Prima la musica, poi le parole

From the ridiculous to the sublime

How could I resist this?

Dorothy Dorow performs Music For Coloratura Soprano, Flute & Piano. I picked it up because the spine was intriguing, but it was the cover — and the bargain price — which clinched it.  Regrettably, the recording itself is only intermittently as hilarious as the cover. As I understand it, it was in modern music that Dorothy Dorow spent the bulk of her career; I can only hope she responded better to that repertoire than to this. In a series of 18th, 19th and 20th century coloratura showpieces, she is resolutely dull and mechanical; the fun only comes when the music gets so ridiculously frilly that her solemn execution of it is hilariously incongruous. My favourite track is her own composition, "Dream". The text, also by Miss Dorow consists of the word "Dream". The piece is a pastiche of various modern styles; it involves some moaning, some snapping of fingers, even a bit of bossa nova. It could almost be a joke but her comments in the liner notes and her straightfaced rendition suggest it is not. I'd love to give it to Patricia Petibon to sing, though — she'd turn it into an uproarious masterpiece. Otherwise this is just mindbogglingly boring, really. It's all very well to treat these as essentially displays of technical mastery, but that doesn't mean they can't be aurally appealing too. Hitting all the notes is no fun if you do it so charmlessly. Compare and contrast Dorow's Morse Code treatment of Eva dell'Acqua's "Villanelle" to Natalie's fluid, shimmery recording of the piece on her Vocalise; or her dry, tedious "Lo! Here the gentle lark" with the version on Yvonne Kenny's Homage to Melba, sung with a spring in her step and a smile in her voice; indeed, when she finally makes it through the very last flight of fioratura, you can hear her laughing. Now that's the spirit in which this kind of repertoire needs to be sung.

And if I couldn't resist that, I certainly wasn't going to say no to this.

This is pretty early for Anne Sofie — the recital dates from 1989. The contents aren't quite as bleak or as unrelentingly wintry as the Oh So Sibelius cover art, though the lyrics certainly contain their fair share of snow and longing. There's the odd sliver of jubilation too, though. I don't need to tell you how well suited Anne Sofie is to this repertoire. She's in gorgeous voice, but then, when isn't she? Her singing here doesn't quite attain the utter lusciousness of, say, her Grieg songs; but it's also free of the (dare I say it?) occasionally offputting idiosyncracies of her more recent recordings — the Abba CD (I know, I know, it's mostly not Abba, but I still have to call it that) and her Music for a While; not her Terezin, though, because that is an out-and-out masterpiece. She reaches surprisingly operatic heights here, but as usual it's still that perfectly formed and ever expressive middle of her voice which provides the true thrills. The dramatic "Flickan kom infrån sin älsklings möte" has long been a favourite song of mine — I learnt most of the words (phonetically, that is) from Karita; Barbara Bonney's has been known to quite literally stop me in my tracks when appearing on Shuffle. Anne Sofie, true to form, sings it magnificently; but to be honest, on this CD, I like her best in lilting, languid mode. Hers is a voice to bask in. And luckily this recital offers plenty of opportunities to do just that.

Diana

As you may have noticed, I'm in the midst of a bit of a mania. So every now and then I have to slow down and remind myself that I can also just like a soprano, without going totally mad and making declarations left, right and centre. The soprano I have in mind is Diana Damrau. I wrote about Arie di bravura a little while ago. She's a discovery I'm very happy finally to have made, and so I made the effort to keep things going and bought two more of her CDs — two live lieder recitals, both on the Orfeo label. And as I say, she is a reminder that sane appreciation can still be plenty of fun.

The earlier of the two discs is a Late Romantic programme from the 2005 Salzburg Festspiele. There is one track, I must admit, which does send me slightly round the bend — her "Das himmlische Leben" is, well, heavenly; one of the best I've heard. She sails through a pair of Strauss' Brentano Lieder with just the effortless grace you'd expect. Diana reminds me a lot of Sandrine Piau, and yet in Strauss' Mädchenblumen, which also appears on Sandrine's exquisite Evocation,  I realised I'd never actually confuse the two. There are four encores, listed only inside the booklet and not on the back, which is a nice touch (it meant they took me by surprise, as encores ought). Maybe I'm strange but one of my favourite aspects of this recital is her charming spoken introductions to the songs. She enjoys herself here and it is infectious.

The other recital was recorded a year later. It features both the Schumanns, both the Mendelssohns, plus Brahms, Liszt and Chopin. And is delightful. As usual, I take greatest pleasure in the (Robert) Schumann. One of my favourite Mendelssohn Lieder is there too, "Neue Liebe" (a favourite because it was just about the first Mendelssohn Lied I learned, and I was addicted to it, thanks to Kathleen Battle.) There are hints of Elisabeth Schwarzkopf in her lieder singing, and I mean that in only its unambiguously positive sense; nothing mannered here, quite the opposite, but sensitivity and immaculate tone and diction are qualities they happily share. She's chirpy and adorable in Brahms' "Vergebliche Ständchen", another big favourite of mine — there was a time when I could not start the morning without watching Elisabeth's performance of this song (on an EMI Classic Archive DVD) at least once. Once again, the encores are a particular highlight. Liszt's "Es muss ein Wunderbares sein" seems to be a standard for Diana, as it appears in both recitals; she finishes up with a very sweet and pointedly sleepy rendition of Brahms' Wiegenlied before sending everybody home to bed.

For the moment I have no plans for a post proclaiming Diana Damrau the Best Soprano in the World Ever and my Utter, Utter Favourite Glorious Revelation and so on. You know me, so this may change. But I like her. A lot. And every YouTube video I see of her makes me like her even more. Like will do for now. I think she's great.

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.

Pilar Lorengar

Is it possible Pilar Lorengar is the voice in my head? Following up on my love affair with her Prima Donna in Vienna, I've finally bought a second Pilar Lorengar CD, a nice double disc compilation. I'll ramble about the gorgeousness in a moment, but what's intriguing me is the familiarity of it all. Apart from the few tracks which are drawn from Prima Donna in Vienna, I've never heard any of this before, and yet this doesn't feel like a first time. Which is not to say I actually think I've heard any of it already, because I know that I haven't. But she makes so much sense in every aria, sings everything so properly and in such total accordance with my wishes (even wishes I didn't know I was wishing) that I feel she's in some way giving voice to ideas and conceptions I already had. As I say, it's as if she's the translation into real, listenable singing of the voice in my head. This isn't just some kind of elaborate bit of fawning; I'm not calling her my destined diva or my new favourite or any of that. It's really just a statement of, if not fact, something vaguely resembling it.

Anyway, let me move on to the gorgeousness. Of which, it has to be said, there is plenty. She may look like Sybil Fawlty but, thank god, the resemblance ends there. Disc One offers seventeen arias, each one a shiny, happy delight. The first half is all Puccini, with no boring fall into Generic Doomed Girl — Mimi is not Liu, Angelica is not Cio Cio San. She's all rounded vowels and delicious vibrato, robust but not overpowering. A full lyric who can power her way through Puccini and then turn in a totally refined and subtle Fiordiligi. Without the dynamic extremes or provocative sighs of, say, Monserrat Caballe or Kathleen Battle, her "Depuis le jour" is ecstatic and luxuriant just the same. "Glück, das mir verblieb" comes from Prima Donna in Vienna; I think it's my favourite track on both albums — it's pretty obvious that Korngold and I need to get to know each other better, and soon.

Disc Two is all Spanish — Granados, Falla and Turina, some of it with orchestra, some with Alicia de Larrocha at the piano. It shall have to be liveblogged as it's only just started. Granados' "La maja y el ruisenor" is radiant; "9 Tonadillas" now, and before she's even started, I love Alicia de Larrocha and these songs. This is bliss, she's so bright and so lovely. And so free of self indulgence, almost matter of fact about things, but expressive at the same time. Turns out she's not just my inner voice of opera but of Spanish songs too, even if I still don't really know what I mean by that. Just a weird sense that this is the original. Which makes essentially zero sense. This is a much more peaceful, simple kind of Spanish album than a few of the others I have (and adore — I'm thinking of Maria Bayo, Joyce DiDonato, parts of Kathy's Pleasures of their Company) but no less evocative for it. Indulge me in a sigh or three... unless this cycle finishes and she suddenly breaks into Rex Harrison sprechstimme for La maja dolorosa, all I foresee is more sweetness, light and perfection. So I think I'll finish this post on that assumption, stop liveblogging and return to just listening. This is lovely. I wish I could italicise that word more.

New

Gothic Baroque

Magdalena Kozena's new Handel CD, entitled Ah, mio cor, is an odd mix. Half radiance, joy and sweetness; half madness and black magic. The photos in the notes have her looking very serious and possibly a little bit evil. What this translates to in terms of sound is that when she sings about insanity, rage and despair, she makes them sound like themselves — not ugly, as such, but not pretty either. This may take a bit of getting used to for some; and some will probably not like it at all. I'm wrapped tightly around Magdalena's little finger, and I love it. And besides, she makes the happy parts sound just as convincing; she rattles (no pun intended) through "Oh had I Jubal's lyre" at great speed and with a totally charming accent, and her "Scherza infida" is quite mesmerizing.

Brilliant boy

It hasn't been packaged nearly so lavishly, but Juan Diego Florez has released a CD with a concept not unlike Cecilia's Maria — his Arias for Rubini is a tribute to "the first superstar tenor", Giovanni Battista Rubini. What can I say? I've only heard it a few times and haven't had a chance to concentrate properly but the boy is pure magic as always, exemplary and brilliant. (And I probably shouldn't call him a boy but he's so adorable I can't help it.)

Mrs Fischer-Dieskau

I happened upon a disc of Julia Varady at a very reasonable price and thought I might as well. She's singing Mozart and Strauss Lieder and is a total delight. I was startled a little by the size and richness of her voice, not having previously heard her sing anything except Rosalinde. I wouldn't normally expect to hear an Arabella and a Komponist take on the Brentano Lieder — usually Zerbinetta territory — but what a luxury to hear them given such sumptuous voice.

Serendipity

In the same shop as the Julia Varady CD, just as I was about to leave, I spotted something I'd missed the first time — Cheryl Barker's disc of Puccini arias. For $10. I practically skipped out of the shop. And it is heavenly, as it would have to be. She covers every opera except (and fair enough) Fanciulla — Le villi and Edgar through to Turandot, and a couple of songs at the end for good measure. She makes me a million times more interested in Butterfly than I ever have been, she's a drop dead gorgeous Magda and her Liu is perfection. She's vulnerable, delicate; and just when you think she might be about to overreach herself vocally, her voice does the opposite and simply blooms. So we will overlook the fact that the title of this disc appears to be "Puccini = Passion".

More of the same

And today in an op shop I found a copy of the famous Baz Luhrmann La bohème with Cheryl and David Hobson on VHS. Yes, VHS, but I do still have a player. And it was $2. Who would say no?

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.

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.

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.

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.

New

I don't seem to be posting much lately. That's at least in part because I've been posting far too much on my other blog — an over-thought series dissecting Streetcar in the run up to opening night. However I need variety, so here I am. (Besides which, Typepad has apparently broken said blog. The address still works but I can't post to it. So far the helpdesk's only solution was the helpful offer to delete the blog. Awaiting further assistance.) Not much posting, as I say; but plenty of shopping. Two sprees. Among them, the following.

Natalie Dessay — Vocalises. This had been the only one of Natalie's solo discs I didn't own. I've never really felt too terribly compelled to buy it, because the whole concept seems to sort of defeat the purpose of Natalie. She's not just a pretty voice. However, I heard an excerpt from her Proch variations and realised I needed this CD in order to maintain a full and happy existence; and then I found it secondhand for ten dollars. So much the better. It's brilliant, and I was wrong. It doesn't defeat the purpose of Natalie. Natalie is multipurposed. She's all kinds of spectacular. And while I love to hear her act, I also love to hear her just fly brilliantly through all kinds of ridiculous coloratura, which is what much of this CD is about. The Proch variations, as mentioned, are a particular delight, especially when she uses a bit of Lucia as one of her ornaments. The disc covers both kinds of vocalise — those designed to show off agility and high notes, and those designed to celebrate vocal beauty. Ravel's Vocalise en forme de habanera is delicately spun and wonderful.

Lucia Popp — Slavonic Opera Arias. One of the great tragedies of my move to Australia was that none of "my" Lucia Popp CDs were actually mine. I had to leave them all at home with their rightful owner, and so now I find myself utterly bereft of my beloved operatic mother. I did manage to pick up her Operetta Arias a while ago, thank god and now — thanks again to EMI Red Line — I have her Slavonic arias. Another recital to sell one's soul or first-born for. At least that's what I would say if it didn't feel a little odd to speak of one's mother in such passionate terms. Every time I look at the tracklist for this CD, I think I don't know anything on it except Rusalka's Song to the Moon and Tatyana's Letter scene and probably something from The Bartered Bride. Then I play it and realise that in fact I know every moment. My knowledge of the Slavonic repertoire is, shall we say, not vast — but because of Lucia, there are at least these ten arias which are old friends.

Richard Strauss — Récital de Lieder. French title because it's from EMI France. I bought this for two reasons. One, I wanted to hear Margaret Price, who sings the first seventeen songs. I've never really given Margaret much thought one way or the other, but then I read an interview with Sandrine Piau in which la belle Sandrine named Margaret Price among her absolute idols.  Which surprised me, so I thought she was worth a try. And she probably is, but not on this CD. Strauss Lieder are the best thing ever (or almost) but her performance here is just a bit laboured and plain for me. However, the second reason paid off much better. Tracks eighteen to twenty-nine are Lucia Popp. I'd no idea this recording existed. Now she makes Strauss Lieder sound the way I want them. Magical.

Don Giovanni — Hans Rosbaud, Orchestre de la Société ds Concerts du Conservatoire. Mono recording from the late fifties. It came doubled with a Figaro which I haven't listened to yet. Honestly, it's a pretty average, plodding kind of Don Giovanni. But it comes with a few rather special performances. Lovely Suzanne Danco is a surprisingly full and fascinating Elvira. Nicolai Gedda is my kind of Ottavio. Teresa Stich-Randall is weird as Donna Anna. And an especial treat — Anna Moffo, at her magnetic best, as a delicious Zerlina.

Mitridate, re di Ponto — Christophe Rousset, Les Talens Lyriques. Allow me to cast my mind back. I have wanted this recording for...five years? About that. Originally I wanted it because I was an aspiring Cecilia Bartoli completist. I was also, however, a miser and this set is invariably overpriced. So I never bought it. But it has continued to hover in the background. As the years have passed, it seems, the cast of this Mitridate has, one by one, entered my life. So that now, alongside Cecilia are three more singers I adore. Natalie. Sandrine. And Juan Diego. Oh my. Obviously it was meant for me. And then I contrived (shan't tell how) to buy it new at a highly reasonable price; more like what you might expect to pay for a single CD. So, is it worth the wait? Yes and no. I'm ambivalent about Cecilia here. I prefer her in true mezzo territory and Sifare is soprano castrato stuff. Natalie is MAGNIFICENT. Of course she is. Natalie is Natalie. Sandrine is as crystalline and perfect as she always is. And Juan Diego? Juan Diego manages to be more beautiful in a few lines of functional recitative than just about anything else in the opera. No wonder his aria, which could easily be cut (and I think mostly is cut) is left in. I'm more and more his swooning, sighing fan. Naturally I am emerald with jealousy at all those who have seen the La fille du régiment which Natalie and Juan Diego have been doing all over the place. It isn't fair.

Orphée aux enfers — Marc Minkowski, Orchestre de l'Opéra National de Lyon. Speaking of ridiculously starry casts, how's this one. Natalie Dessay. Patricia Petibon. Véronique Gens. Ewa Podles. All together in one opera. Which turns out to be unbelievably hilarious. When the overture is followed immediately by Ewa Podles declaiming melodramatically in French, you know you've discovered a Very Good Thing. Natalie is Eurydice is just so wonderful it hurts. I never expected to hear Véronique sing Offenbach but of course, being Véronique, she's by definition ideal. Patricia Petibon was of course born to sing Cupid. She does so in the serious Gluck Orphée as well. But it's not just the presence of four of my girls which makes this recording is utterly brilliant. It's all fantastic. The cast, the conducting, the opera itself. The quotes from Monteverdi and Gluck are priceless. It's my new favourite thing. Well, perhaps second favourite — there is a DVD as well which I want to own yesterday.

There's more to come but I have to listen to them first. A Sinopoli Ariadne auf Naxos with dream cast — Deborah Voigt, Anne Sofie von Otter and Natalie. And Lucie de Lammermoor with — surprise! — Natalie. The eagle-eyed may notice a pattern emerging. Lately I'm crazier about Natalie than ever before. So crazy I'm not even going to start writing about her tonight because I really will never stop and it's almost bedtime.