Prima la musica, poi le parole: Maria

Several years ago, Cecilia Bartoli's Chanson d'amour introduced me fleetingly to Pauline Viardot Garcia, a woman who has fascinated me ever since. However, it seems that all along, it was Pauline's big sister that Cecilia really had her eye on. Her new recital disc, Maria, pays tribute to nineteenth century mezzo/soprano superstar Maria Malibran, and marks the culmination of a long time passion and obsession on Cecilia's part. She has even assembled a travelling Malibran museum, so I understand; the large format special edition of Maria comes packaged with a catalogue of her collection.

Even those who can't stand her would surely have to concede that Cecilia is, if nothing else, unique. Eccentric, too. These adjectives work both ways; but for those of us who adore her, they're the reason we do adore her. She has the imagination to conceive of her off the wall projects, the commitment and the clout to see them through, and the innate musicality to do them justice on record. Her ventures into obscure repertoire might sometimes come in gimmicky packaging — the photos in the notes for Maria are, I admit, quite hilarious — but her musical inquisitiveness is genuine. Her singing will never be universally swooned over, but it is special and distinctive enough always to be swooned over somewhere.

I fell in love with Cecilia for the first time when I was nine years old. I fell for her the second time when I was eighteen and opera was moving out of the background and taking over my life — at the birth of that passion, she was my first diva obsession. I was irrationally, overwhelmingly enchanted, and every note which dropped from her lips was perfection to me. And I loved her for her personality too. She was charming, adorable, sincere and sweet. In our household she was christened, on more than one occasion, The Best Person in the World — an epithet generally reserved for Lucia Popp. But you know, things change. I kept loving Cecilia but became a little less irrational about her singing. I began to understand a few of the negative comments. As a person, I've never stopped loving her; but recently I've not been so fond of her singing. I listened to Opera Proibita and I gave it a rave review. It deserved all that I wrote, but some of it sprang from loyalty rather than actual musical response. Dr B. put it best — "spectacular but cold". I think I've felt the same; since that review I've not heard it more than a handful of times. Troubling as it was, I'd come to feel that her present day voice just wasn't any longer one I could feel that fervent diva worship love for. I still loved her, but I was sticking with the past and not the future. News reached me occasionally of her progress into soprano repertoire and, despite enthusiastic reviews, it didn't warm my heart; this wasn't my Cecilia anymore, and I didn't feel that old "I wish I'd heard her sing that" sting.

Until Maria. She is back, my Cecilia, and I am happier to see her than I can express. Is it a change in her, or in me? Both? The repertoire perhaps. Her Vivaldi album was brilliant, the Salieri impressive if occasionally a bit abrasive. But of all her rarities discs, not one has excited or touched me as Maria has. Her return to bel canto marks the return to my heart of the Cecilia I fell in love with — both the first time and the second. Her infectious joy in singing, her perception and insight and, yes, her VOICE. I thought I'd lost it, or at least my love for it, for good. But it is back, if indeed it ever left — and even the recordings which earlier didn't appeal are woven into the spell.

The disc itself is bursting with treasures and pleasures. Comedy, tragedy, novelty songs and prayers. Rarities and world premiere recordings are mingled with cornerstones of bel canto. In Hummel's "Air à la Tirolienne avec variations" she yodels; in Garcia's flamenco filled "Yo que soy contrabandista" she shows off her flamboyant Spanish side. There is a "Rataplan" by Malibran herself in which those characteristic rolled "rrrr"s, familiar to fans and un-fans alike, are even further exaggerated, to an extent either irritating or completely engaging, depending which side you take. Even in my darkest, doubting days, I could never deny that nobody expresses utter joy quite like Cecilia — here, you can hear without out a doubt how totally thrilled she is to be singing what she's singing, and if you've any kind of a heart, that feeling will rub off. The same goes for the recital's serious moments. Her "Ah, non credea mirarti" is one of the most moving I have heard, sung with a pure, limpid sadness and no lachrymose overacting, a quality which makes the joyous cabaletta all the more meaningful. The scena from Pacini's Irene which opens the CD is a tour de force on the level of her stunning early Rossini recordings, bright-toned, mellifluous and captivating, with a resonant lower register, gleaming top and cascading coloratura — no machine-gun here, believe me.

In Malibran's footsteps, she fearlessly tackles music for mezzo and for soprano and sails through beautifully. The selections which gave me pause on first seeing the tracklist — Amina's aria, Elvira's "O rendetemi la speme...Vien, diletto" and yes, even her eerily hushed "Casta diva" — removed all my doubts the moment I heard them and left me quite breathless with joy. Are all her renditions typical? Of course they're not, but then, when has anything about Cecilia ever been typical?

From start to finish I am utterly taken with this CD. It's one thing to adore an unusual recording by a singer whose every note you already worship on principle; another to have adoration re-awakened by that recording. Maria is a magical creation. And this time when I say it, it's not just loyalty and affection which speak, but a passionate response on every level, both personal and musical. There is nobody like Cecilia, and nobody else who could (or would) have thought of this, let alone brought it to such glorious fruition. For that she should at the very least be commended and admired; but more importantly, she should be heard. The concept is attractive, but its execution is what really matters — and it's magnificent.