A while back, Melba Recordings very kindly sent me a selection of their recent vocal releases. True to form, I'm only now getting around to finally reviewing them. But here we go. Clicking the titles will take you to Melba's own page for each album.
This disc of rarities is the last recording made by the much loved Deborah Riedel, who sadly passed away at the beginning of this year. And while you can't listen to this recital without a touch of sadness, there's so much life and joy in Riedel's singing that in the end it's a very happy celebration. The repertoire is unusual and not all of it is first rate: I'm all for the rediscovery of obscurity, but we shouldn't forget that there's a reason why some music stays famous and some fades away. Still, a disc such as this is a perfect platform for these unusual Italian and English arias — you mightn't ever need to hear the whole of, say, Storace's Lodoiska or Zingarelli's Giulette e Romeo (and even if you do, you might never have the chance) but a single aria sung with style is a nice treat. Riedel's singing is warm and engaging. The disc might be part of Melba's "Richard Bonynge Edition" and the repertoire more his bag than hers, but it is Riedel's convincing delivery which ultimately sells it. Her best arias are those which sit in the honeyed middle of her voice and those with a dash of seriousness (and fewer coloratura frills) to them. Her higher notes do sound a bit pushed, and the silliest and most sentimental of the pieces (especially those in English) would possibly be better suited to a younger, more soubrettish voice. Her legato, however, is fabulous, and the slight heaviness of her voice lends a touch of real dignity to arias which might other sound plain and formulaic. I can't say I'm head over heels for this disc — the repertoire is an acquired taste, especially in such quantity, and not all of it is ideal for Riedel's voice or style — but it's got a definite charm to it, and it does this greatly missed artist credit. The Arcadia Lane Orchestra (no doubt assembled purely for this recording) under Richard Bonynge gives the whole venture an authentic period feeling with plenty of personality.
If you needed further proof that one needn't be a growly echt-Deutsch baritone to capture the peculiar melancholy of this song cycle, Steve Davislim is it. This is a gorgeously sung Winterreise, as bleak, wintry and beautiful as the photography (by Bill Henson, no less) which accompanies the liner notes. Davislim's voice is an ideal mix of light and shadow, the lyrical sheen of it underpinned with a dark, occasionally baritonal quality. His interpretations are fluid and evocative, intelligent but not overthought, and idiomatic in the extreme: Davislim has sung a lot in Germany, to great acclaim, and it shows. Each song is differentiated, given its own particular voice, and yet there's a happy continuity to the whole, just as there should be, and ultimately an almost hypnotic quality. Anthony Romaniuk (for whom accompanist is just not the word) makes an ideal partner; the two voices, singer and pianist, meeting as one. Schubert lieder is not exactly an uncrowded field in terms of recordings but this Winterreise deserves to be sought out by even those with two dozen recordings of it already in their collections.
I must confess that despite my undying love for Benjamin Britten, my immediate reaction to the prospect English folksongs (in anyone's arrangements) is not what you'd call positive. Even though amost every time I listen to them I end up liking them. I can't account for this irrational response but at least I'm able to overcome it: a very good thing in this case, because this recital is an utter delight. In some ways it's the flipside to the Schubert, cheerier, brighter and of course so very English, but it does have its fair share of desolation too, and Davislim captures them wonderfully. These are funny little songs, some of them, but he gives them a sort of grandeur: "The Bonny Earl o'Moray", for instance, is almost operatic in scope. And his gift for character makes even the female narrator of "The Trees They Grow So High" quite convincing. Britten's characteristic arrangements of course lend complexity (and an extra layer of psychology) to these songs, but they don't necessarily prevent twee delivery; Davislim, thankfully, gives us nothing of the sort. He even turns "Sally In Our Alley" into a something approaching a work of art. A highlight of a different sort is "The Foggy, Foggy Dew", for its oh-so-familiar tune — the melody was later recycled for Monty Python's masterpiece, The Lumberjack Song. (I've enjoyed playing this disc at work and watching customers try to figure out where they know the song from.) Davislim is joined this time around by none other than Simone Young (perhaps they met at the I Don't Seem To Appear At Opera Australia Any More club) and she's another good partner for him, sensitive to the balance he's striking between jolly humour and careful artistry.
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