfully picked three — Emily Blanch, Natalie Aroyan and Helen Sherman, the three obvious choices. I confess I was somewhat surprised by the other two, Mary-Jean O'Doherty and Victoria Wallace. But this competition, like the Lexus Song Quest, judges singers not just by their semi-finals performance on its own, but also by interview and private adjudication —  they're selected on a combination of factors, not just one night's vocal ability, but personality, study plans, potential. Thus, I gladly bow to the far better qualified judgement of adjudicator Anson Austin (my compatriot after all) and trust that his selections were the right ones. We'll have to wait until the finals in November to see just how right — on the basis of last Thursday's performances, I'd say it's set to be a brilliant event.

Il Trittico

Last week I went twice to Opera Australia's Il Trittico — a refreshing pleasure after almost a month of the relentless quasi-modernism and declamatory realism of A Streetcar Named Desire. Whereas Streetcar might not even really be an opera, Trittico simply oozes all that's operatic — red blooded Mediterraneans, besotted young lovers, knives and disguises and family shame. Everything conventionally operatic is thrown somewhere into the Trittico mix, and even if convention sometimes becomes caricature, it remains a rewarding and mostly engaging experience. Moffatt Oxenbould's colourful and robust production dates back to 1973. All in all it has aged well, mostly because it's so wholly traditional — there are no modern quirks or topical eccentricities here, nothing to upset even the most conservative opera-goer. That literal and unchallenging approach may disappoint some; it's true the dark depths of Il tabarro and Suor Angelica are left largely unplumbed, and Gianni Schicchi, though consistently amusing, offers little in terms of real comic invention. But in a work such as Il Trittico, such deeper exploration is really an optional extra. When it's well executed — as this production most definitely is — straightforward conventionality remains a valid and successful option.

Of the three operas, I was (and still am, really) least familiar with the melodramatic but haunting Il tabarro. While Suor Angelica and Gianni Schicchi both offer resolution of sorts, Il tabarro ends on a powerfully unresolved note; ends, in a sense, at its beginning. Musically, I found it the most appealing of the three —  the effect partly of novelty, I'm sure, but also of its evocative and varied score. The prelude which opens the opera is a particularly delicate piece of scene setting; Giorgetta's impassioned tribute to her home village and Michele's lament at the deterioration of their marriage are both beautifully poignant; and the brief quotation from La bohème is a gorgeous comic touch. Suor Angelica is a rather more slow moving and static opera but in its own way at least as moving. Opening with a radiant and beatific offstage Ave Maria, the music steadily grows in intensity, as the innocent chattering of the novices gives way to Angelica's torment and eventual ecstasy. Last of the three is the rather silly Gianni Schicchi, insubtantial but charming in its way. Musically, its greatest attraction is probably the chance to hear the impossibly over-exposed "O mio babbino caro" in context for once; it also offers something relatively rare in Puccini, a star vehicle for both baritone (Schicchi) and comic mezzo (Zita) while lyric soprano Lauretta, despite getting the best tune, is relegated to a relatively minor role.

Of course, each opera stands perfectly well on its own. But Opera Australia's production offers a wonderful unifying thread — the utterly beautiful Cheryl Barker, who sings all three heroines. It's no easy task she's taken on; these three women pose, both together and separately, a variety of vocal and psychological challenges. But if anybody's up to it, Cheryl is. She is an extraordinarily lovely chameleon, inhabiting each of these three very different roles with grace, authority and thrilling vocal command. She is a vivid and touching Giorgetta, slicing through layers of orchestration while maintaining sweetness of tone; the role also shows off nicely her rather seductive lower register. As Angelica she is electrifying and deeply moving; the prolonged suicide scene is beautifully difficult to bear. Finally, as pretty little Lauretta, she is adorable, a surprisingly convincing teenager after the dark veined maturity of the previous acts. Her "O mio babbino caro" provides the highlight it should, though it's almost bettered (to my mind, at least) by her ensemble singing, especially in duet with Henry Choo's Rinuccio. The role's only drawback is its brevity — Lauretta is allowed far less time on stage than the glorious Cheryl deserves.

Alongside Cheryl is another singer who appears in all three roles, mezzo soprano Elizabeth Campbell. Her triple star turn, if perhaps marginally less arduous than Cheryl's, is nonetheless mightily impressive — she's marvellous as the eccentric Frugola in Il tabarro, a stern Abbess in Suor Angelica and, best of all, a wickedly funny Zita in Gianni Schicchi. Baritone Jonathan Summers appears twice — he's an intense (if occasionally slightly strained) Michele in Il tabarro, but scores his real triumph in the title role of Gianni Schicchi. Dennis O'Neill sings with lyrical majesty as Luigi in Il tabarro, though he's rather difficult to credit as a love interest for Giorgetta. Milijana Nikolic is absolutely terrifying in Suor Angelica as La Zia Principessa, her deep, commanding mezzo and wide-ish vibrato ideal for the role. Henry Choo makes a very sweet Rinuccio in Gianni Schicchi, his "Firenze e come un albero fiorito" providing one of the evening's brightest non-Cheryl vocal highlights. Other highlights include, in Suor Angelica, Dominica Matthews' warmly sung Monitress, the excellent Rosemary Gunn as Mistress of the Novices and Hye Seoung Kwon's sparkling Genovieffa; an impressive cameo from Andrew Moran as the lawyer in Gianni Schicchi and an appallingly funny performance from Shane Lowrencev in the same opera, as a thieving, good-for-nothing  Betto di Signa.

Maestro Licata draws a generally cohesive and expressive performance from the AOBO. I might have wished for just a touch more heavy tragedy in Suor Angelica — a slightly slower tempo in "Senza mamma" would afford Cheryl's gift for Puccinian despair even more opportunity to devastate. But Il tabarro is perfectly measured and atmospheric, quiet and subtle to begin with and building powerfully to its frightening and tragic conclusion; and Gianni Schicchi maintains an effervescent comic bounce. Together, the trio covers practically the whole Puccini spectrum — a varied evening. It's also a long one. But with so much on offer, there's bound to be something in Il Trittico to capture the imagination of just about anybody. Opera Australia's appealing production adds one especial attraction, in the form of Cheryl Barker. High drama, broad comedy, big, expressive music and a soprano showcase  — what more could you want?