Prima la musica, poi le parole

I ♥ Peter Gelb

Can you guess why?

This afternoon I went to my first Met in HD Cinema Broadcast and I am in love. With the idea of it, with the reality of it, and with everybody involved in making it happen. It works. Beautifully. Not a glitch in sight, everything looked and sounded wonderful. Even the audience behaved impeccably, with the exception of the woman who arrived ten minutes late and then complained about being given a less than wonderful seat. (That'll happen when you're late to a sold-out show.)

This was Roméo et Juliette, as seen in the US two weeks ago. My Southern Hemisphere brain still has difficulty grasping that what it's seeing is a recent event, not something on a six month delay, but with seven more broadcasts to come, I'll adjust.

To the performance itself.

Anya! I want to say this about Anna Netrebko right now — as far as I'm concerned, she deserves to be the superstar she's become. This is not the same as saying she deserved to be called one of the great artists of her time. That's another argument. But watever she does or doesn't have, she puts together in a way which is extraordinary. She mightn't always be excellent, but she's always special and always Anna. In any case, Juliette seems like a good fit for her. Not the beginning — she cracked on her first high note and "Je veux vivre" was a bit clunky and (of course) trill-free. After that, though, it was just up and up. I thought she was gorgeous on every level, and the Poison Aria was stunning.

And then the rest. For perhaps the first time in my life, I genuinely enjoyed Roberto Alagna. Which helped. His tights did look like light blue jeans from some angles, and his death throes elicited a silent giggle or two from yours truly, but otherwise it was mostly pretty fantastic. Nathan Gunn was a highlight. I heard him in the radio broadcast of An American Tragedy way back when but hadn't ever seen him in action. It certainly helped me understand the Nathan Gunn Phenomenon a little better; he really is, as the Met publicity claims, irresistible. Isabel Leonard was a pretty impressive Stéphano, too. Never having seen (or heard) the opera in its entirety before, I hadn't realised what an odd role that is — a big hit aria out of the blue, followed by a little Capulet-baiting, and then he disappears again. It's not exactly the greatest opera in the world. But it's pretty enough in its very French way and there are some great moments.

Speaking of great moments — as much as I now love Peter Gelb, I love Renée Fleming more, on account of the intermission feature. She is eerily in her element as chatty, smiling interviewer. Her conversation with Placido was charming. She's a blessing — a relatable, appealing host who also just happens to be RENEE FLEMING and therefore seriously well informed about opera. Meanwhile there's Anna being equally charming, in her own nutty way — making faces at the camera when coming offstage, and then, even better, hurtling into the background while Renée was speaking to the camera, in the manner of those annoying people who wave behind reporters in the street.

Yet despite all of this brilliance, do you know which part of the broadcast I loved most? The clip shown during intermission of Natalie's Lucia. There she was, my Natalie, on the big screen, being too amazing to be believed. I was instantly in floods of tears. Hate to think what kind of state I'll be in for La fille du régiment. At least I have a while to prepare.

Curiosities

• An interesting (read: seriously weird) juxtaposition. Lucy Shelton singing David del Tredici's bizarre, atonal and often hilarious "Vintage Alice" (set for soprano, two saxophones, mandolin, banjo, accordion and chamber ensemble) followed immediately by Elena Souliotis crashbanging her way through Anna Bolena's "O dolce guidami" and some Big Verdi. Frankly, Elena is jarring enough (though not without a thrill or three) without the added confusion of listening when my brain was still in del Tredici mode.
• I haven't listened to it yet. But as it was 1. appealing and 2. a serious bargain, I've bought a copy of Kent Nagano's recording of the French version of Salome. I probably should own a copy of the German version before trying this one out, but too late. It looks intriguing, and contains José van Dam, which is always a plus.
• Very very bored yesterday afternoon, I amused myself by typing "O mio babbino caro" into iTunes, removing the Artist field from the results and listening at random to see who I could pick from the hundreds of recordings. Mirella was lovely to hear, Rita Streich adorable and Angela Gheorghiu surprisingly appealing. But oh my there are a lot of nowhere-near-ready sopranos with CDs available for purchase, recordings which display huge vibratos and minimal personality. And then there's the truly terrifying Aria Tesolin. Google her. I daren't link. You Have Been Warned. (Hint: she's also known as "Baby Soprano".)
• I have a CD released by Etcetera in 1987. I've always been struck by the warts-and-all sound of it — you can hear the soprano's every breath and gulp, you can hear exactly how much air is being expelled and when, you can more or less hear how every syllable is being produced. Fascinating, but mercilessly exposed; thankfully for her, she comes through it pretty well, but others wouldn't. Then last night, when all was silence, I listened to it on headphones and realised the first time just how much background noise has been picked up. I'm used to the odd tap and click, a page being turned and so on. But on this recording I can hear church bells, a child shouting and incessantly chirping birds. All in all, I think if you'd recorded these songs in a single take on a summer day in a practice room with the window open, and released them without much further production, you'd achieve the same effect. What I wonder is why? I have a couple of other Etcetera records from around the same time, neither of which display similar oddities. And it's not that I mind; actually I rather love that feeling of reality and intimacy, but it's not something I've noticed elsewhere, and it does seem strange, so I do sort of wonder why it happened.

Advent

I did this last year and thought I might as well do it again. Here's an all-at-once video advent calendar. Each link a different bit of fabulousness, some operatic, some not. Enjoy.

December 1st — And I'll adore you too
December 2nd — Mamička
December 3rd — Two revelations in one
December 4th — A favourite triple threat (Her. Forget him.)
December 5th — Two for one
December 6th — Much much much too short
December 7th — Sorely missed
December 8th — An unsung great
December 9th — A knockout
December 10th — Unexpected and wonderful
December 11th — Credit where credit's due, I think this is great
December 12th — Glorious
December 13th — Impeccable as always
December 14th — Looks terrifying, sounds like heaven
December 15th — Gorgeous boy
December 16th — A tribute to my adopted home
December 17th — Still the greatest
December 18th — Knockout glitters
December 19th — Not sure which of the three I love most
December 20th — Caesar herself
December 21st — Bête noire (but she's growing on me)
December 22nd — Magic
December 23rd — I wish this was a video (but it isn't)
December 24th — Sie ist die erste Sängerin

And finally, an embedded Christmas gift. Happy holidays to everyone.

Lovely victor

I've loved Purcell ever since I spent an eye-opening Christmas Day with The Fairy Queen. Sung excitingly, his is among my favourite music. Alas, Purcell is not always sung excitingly. And whereas boringly performed Mozart often retains a bit of Mozartean brilliance just the same, boring Purcell easily becomes unremittingly dreary. I have all the time in the world for period practice (I'm not using the word "authentic" here; I think "authenticity" has a whole lot more to do with heart, sincerity and musicality than which instruments you use or your choice of pitch) but I have no time for colourless, boring performances which sound more like an instructional guide than anything with a personality.

So thank god for Carolyn Sampson, whose new all-Purcell disc Victorious Love manages to be at once exemplary and exhilarating. She shows off both her own extraordinary versatility and Purcell's — every facet of the composer is here in these songs, which encompass loss, love, death, rage, rapture, madness, sweetness, seduction and out-and-out lust.

Here I have difficulty continuing. Because this album is not conducive to balanced, thoughtful sentences and considered praise. It makes me want to shout its praises on street corners, or at least to everyone I meet with the slightest interest in this kind of music. I think this CD is incredible beyond words. Obviously it was always a winning combination. Purcell = good. Carolyn Sampson = indecently gorgeous and gifted in all matters Baroque. This, though, isn't just a winning combination of elements, it's an explosion. Explosion? In Purcell? YES.

And — I've a suspicion I've wondered this before — where in the world did she get that voice? I'm on the verge of declaring it the most fundamentally beautiful sound being produced by any currently working singer. Clearly, that's a crazy kind of claim to make, as there are a thousand kinds of vocal beauty and no one singer can wear the crown, unchallenged. But still... I remember the first time I heard her Rameau disc, finding it physically difficult to grasp just how gorgeous these sounds were. And, it should go without saying, not emptily gorgeous. Carolyn is the whole package, impeccable in every respect. On the list of What Makes My Heart Go Pit-a-Patter, she ticks every item.

Down to specifics. She opens with "Sweeter Than Roses", which is includes the lyrics from which the title is drawn: "what magic hath victorious love". What magic indeed. This song is a perfect bait-and-switch; she starts out by doing breathy languor so well that, if you didn't know what was coming next, you wouldn't guess it. Then from the dream state she bursts suddenly into florid rapture and in the process, with her very first track, conquers every heart. (Well, every one of mine anyway.) Then immediately to something much more serious, "The fatal hour comes on apace". Every word is heavy with meaning and yet she doesn't overdo it for a moment — "certain misery" sound like certain misery, nothing more and nothing less. Purcell has, of course, that very baroque habit of repeating a word or phrase over and over, and Carolyn ensures this sounds like the most natural occurence in the world. She sings "may I not" several times before revealing what she may or may not do (which is to hope) and it doesn't sound like baroque convention, just natural human inability to express a desperate and delicate emotion. That's almost two hundred words on just two songs; if I keep on like this you'll never read to the end.

But for the moment I have to continue like this and mention track three. "When first Amintas sued for a kiss" ought to have earned this CD a "contains explicit lyrics" warning sticker. Read them. And just in case you were in any doubt about what that voyage to the golden coast entails, Carolyn's singing makes it tremulously clear. Now I suppose I ought to pick out just a selection of highlights, or I'll be here all night. Honestly, I could stick a pin in the track listing at random and write up any one of the songs — every single one is exceptional and a treasure. However, I'll choose three of the strikingest, and then attempt to leave it at that.

1. "Man is for the woman made", a cheery little ditty, full of suggestive and sometimes downright phallic imagery. My previous exposure to Carolyn hadn't prepared me for the fabulous sense of humour on display here. The fun she's having is contagious. The fact that she has all that fun while retaining crystalline tone and flawless diction just makes it all the better.

2. From one extreme to the other. The Blessed Virgin's Expostulation, a surprisingly operatic seven minute lament by the Virgin Mary. She glides from straight recitative to suddenly intricate and wide-ranging coloratura and back again, and is deeply moving all the while. A human, flesh-and-blood sort of Mary, whose cries of "Gabriel" come not from a placid saint but a desperate mother.

3. "From silent shades." Stiff as the competition is, this is still the most stunning piece on the album. It's also known as "Bess of Bedlam" — the mad song to beat all mad songs. Carolyn's performance is a tour de force, spellbinding and spooky; a riveting balance between comical craziness and the outpourings of a deeply distubed psyche. I shan't attempt any kind of useful description. About halfway through, though, come these lines:

"Did you not see my love as he pass'd by you?
His two flaming eyes, if he comes nigh you,
They will scorch up your hearts..."

and I can say that whatever a person might pay for this disc, it's worth it just to have heard the exquisitely terrifying way she sings them. I'm a bit of a mess again just thinking about it.

There, as promised, I'll draw to a close. I'm conquered. Carolyn is victorious.

Katya, quickly

A note to those with a love of Janacek, or of Cheryl Barker, or just a love of a good bargain (I answer to all three) — the Chandos Opera in English recording of Katya Kabanova, with Cheryl in the title role and Carlo Rizzi conducting the Orchestra of the Welsh National Opera, is currently to be had from iTunes (from the Australian store, at least) for the unfathomable price of $13.99. This set retails for around $60 in stores so this is an incredibly good deal. Mine's downloading as I type, needless to say.

Dear Santa

I figure it's the season for wishes, so I've been thinking about some of mine. Too late for this Christmas, of course; but Santa, if you're reading, keep this in mind for future reference.

From the record companies, I would like...

A solo disc by Patrizia Ciofi. Hasn't it been an awfully long time since the Vivaldi motets and Amor e gelosia? I think not baroque this time, though. I'm in the mood for 19th century French repertoire. Massenet (my guilty pleasure) and Berlioz — I know she's recorded Benvenuto Cellini, I'd love to hear her "Entre l'amour et le devoir" without buying the whole damn opera. Some Offenbach wouldn't go amiss and some Meyerbeer too, perhaps. I'll stretch the French theme to include Donizetti en français, too — Marie, obviously, since I'm still obsessed with her Fille, and Lucie's mad scene, which I did have on another computer once and which was odd and fabulous. 

From Cheryl Barker, maybe something in the vein of Renée's Signatures — big scenes and arias from the music she's her best in. I'd like some bits of the roles I regret missing her in — a healthy (or consumptive, for that matter) chunk of Violetta, Elvira's "Mi tradi", Salome's huge final monologue, Tatyana's Letter Scene, even Hanna Glawari... and then, just to indulge me, some things she's never (to my knowledge) sung — the Marschallin's Act I monologue, Elisabetta's "Tu che le vanita", Marietta's Lied, and - why not? - some Vitellia. It would certainly keep me going for a while. Failing that — Chandos, how about a Cheryl Barker Sings Great Operatic Arias for Opera in English? She seems to be a Chandos in-house diva these days, after all — Cio-Cio San, Katya Kabanova, Jenufa, Emilia Marty, Rusalka and counting...

Finally, a recital disc dream I've cherished for several years. Way back when I was first enchanted by Patricia Wright, I imagined her singing Copland's Twelve Poems of Emily Dickinson. I don't now them as well now as I used to, but something in the fragments I recall still seems like a beautiful fit. Actually it's more than that — the fragments I recall, I hear in my head in her voice. And when I listen to her sing Vaughan Williams or (sigh) Bax or even (different kind of sigh) Richard Strauss, this idea always re-occurs to me. They don't fill out a whole CD on their own, though, so I'd pair them — just to make for an all-out lyrical feast — with Golijov's Three Songs. Patricia's take on these is exquisite. I have a recording of them; the world at large deserves the same privilege.

Two other wishes I would have made are already to be fulfilled of their own accord. Natalie Dessay's Italian arias comes out next month; later in the year there's an all Handel recital from Glorious Joyce.

From Opera Australia, I'd like...

As always, Poulenc. Les dialogues des Carmélites seems the likeliest, so I'll make that my number one wish. Antoinette Halloran as Blanche de la Force? Elizabeth Whitehouse as Madame Lidoine? But not Hye-Seoung Kwon or Taryn Fiebig as Soeur Constance (it would inevitably be one of them) — just import Sarah Tynan, she's magical on the Chandos recording.

Bizet's Djamileh, as I've probably said before. Beats Carmen and Les pêcheurs de perles hands down, though it's only one act, so it needs a partner. How about Bizet's Le Docteur Miracle about which I know absolutely nothing except that it's also a one act opera. Viardot's Cendrillon has three acts, but only lasts an hour, so it might fit too. Not that I see Opera Australia leaping at an Obscure French Double Feature any time soon.

More Cheryl vehicles. I don't have to wish too hard for these, I suspect; they just happen. My hope at the moment is that the Madama Butterfly and Manon Lescaut currently listed on the calendar at the ICBA website with "Will be announced soon" instead of a company name will prove to be Opera Australia ventures. Especially the Butterfly — I'm besotted enough with her Cio-Cio San on film, but to see her in person, in the same beautiful production would make my little heart flutter even faster.

And for Pinchgut, I'd like...

The funding and resources to allow them to double, triple, quadruple or quintuple their season. Or more than that. I wouldn't dare to wish for specific operas from Pinchgut as they're much better at coming up with fabulous ideas than I ever could be. This year, Vivaldi; next year, CAVALLI. I'm very happy. The thought of future seasons has me salivating but oh, what a joy it would be not to have to wait a year between productions.

Back on earth, some slightly more possible wishes for the near future:

A Mimi so revelatory from Antoinette Halloran that I start to think I like La boheme; a shop which actually has Opera Rara's Entre Nous: Celebrating Offenbach in stock so I can finally buy it; good sound quality (despite this ominous post from Bardassa) at the Met cinema broadcasts; continued speedy access to NatalieTube, lately becoming KathleenTube; and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of music in my stocking next Tuesday.

Early Christmas

Jessica Duchen is my Santa Claus today, this wonderful interview containing the very jolly news that one of my longtime Christmas wishes — a bel canto album from Natalie Dessay — is very shortly to be granted. Her Italian Opera Arias, to be released next month, includes Elvira's "Qui la voce...Vien, diletto", the mad scene from Lucia (of course), Maria Stuarda's Act II scena and even a taste of Violetta. All very standard repertoire; the surprises, I'm certain, will be in her uniquely Natalie approach to all of it. My only task now is to persuade the real Santa to return in January with my copy.

Marie revisited

As fixation and obsession and all their cousins are very much the stock in trade of this blog, I'm returning again to Patrizia Ciofi's Marie in La fille du régiment. I have more to say, especially having watched her again this evening.

She's an extraordinary little creature. Off the top of my head, I can't think of another among my favourites who looks so downright strange when she sings. Quite frequently she actually looks like she's in pain. In repose, she's rather lovely, in her redheaded mouse kind of way, but the act of producing That Voice distorts her face something shocking. And yet she makes a virtue of this. She looks weird, but she looks interesting — and even without the sound on, the way she looks when she's singing makes it plainly evident that something important is happening. Adding to the appeal is the fact that her external contortions aren't reflected in what's going on internally; her face might be twisted but her voice isn't. Patrizia isn't always the easiest singer to watch but she's unfailingly exquisite to hear. Besides, there are moments when the unusual physicality of her singing only helps to heighten its intensity. In the final ensemble, for instance, she and Tonio reprise "Salut à la France" with as much fervour as they can muster. When Marie's high notes emerge from Patrizia, they look like a scream but they don't sound like one — they're just thrilling and passionate pristine high notes, with the force and fire of a scream, perhaps, but none of the ugliness or strain.

The other aspect of her performance which warms my heart is in a sense not really a part of her performance at all. It's the response from the audience. Without wishing too much to dismiss or denigrate the audiences of my adopted country, it disappoints me sometimes to find that rapturous applause, shouting, stomping and so on tend only to come in response to something overtly virtuosic. Loud and fast, in other words. Emma Matthews' Konstanze only received an exceptional ovation for "Martern aller Arten", though her gifts were (I thought) on lovelier display in "Traurigkeit". Frank Peter Zimmermann was incredible in the Berg Violin Concerto, but those who stood were only moved to do so by the preposterously difficult showpiece he gave as an encore. I've no doubt this is the case in many many other places too. But at the Teatro Carlo Felice, at least, the audience is just as enthusiastic and adoring in its response to Marie's fireworks-free "Il faut partir" as to her more coloratura laden moments. Yes, they go wild for Juan Diego's high Cs, but there's as much appreciation here for beauty and depth of expression as there is for vocal acrobatics. Tonio gets to sing the "hit" but come the final curtain, Marie is just as warmly received, if not more so — whether the same would be true here (now that Joanie's long past taking on the title role) I honestly don't know. Though, let's be fair — if Marie is Patrizia Ciofi, I don't imagine any audience could fail to go crazy for her every phrase.

A/V

I've been watching DVDs this week. Not buying them, but watching them.

La fille du régiment

My favourite so far, without a doubt. Patrizia Ciofi as Marie and Juan Diego Florez as Tonio. Apart from a few clips of the Covent Garden production which I watched on YouTube, half a dozen renditions of "Salut à la France" and of course the tenor's high Cs, I admit not having been hugely familiar with this opera. It's rather more beautiful than I think I expected, not just unendingly frivolous and fluffy. The update to WWII seems to work pretty well; it's unintrusive at least and thankfully comes without dark undertones. I'm already an avowed adorer of Patrizia Ciofi and yet her gorgeousness here took me by a little by surprise; it's an unusual voice, to be sure, but as I've said before, addictive. Her singing lesson is a riot — that sometimes rather white tone she has is well suited to singing atrociously flat, and she sounds absolutely appalling until suddenly, seemingly by accident, she hits a glorious note which eventually blossoms into cascading coloratura. And then there's Juan Diego — what could little me possibly add to all that's been said about him in this role, and in that aria? But he is adorable and magnificent. He encores "Pour mon âme", of course, and it's even better the second time. What's so charming is that the encore comes not from a need to show off or bask in applause, but from a truly humble, obliging spirit — this is what the audience dearly wants, and deserves, and so it's what they receive. Francesca Franci turns in a rather fabulous performance as the Marquise as well. Actually it's all pretty fantastic. And now the fact that next year I'll get to watch the cinema broadcast of the Met production, with Juan Diego again and Natalie, is even more exciting than it was. If that's possible.

Le nozze di Figaro
I've also seen the first half of the frankly odd Salzburg Figaro, part of the M22 Mozart marathon. It's Figaro as a drama. Conventional but hugely oversized sets which make the singers look like dolls in a dolls house, and an invented, mute, dancing "Cherubim" (who's dressed like Cherubino but with wings) who comes and messes invisibly with everybody's minds and movements. Cherubino (Christine Schäfer dressed like a Von Trapp child) is the outlet for the Countess' pent-up longings and Susanna's as well; he's kissed deeply by them both, and more besides. Susanna is Anna Netrebko at her most engaging and truly lovely; her darkish sound isn't necessarily what you'd always want from a Susanna but for this conception of the character, it's ideal. Dorothea Röschmann's Countess brings me closer to understanding Maury's passion for her than anything else I've heard her in has, her singing building in intensity until, by the time she's barring the door, she's thrillingly fierce and wonderful. She makes heartbreakingly clear the real sadness and isolation Rosina feels, something which has always upset me and endeared the Countess to me. It really isn't very long since she was being wooed by an apparently unswervingly devoted admirer and now that's all gone; the tricks she plays with Susanna aren't just a diversion, they're all she can think of doing in a hopeless attempt to win back her earlier bliss — and even at the finale, when she's theoretically one, it's blindindly obvious that nothing has changed for good and she'll be singing "Porgi, amor" again before she knows it. Anyway, that's just me getting sidetracked; the point is, even in a fun Figaro, a miserable Countess appeals to me in a cathartic sort of way, and Dorothea is devastating. One other pleasing point — Marie McLaughlin's Marcellina, cast here not as a comical old bat from whom Figaro should rightly run a mile from marrying, but instead as a rather soignée woman of a certain age not without her attractions. This is definitely not a Figaro for everybody but it's oddly compelling.

Agrippina
I shouldn't include this as I only managed about twenty minutes. The orchestra sounds quite good. Most of the singers are terrifyingly miscast. The male roles have all been assigned to tenors and basses ("for verisimilitude" blah blah blah) which sounds weird anyway but especially so when accompanied by period orchestra. Added to which, the men all sing as if they've wandered in from a neighbouring Puccini opera; and even in Puccini their pitch issues would probably still be troubling. Barbara Daniels sings the title role and is actually quite good — I'm impressed that she can be convincing in both Handel and as Minnie in Fanciulla (not that I've seen her in the latter). In the recits she's really rather fabulous; come the first aria, though, and she's alright, but a few little cracks show themselves, including an upper register which doesn't exactly exist. I gave up. And went on to...

La cenerentola
1982 Ponnelle film from La Scala. Frederica von Stade, to state the obvious, is radiant perfection as Angiolina. Her stepsisters are flamboyantly wicked. And I've been obliged to revise my opinion of Francisco Araiza a bit. I've only ever seen him as a gormless and wooden Tamino (on the film with the divine Lucia as Pamina) but as Don Ramiro I quite like him and he sounds quite glorious. (When did I become so enthusiastic about tenors?) It's a typical kind of Ponnelle film, deliberately stagey but still utilising the advantages which this medium has over a stage production — close-ups, characters singing directly to the camera and so on. As is also typical of Ponnelle, it's beautiful.

Die Zauberflöte
I was only able to see the first half before I had to go home. This one is from the Met, during the early nineties. Araiza again, gormless again. Luciana Serra a somewhat scary Queen. Kurt Moll godly as Sarastro. But the point of it all? Kathleen Battle as a transcendent Pamina. Totally sweet and charming, and in phenomenal voice. She brings tears to my eyes. I love her. End of story. I will try and watch the rest tomorrow.

[The key to all this free of charge viewing? Late shift in a classical music section with almost no customers. Without DVDs to watch I'd lose my mind.]

My new favourite Puccini opera

Indirectly, Madama Butterfly was the opera which introduced me to opera. In 2003 it was to be my first ever real experience of live opera. I was not a fanatic at the time. It was in preparing for that production, with a nice Decca Puccini compilation, that I became one. But Butterfly itself was sort of incidental; the music made no great impression on me, Cio-Cio San didn't appeal, and I moved on and have never felt very tempted to return to it.

However, things change. Or rather, divas change them. I fooled you with the first paragraph; this is, in fact, pretty much another post about Cheryl Barker. Cheryl, who has filled the last few weeks with more Puccini than I'd had in the whole lifetime preceding them. Cheryl, who is such perfection in Puccini that I thrill to it as to Mozart or Handel. Cheryl, who has brought me back, in glorious fashion, to Madama Butterfly.

She's filmed it twice. Once in Robert Wilson blue, once in pretty pinks and reds for Opera Australia. I bought the latter and it's a revelation. I love the music. It fascinates me as much as La bohème bores me. Inspired, perhaps, by the exotic setting and highly charged plot, Puccini seems to create a far more multicoloured, expressive and evocative sound world in Japan than he did in Paris. Where La bohème plods, Butterfly enchants. At least it does me. That's helped by Moffatt Oxenbould's simple and beautiful production, one of the prettiest I've seen emerge from Opera Australia.

And I've had my preconceptions of Cio-Cio San smashed to smithereens. I've thought of her as irritatingly fragile, a boring, blank naive victim. Cheryl is none of those things. Her Cio-Cio San is bright and passionate, with a vivid sense of humour. Innocent, yes, but not an idiot. She's thought about life, made a decision and stuck with it. Most strikingly of all, she is, until everything falls apart, genuinely happy. When she smiles, she's not pathetic — you don't pity her, you just smile along with her, because her joy is infectious. Even her suicide, while devastating, is somehow a positive decision; neither that action, nor the woman herself, can be dismissed as Tragic Heroine and nothing more because whatever she is, she isn't tragic.

How much of this is down to Cheryl and how much to the character as written, I'm not sure. There was surprises for me in the libretto. Butterfly's resistance to Yamadori, for instance, is full of wit and humour, which I hadn't realised; I just expected virtuous vows of fidelity and childish obstinance. The unmistakeable Cheryl Barker Touch plays its part too, though, a special talent for intensity without cliché; she's thoroughly, thrillingly operatic without ever resorting to stock gestures or vocal tricks. Even "Un bel di" seems less of a warhorse in her care; she sings it simply and believably, to herself and to Suzuki, not as a party piece for the audience, all distant gazes and sweeping gestures. She's in outrageously good voice throughout, scaling the heights with glossy ease and fifty million expressive colours.

Pinkerton, by the way, isn't a revelation. He's a bastard. There are plenty of reviews which mention "unusually sympathetic" Pinkertons, but Jay Hunter Morris isn't one of them. Which is fine. True, he's convincingly remorseful in the final act but it isn't really enough to make up for what came before, nor is he three dimensional enough to care much about either way. Nicely sung for the most part, if a bit on the brutal side. Douglas McNicol's Sharpless is the Nicer American and a genuinely interesting character. Best of all (apart from Butterfly herself, obviously) is Ingrid Silvaeus' engaging and richly sung Suzuki, making the mother of all thankless mezzo roles seem in fact rather rewarding.

The question now is, is it Butterfly the character I've fallen for, or Butterfly the opera? Will my newfound affection endure with a different soprano in the role? I'm actually pretty sure it will. There was so much to love in this film, and while a lot of it was Cheryl based, a lot wasn't. I'll be testing the theory shortly; I've also bought a copy of Karajan's Butterfly on Decca, featuring my adored Mirella Freni and an all star cast. It's all looking rosy.