IN MEMORIAM: South African tenor JOHAN BOTHA, 1965 - 2016

JOHAN BOTHA
19 August 1965 – 8 September 2016

When Richard Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg received its first production in the United States during The Metropolitan Opera’s 1886 – 1887 Season, it was written in the pages of The New York Times that the Walther von Stolzing of German tenor Albert Stritt ‘was picturesque and broadly handled, and he treated the music with artistic judgment and richness of vocal expression’ and that ‘he sang his prize song with great vigor and awoke the enthusiasm of the audience.’ One of the foremost lessons that can be gleaned from the performance history of Die Meistersinger is that vocal beauty and stamina, qualities that a wholly successful Walther must possess, rarely inhabit the same bodies. Walthers with voices of lyrical beauty are sometimes swept away by Wagner’s orchestral deluges, and more stentorian singers are apt to make Walther’s impassioned Preislied a martial salute to Walhalla rather than a paean to burgeoning love. In the 416 performances of Die Meistersinger heard at the MET since 1886, Walther’s demanding music was sung on seventeen memorable occasions by Johan Botha, one of the few tenors heard since the ends of the eras of Leo Slezak, Max Lorenz, Set Svanholm, Sándor Kónya, Jess Thomas, and James King for whom Walther was natural, comfortable vocal territory. A man with an imposing physique, Botha brought straightforward dramatic sincerity to his characterizations, portraying the men he became on stage as their creators envisioned them. Though his carefully-wrought and fastidiously-maintained technique enabled him to effortlessly project his voice to the most distant seats in large opera houses, the attribute of his voice that was most arresting was its sweetness. Botha finessed music that other singers force, and his passing at the age of fifty-one, another artist felled by the monstrous effects of cancer, is a tremendous loss both to those who knew him and to those who appreciate the art of song. He is survived by his wife and sons.

A native of South Africa, Botha débuted at The Metropolitan Opera as Canio in Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci in 1997, only eight years after his professional début as Max in Weber’s Der Freischütz in his homeland. It was his interpretation of the caddish Lieutenant Pinkerton in Opéra Bastille’s 1993 production of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly that heralded Botha’s arrival in the international opera community. Two years later, Botha was a delightfully fresh-voiced Rodolfo in Covent Garden’s revival of Puccini’s La bohème. He went on to sing several of his finest rôles at the Royal Opera House, garnering praise from British audiences and critics for his performances as Cavaradossi and Calàf in Puccini’s Tosca and Turandot, the Kaiser and Apollo in Richard Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten and Daphne, Radamès in Verdi’s Aida, and Wagner’s Lohengrin and Tannhäuser. His repertory at the Wiener Staatsoper, by which company he was awarded the coveted distinction of Kammersänger, included these parts in addition to the title rôles in Wagner’s Parsifal, Verdi’s Don Carlos and Otello, and Giordano’s Andrea Chénier; Florestan in Beethoven’s Fidelio; Arrigo in Verdi’s I vespri siciliani; Erik and Siegmund in Wagner’s Der fliegende Holländer and Die Walküre; Ein Sänger, Bacchus, and Stimme eines Jünglings in Richard Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, and Die Frau ohne Schatten; and Turiddu and Canio in Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana and Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci.

Many of the rôles that featured prominently in Botha’s international career also endeared him to American audiences. The San Francisco Examiner’s critic observed that Botha’s 2009 interpretation of Verdi’s Otello, his début rôle with San Francisco Opera, was ‘majestic and towering, yet believable, invoking sympathy,’ and esteemed critic John von Rhein, reviewing Lyric Opera of Chicago's 2015 production of Wagner’s opera, wrote that ‘Botha is today’s definitive Tannhäuser, and he has the vocal heft, lung power and stamina to make it through to the end of a very long opera without a hint of strain.’ In addition to Canio and Walther, his eighty-one performances at the MET also included portrayals of Beethoven’s Florestan, Verdi’s Don Carlo, Radamès, and Otello, Wagner’s Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, and Siegmund, and Puccini’s Calàf.

Botha was a sterling example of an artist for whom an expansive girth was an aspect of rather than a hindrance to his stage presence. He was sometimes criticized for being a ‘stand and deliver’ singer, but how he delivered! His MET broadcasts document a legacy of fine, involved singing—a legacy not always advanced by his colleagues in those MET performances. There could be no better memento of Botha’s work as a Wagnerian than his account of the title rôle in the Profil recording of Lohengrin conducted by Semyon Bychkov. On disc, only Peter Anders truly rivals Botha as a Lohengrin whose timbre alone qualifies him for the title of Schwanritter. It was a timbre that should have gone on entrancing listeners for years to come.

Der Mann mit dem Schwert: South African tenor Johan Botha (1965 – 2016) as Siegmund in Richard Wagner’s Die Walküre at The Metropolitan Opera in 2009
[Photo by Ken Howard, © by The Metropolitan Opera]

ARTS IN ACTION: Washington Concert Opera celebrates thirty years of bringing the best in opera to metropolitan Washington, DC

​The English playwright, abolitionist, and reform-minded philanthropist Hannah More, a copy of whose 1777 drama Percy was catalogued as part of Mozart’s estate at the time of his death in 1791, wrote in a 1775 letter to one of her sisters that ‘going to the opera, like getting drunk, is a sin that carries its own punishment with it.’ Pondering More’s sentiment, every child of a conscientious mother can likely imagine said mother planting her hands on her hips and saying, with precisely the appropriate interrogatory tone, ‘What exactly did she mean by that?’ What, indeed? To be sure, opera is an utterly unique, intoxicating organism, one capable of astonishing feats of metamorphosis, but can it really be characterized as a Dostoevskian synthesis of crime and consequences? Few opera lovers have been fortunate enough to wholly avoid performances that might be described as crimes against the operatic muse, but offending interpreters of Giordano’s Andrea Chénier and Maddalena de Coigny and Poulenc’s Carmélites have yet to actually be guillotined in retribution for their on-stage transgressions. Perhaps, then, the wages of opera’s sins are emotional rather than punitive: granted the privilege of witnessing trespasses of operatic proportions enacted in song, one’s penance is spiritual rather than physical. Hearing the heartfelt oaths of Rossini’s Arsace, the death throes of Bellini’s Romeo and Giulietta, the vengeful utterances of Verdi’s Odabella, and the ecstatic proclamations of Richard Strauss’s Freihild resound in Lisner Auditorium on the campus of The George Washington University in Washington Concert Opera performances of Semiramide, I Capuleti ed i Montecchi, Attila, and Guntram, going to the opera engenders sensations too euphoric to be denied or forgotten. If these escapades truly are sinful, Washington Concert Opera performances have for thirty years been inveigling seductresses, Delilahs and Jezebels adorned with musical jewels that have sparkled dazzlingly in the sometimes-calamitous atmosphere of the American capital. Celebrating their beloved institution’s thirtieth anniversary with a gala concert on 18 September 2016, featuring soprano Angela Meade, mezzo-soprano Vivica Genaux, tenor Michele Angelini, and other guests performing music that pays homage to the company’s legacy, today’s stewards of Washington Concert Opera—Executive Director Caryn Kerstetter Reeves, Artistic Director Antony Walker, Board of Directors President Melissa Rhea, and Chief Operating Officer Adrianne Eby—usher in a new era in WCO’s odyssey with an affectionate musical appraisal of the past. Enjoying such a performance hardly seems like punishment, Miss More, but, if this be sinful, vice sounds positively irresistible.

Founded by conductor Stephen Crout and Arts administrator Peter Russell, Washington Concert Opera’s journey began in 1986 with a performance of Georges Bizet’s Les pêcheurs de perles that featured Hei-Kyung Hong as Leïla, the late Jerry Hadley as Nadir, and Gaétan Laperrière as Zurga. From that start, the organization’s mission has been admirably consistent: bring opera in concert form to metropolitan Washington with the highest standards of musicality—standards that, in practical terms, cannot always be achieved or maintained in fully-staged productions. In subsequent years, WCO performances have often filled voids in the repertories of America’s opera companies, giving neglected scores opportunities to reveal their glories to attentive audiences. Rarely heard in North America, Bellini’s Il pirata, Donizetti’s La favorite (in its original French), Massenet’s Esclarmonde, Mercadante’s Il giuramento, Rossini’s Bianca e Falliero, Strauss’s Guntram, and Verdi’s Il corsaro have all benefited from Washington Concert Opera’s attention, ambitiously furthering the objective of spotlighting works that languish in the shadows of better-known operas.

Central to the​ realization of this core component of WCO’s artistic goal is the casting of performances with singers who possess the qualities that the rôles at hand require. Not even the best intentions make a soprano without both an ironclad bravura technique and an unflappable command of legato a Giulietta, Imogene, or Elisabetta who is effective as Bellini and Donizetti intended them to be. Complementing choral singing that has grown more confident with each successive performance and the playing of an orchestra that boasts of personnel like Gita Ladd, whose cello sings as poignantly as any voice, a defining glory of WCO performances throughout the past thirty years has been the engagement of singers not only near-ideally qualified for their assignments but unmistakably dedicated to both their own success and that of the performances in which they participated. In many cases, this has bestowed upon audiences the additional boons of providing opportunities to hear young voices of tremendous promise, admired singers in rôles they are unlikely to perform elsewhere, and great artists focused solely upon the music before them. With a roster of alumni including Stephanie Blythe, Lawrence Brownlee, Michael Fabiano, Renée Fleming, Elizabeth Futral, Denyce Graves, Ben Heppner, Sumi Jo, Jennifer Larmore, Kate Lindsey, Alessandra Marc, James Morris, Marjorie Owens, David Portillo, Jessica Pratt, Patricia Racette, John Relyea, Robert Dean Smith, James Valenti, Deborah Voigt, and Tamara Wilson, ​WCO performances have exemplified the high levels of excellence that can be reached by casting newcomers alongside seasoned veterans.

Revisiting several of the most memorable evenings in WCO’s history, three exhilarating visitors to the Lisner Auditorium stage shared their singular insights about what makes Washington Concert Opera as special for artists as it is for audiences.

The next generation of bel canto: Soprano Nicole Cabell
[Photo by Devon Cass, © by Nicole Cabell/CAMI]

​One of today’s most beautiful singers in every sense of that distinction, soprano Nicole Cabell débuted with Washington Concert Opera as Medora in the company’s ​March ​2014 performance of Giuseppe Verdi’s Il corsaro and returned as Giulietta in WCO’s ​September ​20​14​ traversal of Bellini’s I Capuleti ed i Montecchi. In both performances, her singing radiated unforced emotional honesty and absolute preparedness, but neither of these admirable qualities made quite so indelible an impression as the natural beauty of her voice. One sometimes hears prize-winning voices and wonders what competition adjudicators heard that is not apparent to less-critical ears, but Cabell’s singing of Verdi’s and Bellini’s music more than justified her recognition as a Cardiff Singer of the World victor. From her perspective, however, this gifted singer’s WCO performances were shaped not by her own vocalism but by teamwork of a sort that is not always possible in today’s increasingly cinematic productions, maelstroms in which singers can be pushed and pulled in directions that distract them from the music and from one another. ‘Washington Concert Opera is one of the best companies I’ve had the pleasure of performing with,’ Cabell remarked, ‘not only for the amazing talent standing beside me [on stage] but also for the commitment to music above all.’ It is this commitment, she asserted, that defines WCO, both on and off the stage. ‘Music and voices take center stage with WCO, which is refreshing in an era of visual distraction,’ she offered.

Her WCO performances partnered Cabell with some of her most talented compatriots among America’s young generation of opera singers, and she cited this as another revered aspect of these engagements. ‘Blending my voice with the great instruments of Tamara Wilson, Michael Fabiano, and Kate Lindsey, amongst others, ranks in the top experiences of my singing career,’ Cabell enthused. Performances such as WCO’s Corsaro and Capuleti do not materialize with singers in a vacuum, of course, and Cabell is refreshingly clear-sighted about the rôle that cooperation among voices and the podium that has been fostered throughout WCO’s history, especially during Antony Walker’s fifteen-year tenure as Artistic Director, plays in performances’ success. ‘Working with Maestro Walker has been a consistent pleasure in that he truly is a singer’s conductor and knows so much about bel canto music,’ Cabell said.

Figlia d’un antico feudo: Soprano Nicole Cabell as Giulietta in San Francisco Opera’s 2012 production of Vincenzo Bellini’s I Capuleti ed i Montecchi
[Photo by Cory Weaver, © by San Francisco Opera]

In Cabell’s estimation, the unique circumstances of Washington Concert Opera’s endeavors provide audiences with experiences that are equally unique. ‘The combination of great music and golden-age singing is guaranteed when you attend a performance at WCO,’ she intimated. Washington Concert Opera’s three-decade performance annals confirm the veracity of her assessment, reminding listeners that top-quality singing overcomes many obstacles that stand between a little-known score and widespread appreciation. Of course, the singing in any performance is even more assuredly ‘golden’ when Cabell is among its cast.

Bella donna di bel canto: Soprano Brenda Harris
[Photo by Lisa Kohler, © by Brenda Harris]

Elisabetta in Donizetti’s Roberto Devereux and Odabella in Verdi’s Attila are treacherous shoals upon which many vocal vessels have foundered. These rôles are a musical Graveyard of the Atlantic in which many voices have sunk, but the singing of soprano Brenda Harris is an artistic Cape Hatteras, a buffer protecting dramatic bel canto from bruising indifference and a beacon guiding performances into safe harbors. One of the world’s most versatile singers, she is a delicate Cleopatra and Violetta who is also a powerhouse Elektra and Turandot. In Washington Concert Opera performances, she has been a source of excitement recalling the sui generis Leyla Gencer, a bel canto singer with the heart of a verista. Her Elisabettas in Roberto Devereux and Maria Stuarda and Odabella were wounded lionesses, their roars never completely hiding touching vulnerability.

Like Cabell, Harris rejoices in the camaraderie that results from the frenetic pace at which Washington Concert Opera performances are forged. ‘Because we don’t have staging, the rehearsal period with WCO is shorter than [with] a “normal” opera [company],’ she commented. ‘That could be perceived as a negative, but I find it exhilarating! Maestro Walker is very character-oriented and helps everyone find a “musical characterization” during the rehearsal process.’ To Walker’s guiding force Harris attributes the creative spark that ignites WCO performances. ‘Again, because we’re not staged, this is very important,’ she added. ‘It’s a happy environment, and everyone seems to work together under his direction.’

Buona regina: Soprano Brenda Harris as Elisabetta in Minnesota Opera’s 2010 production of Gaetano Donizetti’s Roberto Devereux
[Photo by Michael Daniel, © by Minnesota Opera]

Reflecting on her most vivid memories of her appearances with WCO, Harris immediately honed in on her performance of one of the most demanding of Donizetti’s operas. ‘For sure, it has to be Roberto Devereux!’ she exclaimed. WCO’s 2004 performance of Roberto Devereux featured Walker presiding over Tracey Welborn as Roberto, Harris as Elisabetta, Elizabeth Bishop as Sara, and William Stone as Nottingham. ‘I had never sung the rôle [or the] opera before, and it was an absolute joy,’ Harris explained. ‘Antony was an amazing collaborator and seemed a bel canto expert! After the performance, we asked him how many other bel canto operas he’d done, and he admitted it was his first. I couldn’t believe it! He was a natural.’ Only an artist of Harris’s caliber would cite singing music as punishing as that for the vengeful but ultimately humbled Elisabetta as a treasured experience. ‘The [opera’s] final scene was a dramatic joy for me,’ she continued. ‘[Walker] took a tempo that I feared because it had great depth and authority, and it turned out to be brilliant. I’ve sung the opera in staged productions since, but I will always remember that first one with Maestro Walker and WCO!​’ This is a sentiment surely common to everyone who was fortunate enough to hear the performance, not least Harris’s riveting traversal of Elisabetta’s ‘Quel sangue versato al cielo s’innalza.’

With acclaimed performances throughout the United States to her credit, Harris is especially cognizant of WCO’s significance among America’s opera companies. ‘​Washington Concert Opera [provides] great opportunities to hear works that aren’t so often done, in a venue that is every bit as exciting as a fully-staged production,’ she opined. ‘The musical bar is set high, and Maestro Walker is an extremely artistic and sympathetic interpreter of these works!’ Ruminating on her appearances in WCO performances and the rôle that the company​ plays in uplifting opera in America, Harris summarized Washington Concert Opera’s ventures with words that every opera lover longs to hear: ‘You won't be disappointed!’​

Washington’s other First Lady: Soprano Nelly Miricioiu
[Photo © 2009 by Hans Hijmering]

​A​mong the important singers whose efforts have influenced the course of opera’s four-century journey, few have brought to their performances personal histories as compelling as that of soprano ​Nelly Miricioiu​​. Born in Romania, she and her family were victims of the widespread persecution perpetrated by the Communist regime of Nicolae Ceaușescu, but music was a vital element of her liberation from the stifling political milieu of her fatherland. Established in the United Kingdom via a sequence of high-level personal intercession and political maneuvering worthy of a scenario by Dame Iris Murdoch, Miricioiu became a bonafide prima donna in the very best sense, an enchanting singing actress with a timbre sometimes eerily reminiscent of Maria Callas but always entirely her own. Few audiences have been as fortunate as Washington Concert Opera patrons in savoring Miricioiu’s finest singing, and the diva is keenly aware of the nurturing influence of her remarkable relationship with WCO.

Miricioiu cherishes memories of working with Stephen Crout, who conducted her earliest appearance with Washington Concert Opera, but she is also abundantly positive about the broader contexts of WCO’s repertory, planning, and presentation. ​‘I recall all my performances with Washington Concert Opera with both pleasure and admiration for the company’s unique musical achievements and its dedicated, knowledgeable, and appreciative audiences and supporters,’ Miricioiu said. ‘I say unique because I only know of one or two similar small companies bringing such high-quality concert opera performances to the public.’ She believes that the impact of WCO’s initiatives extends far beyond the ranks of those who fill Lisner Auditorium on Sunday evenings for the company’s performances. ‘I feel [that this] adds greatly to Washington's musical life,’ she stated. ‘Washington Concert Opera is a great example of what can be achieved by dedicated members and supporters, [adding] to the life of a great city such as Washington, enriching both its cultural and artistic lives just as my own association with the company has also been enriched.’

Femme fatale: Soprano Nelly Miricioiu in the title rôle of Australian Opera's 1996 production of Gaetano Donizetti's Lucrezia Borgia
[Photo © by Opera Australia]

​One of the foremost interpreters of Bellini’s and Donizetti’s heroines in recent memory, Miricioiu is an artist whose career, like Harris’s, has defied the demoralizing decline of true bel canto. Bellini’s Il pirata has been heard at New York’s Metropolitan Opera as few as nine times, all in the 2002 – 2003 Season, and Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia was performed at the MET only once, as long ago as 1904, when the opera was received by the press with hostility despite the presence of Enrico Caruso as Gennaro. WCO performances featuring Miricioiu made enormous strides in granting these beautiful scores the exposure they deserve, supplementing rare performances by American Opera Society and Opera Orchestra of New York. ‘I have very fond memories of appearing with Washington Concert Opera for the first time in 1990, when I had the opportunity to début the title rôle of Lucrezia Borgia by Donizetti, in a performance that I happily recall with pride in it being so wonderfully received by the audience,’ Miricioiu observed. From the perspectives of both those on the stage and those in the the audience, Washington Concert Opera’s performances are a forum in which risks are helpfully encouraged, earnestness is applauded, and brilliance is extolled.

In today’s do-or-die pecuniary conditions for the Performing Arts, the fiscal necessity of filling seats makes following the maxim of ‘Ars gratia artis’ virtually impossible for most Arts institutions. In this second decade of the Twenty-First Century, perhaps this gets at the essence of Hannah More’s two-centuries-old anecdote: an inherent punishment to which those who indulge in the sin of opera, whether by producing or partaking of it, are subjected is financial burden. In the company’s history, there have been dark days for Washington Concert Opera, but esteeming Art and the people who make and consume it more highly than dollars and endowments has given WCO an advantage that, in recent years, has markedly brightened the horizon. When one enters Lisner Auditorium on the evening of a WCO performance, there is a palpable sense not of pretension or haughtiness but of people who genuinely love opera putting on a show for kindred spirits—a sin, perhaps, but a magnificently communal one! This is the foundation upon which opera’s future must be built.

Nelly Miricioiu put it best: ‘Congratulations,’ Washington Concert Opera, ‘for your forthcoming Thirtieth Anniversary concert, and [wishing you] every success into the future!’

CD REVIEW: Charles Gounod — CINQ-MARS (M. Vidal, V. Gens, T. Christoyannis, A. Foster-Williams, A. Heyboer, N. Nahoun, M. Lenormand, J.-G. Belobo, A. Lepri Meyer, M. Ettmayr, W. Klose; Edicions Singulares ES 1024)

CHARLES-FRANÇOIS GOUNOD (1813 – 1893): Cinq-Mars—Mathias Vidal (Le Marquis de Cinq-Mars), Véronique Gens (La Princesse Marie de Gonzague), Tassis Christoyannis (Le Conseiller de Thou), Andrew Foster-Williams (Le Père Joseph), André Heyboer (Le Vicomte de Fontrailles), Norma Nahoun (Marion Delorme), Marie Lenormand (Ninon de L’Enclos, Un berger), Jacques-Greg Belobo (Le Roi, Le Chancelier), Andrew Lepri Meyer (De Montmort, L’Ambassadeur), Matthias Ettmayr (De Montrésor, Eustache), Wolfgang Klose (De Brienne); Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks; Münchner Rundfunkorchester; Ulf Schirmer, conductor [Recorded ‘live’ in concert in the Prinzregententheater, Munich, Germany, on 25 January 2015; Ediciones Singulares ES 1024; 2 CDs, 138:17; Available from NAXOS Direct, Amazon (USA), fnac (France), jpc (Germany), Presto Classical (UK), and major music retailers]

If it were possible to establish a means of communication between the Nineteenth and Twenty-First Centuries, perhaps no one would be more surprised than the composer himself to learn that in today’s musical circles Charles Gounod’s reputation rests almost solely upon the popularity of his operas Faust and Roméo et Juliette. From the well-received first production of Sapho in 1851 until the unsuccessful première of Le tribut de Zamora in 1881, Gounod was a dominant figure in French opera, enriching the repertory with scores as lovely but largely ignored as La colombe, La reine de Saba, and Mireille. With many new operas now devoid of anything that might be mistaken for a memorable melody, the crime for which Gounod’s reputation has been doomed to derogation can be reasonably identified as tunefulness in the first degree. Even at the height of Gounod’s fame, dissenting voices alleged that the melodies of Faust and Roméo et Juliette, though undeniably pretty, failed to parallel the literary significance of Goethe’s and Shakespeare’s scenarios, but what accounts for the reversal of fortune whereby a pair of scores maligned for euphonious vapidity are now the two of his operas to be accepted into the international repertory? Superbly recorded in concert by Ediciones Singulares in Munich in January 2015, this performance of Gounod’s Cinq-Mars offers a new perspective on Gounod’s frequently misunderstood and misrepresented artistry, vastly different from the Romantic vistas of Faust and Roméo et Juliette. If melodic beauty and bounty are indeed damnable offenses, Gounod could hope for nothing other than condemnation, but this recording of Cinq-Mars makes an eloquent argument for commuting the composer’s sentence to one of eternal enjoyment in the world’s opera houses.

Premièred at Paris’s storied Opéra-Comique on 5 April 1877, Cinq-Mars is Gounod’s setting of Alfred de Vigny’s fictionalized episodes from the life of the Seventeenth-Century courtesan Marion Delorme, familiar as the title heroine of a play by Victor Hugo and operas by Giovanni Bottesini and Amilcare Ponchielli—familiar, that is, if an observer is aware of Hugo’s drama and Bottesini’s and Ponchielli’s operas. The opera’s largely disappointing first production was conducted by Charles Lamoureaux, who also planned and presided over the first performances in France of Wagner’s Lohengrin and Tristan und Isolde. There are few vestiges in Cinq-Mars of Wagner, whose Der Ring des Nibelungen was performed in full for the first time eight months before the première of Gounod’s opera, but the ears also search in vain for the unabashed lyricism of Faust and Roméo et Juliette. His imagination undoubtedly stoked by events from the history of his own country, Gounod composed a score for Cinq-Mars that is in some ways unlike any of his other extant operas. If Wagner is largely absent from the music, the grandeur of Beethoven and kinetic energy of Boieldieu are present, and the set pieces recall Meyerbeer and Halévy. The spirit of Verdi drifts northward over the Alps, as well, the Council Chamber Scene in Simon Boccanegra finding cousins in the elaborate ensembles in Gounod’s score, and with its idealistic tenor hero, put-upon soprano heroine, and menacing low-voiced representative of political intrigue, Cinq-Mars anticipates Giordano’s Andrea Chénier. The historical setting of Seventeenth-Century France inspired Gounod to create music that is aptly opulent without ever being pompous. Though unlikely to ever garner the widespread exposure of Faust, Cinq-Mars is a stirring, tautly-constructed work that, experienced via a performance of the quality of this one, expands the appreciation of Gounod’s theatrical flair.

A pupil of György Ligeti, Christoph von Dohnányi, and Horst Stein and once an assistant to Lorin Maazel, German conductor Ulf Schirmer has proved through performances and recordings to be an insightful, often enthralling exponent of the operas of Richard Strauss and repertory of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries. Here leading the excellent Chor des Bayerischen Rundfunks and Münchner Rundfunkorchester, of which ensemble his tenure as Principal Conductor is scheduled to expire at the end of the 2016 – 2017 Season, Schirmer approaches Cinq-Mars with beneficial Teutonic discipline that does not inhibit the Gallic refinement of Gounod’s music. The conductor shrinks from neither extremes of dynamics nor forging ahead according to the dictates of the score, but his tempi do not rush the soloists, choristers, or musicians. The dramatic sweep of the opera is evident even in its most lyrical passages, and the Münchner Rundfunkorchester’s strong, stylish playing, not least of the well-crafted Prélude, reflects the considerable advantages of the musicians’ long-established relationship with Schirmer. The choral singing, prepared by Stellario Fagone under the direction of chorus mistress Eva Pons, further enhances the resoundingly positive impression made by Schirmer’s conducting. If there is a ‘Gounod school’ of conducting fostered by decades of communal acquaintance with Faust and Roméo et Juliette, successfully pacing a performance of Cinq-Mars often violates its teachings. The methodology that Schirmer employs in this performance of Cinq-Mars is very simple: follow where the score leads. The score leads Schirmer to the realization of a compelling account of this fascinating music.

The ensemble of vocalists assembled for supporting rôles in this performance of Cinq-Mars should provide every listener who complains about today’s alleged lack of truly capable singers with encouraging proof to the contrary. Cameroon-born bass Jacques-Greg Belobo as Le Roi and Le Chancelier, American tenor Andrew Lepri Meyer as De Montmort and L’Ambassadeur, German bass Matthias Ettmayr as De Montrésor and Eustache, and German bass-baritone Wolfgang Klose as De Brienne all sing handsomely, and their French diction is uniformly respectable. Moreover, whether singing ten notes or ten pages, they fashion vivid character studies from the music that Gounod gave them. The presence of French mezzo-soprano Marie Lenormand as Ninon de L’Enclos and Un berger is as successful an instance of luxury casting as has graced any recording. Lenormamd shines without pretentiously making star turns of her appearances. A well-schooled, alluring instrument, her voice is used with feline grace: no matter what obstacles Gounod placed in her path, she unfailingly lands on her musical feet.

Following an opening scene in which the choristers’ singing of ‘A la cour vous allez paraître’ earns admiration for its animation and meticulously-balanced ensemble, the opera’s titular protagonist and his devoted friend de Thou, sung by French tenor Mathias Vidal and Greek baritone Tassis Christoyannis, propel the action of Act One and introduce themselves in a charismatic, perhaps slightly overlong duet, ‘Henri, vous nous parliez là d’une voix légère.’ Both gentlemen sing shrewdly, the baritone’s depiction of de Thou’s initial hesitation and concern giving way to hearty, effortlessly-vocalized camaraderie. Here and throughout the performance, Vidal proves an aptly noble figure, Cinq-Mars’s actions dictated by both conscience and decorum. Christoyannis’s de Thou is in many ways his foil, but the baritone’s attractive, inviolably secure vocalism lends his every utterance an inherent dignity that renders the character a particularly efficacious second to Cinq-Mars. Their conversation is framed by another stirring performance by the chorus, their singing of ‘Allez, par la nuit claire’ a delectable evocation of the untroubled night of which they sing.

As he portrays Gounod’s saturnine Père Joseph in this performance of Cinq-Mars with a voice of thunderous authority, it is no surprise that British bass-baritone Andrew Foster-Williams was thrillingly potent as Donner and Gunther in Opera North’s recent traversals of Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen. His characterization of Père Joseph is positively reptilian: one can virtually see the sadistic smirk of this cassocked crocodile. His manipulative, suggestive interjections in Act One are ever so polite, his cautious avoidance of showing his hand in the nation-making card game between his employer, Cardinal de Richelieu, and King Louis XIII cloaked in feigned deference to the royal prerogative: the blood ultimately on this Père Joseph’s hands glows almost as ruddily as l’Éminence rouge himself. From his first notes in this performance, it is apparent that Foster-Williams’s voice is an instrument groomed for greatness, one in which the great Verdi baritone rôles meet Wagner’s Holländer and Wotan. The inky smoothness of his singing of Père Joseph’s music is unnerving, the beauty and steadiness of his voice making the character’s malevolence all the more chilling.

In Marie’s recitative ‘Par quel trouble profond suis-je ici ramenée’ and moody cavatine ‘Nuit resplendissante et silencieuse,’ soprano Véronique Gens, one of France’s most beguiling and hardest-working singers, encounters music that might have been composed especially for the purpose of exploiting her musical and histrionic strengths. The linguistic clarity of Gens’s declamation of the recitative is invigorating, but it is the poise of her singing of the cavatine, its G₅ effortlessly projected, that captivates. With a wealth of experience in French Baroque music to her credit, Gens is uniquely qualified to approach Marie’s music with complete cognizance of its historical and artistic contexts, and she puts that qualification to meaningful use with a characterization of the conflicted pawn in factional maneuvering that throbs with feeling without violating the circumspect demeanor of a grand lady of Seventeenth-Century French society.

Act One concludes with a duet for Cinq-Mars and Marie, ‘Ah! vous m’avez pardonné ma folie,’ that is one of the score’s most frustrating numbers. Though very capably written for the voices, the music sounds comfortable rather than impassioned. Vidal and Gens sing commandingly, however, elevating the emotional temperature of the scene. Like his duet partner, Vidal is no stranger to Baroque repertory, and he shares Gens’s innate sense for maintaining vocal posture appropriate to the scale of the music. The foundations of Rameau, Dauvergne, and Gluck support the opulent structures of Gounod’s music, and the familiarity with French idioms of previous generations that Gens and Vidal wield gives their singing of Marie’s and Cinq-Mars’s scenes an element of legitimacy that palpably communicates the characters’ emotions; more powerfully, in truth, than Gounod’s music manages to do on its own in some passages.

The chorus and scene that begin Act Two. ‘A Marion, reine des belles,’ are performed incisively, and baritone André Heyboer gives a masterful account of Fontrailles’s chanson ‘On ne verra plus dans Paris tant de plumes ni de moustaches,’ his voice flowing through the music like the serpentine currents of the Seine. As performed here, Mélodrame that follows has the narrative thrust of radio drama, and the choristers bring energizing focus to ‘Ah! monsieur le grand écuyer, permettez que l’on vous salue.’ Vidal sings Cinq-Mars’s cavatine ‘Marie, ah! c’est la fin de notre longue attente’ romantically, his articulation of ‘Quand vous m’avez dit un jour’ shaped by the singer’s meticulous attention to both note and word values. In their trio, ‘Cet homme encore! Parlez,’ Gens’s Marie, Vidal’s Cinq-Mars, and Foster-Williams’s Père Joseph generate dramatic sparks that bring to mind the frenzied atmosphere of the final trio in Faust, the unison top B for the lovers rousingly projected as a counterattack against Père Joseph’s growling musical assault.

The chorus and Heyboer’s sonorous Fontrailles set the mood for Act Two’s second tableau with their intense ‘Ninon, dites-nous, je vous en supplie,’ introducing the fiery Ninon with perfectly-controlled but appropriately imploring ensemble. Sparkling like a priceless jewel against the dark backdrop of the drama is the Marion of French soprano Norma Nahoun, whose singing of the air ‘Bergers, qui le voulez connaître’ ignites the music with fearless handling of the its bravura flourishes to top A and B. The garnet-toned Lenormand phrases Le Berger’s sonnet ‘De vox traits, mon âme est navrée’ with the finesse expected of but so seldom heard from native speakers of French. Nahoun and the chorus deliver ‘Parmi les fougères’ with charm that contrasts markedly with the music that follows. The Conjuration that brings down the curtain on Act Two, ‘Viendra-t-il? Il viendra, Messieurs,’ is the most original scene in the score and one of Gounod’s most effective creations for the stage. The influence of Weber and Berlioz is apparent, but the musical language is exclusively Gounod’s. It is a language in which Schirmer and the cast of this performance of Cinq-Mars are fluent, and they collectively convey the genius of the Conjuration with extraordinary cogency.

It is to the chorus that Gounod entrusted launching Act Three, and the singers here repay him with a bristling account of ‘La fanfare éveillée, sous la haute feuillée,’ their work again a model of intelligently-managed balances and communicativeness. The trio for Marie, Cinq-Mars, and de Thou, ‘Madame, c’est le lieu du rendez-vous,’ receives from Gens, Vidal, and Christoyannis a performance of pulse-quickening immediacy, their vocalism glowing with the electricity of the text. The subsequent Mélodrame provides a tense transition to the brooding ambience of the next scene. Foster-Williams intones Père Joseph’s air ‘Tu t’en vas confiant dans ta folle entreprise’ with accents borrowed from the mouth of hell and sounds that satisfy like the bliss of heaven. His stark singing of ‘Dans une trame invisible’ is a tour de force, the words hurled like javelins: rarely on disc or on stage does operatic villainy sound so sinfully, almost erotically bewitching. Joining Gens in the duet ‘Demeurez ici, Madame; il faut m’entendre,’ Foster-Williams reaffirms that his dramatic sensibilities are as impressive as his voice. He and Gens engage in musical combat with the unstinting force of Shakespeare’s Iago and Desdemona. The soprano’s tones occasionally harden when the voice comes under pressure, but her musicality—one of the foremost wonders of the operatic world—carries her safely through every challenge. Like Act Two’s Conjuration, the Hallali-Chœur that ends Act Three, ‘Hallali! chasse superbe, le cerf est couché sur l’herbe,’ is an innovative number that anticipates later works like Magnard’s Guercœur and even Poulenc’s Dialogues des Carmélites. Whereas the grand public scenes in Faust and Roméo et Juliette are constructed of layers of lyrical melody, the Hallali-Chœur is an imposingly bleak edifice upon which vignettes of lyric beauty are carved. Schirmer’s instinct for spotlighting the moments of dulcet expressivity without obscuring the boldness of Gounod’s writing is put to telling use. In this performance, the act ends zealously, singers and orchestra holding nothing back in the execution of their parts.

Initiated with an aura of contemplation in ‘Ami, je faisais un beau rêve,’ Act Four moves quickly to its and the opera’s tragic dénouement. Vidal sings Cinq-Mars’s cavatine ‘C’est en vain que je veux pour jamais vous bannir’ beautifully, his imaginative phrasing highlighting nuances of both music and text. Occasionally, a voice with a stronger core—Alain Vanzo might have been an ideal Cinq-Mars, for instance—would likely make slightly greater impact in the music, but Vidal is a committed artist whose comfort with the style and tessitura of his music complements the assurance of his handling of his native language. Significantly, too, his seductively sweet-toned voice is evenly produced from bottom to top. In the duo with Marie, ‘Ah! qu’ai-je dit? Se peut-il que j’oublie,’ Vidal and Gens caress their lines, descending into great depths of emotion in their unaffected depiction of their characters’ desperate straits. Christoyannis adds his voice to theirs in ‘Amis, venez, plus de tristesse,’ and his singing resounds with contrasting steel and subtlety. Cinq-Mars and de Thou face Père Joseph one last time as they prepare for execution in the opera’s final scene. The cruel sentiments with which Gounod suffused ‘Messieurs, appelez à vous votre courage’ are heightened by the crackling voltage of Vidal’s, Christoyannis’s, and Foster-Williams’s vocal acting. Gens’s cry of despair as Cinq-Mars and de Thou unhesitatingly meet their deaths epitomizes the ethos of this performance: every sound serves the drama, and the drama is drawn organically from the music.

Performance in concert form is a perfect medium for displaying the abundant merits of Cinq-Mars—and, as this wonderful Ediciones Singulares release attests, for recording the opera. Without the need for elaborate scenic effects and costumes, resources can be devoted to engaging artists of the caliber that Gounod’s score deserves. Cinq-Mars is a work that is by no means an inferior sibling to Faust and Roméo et Juliette, but a decent Faust or Roméo et Juliette can be assembled from less-than-top-quality parts. Enrico Caruso famously quipped that Verdi’s Il trovatore requires neither more nor less than the world’s four greatest singers. Cinq-Mars’s demands are not quite so incredible, but the opera’s success depends upon what it receives in this performance: knowledgeable conducting, dedicated music making, and first-rate singing. Many are the forgotten scores that could be delightfully resurrected by the quartet of Mathias Vidal, Véronique Gens, Tassis Christoyannis, and Andrew Foster-Williams. It is Gounod’s excellent fortune that they espoused his Cinq-Mars.

RECORDING OF THE MONTH | August 2016: Vincenzo Bellini & Gaetano Donizetti — ALLEGRO IO SON (Lawrence Brownlee, tenor; Delos DE 3517)

VINCENZO BELLINI (1801 – 1835) and GAETANO DONIZETTI (1797 – 1848): Allegro io son – Bel canto Arias—Lawrence Brownlee, tenor; Viktorija Miškūnaitė, soprano (Puritani selections); Liudas Mikalauskas, bass (Puritani and Fille du régiment selections); Andrius Apšega, baritone (Puritani selection); Kaunas State Choir; Kaunas City Symphony Orchestra; Constantine Orbelian, conductor [Recorded at Kaunas Philharmonic, Kaunas, Lithuania, in April 2016; Delos DE 3517; 1 CD, 62:15; Available from Delos, Naxos Direct, Amazon (USA), and major music retailers]

The late thespian Sir Alec Guinness once suggested that a superb tenor voice should sound like ‘a silver trumpet muffled in silk.’ These are very pretty words, to be sure, and a legitimate observation by the owner of one of the great voices of the spoken theatre, but what does the description truly mean? Without resorting to proposing that a listener ponder how a silver trumpet muffled in silk might actually sound, how is Guinness’s assessment translated into discernible qualities that the ear unbothered by poetic conceits can perceive? Supported with ideal grace and enthusiasm by the expertly-scaled singing and playing of the Kaunas State Choir and Kaunas City Symphony Orchestra and the alert, stylish conducting of Constantine Orbelian, tenor Lawrence Brownlee provides with the eleven selections on Allegro io son a definitive—and, in the context of Guinness’s lovely but enigmatic observation, revealingly defining—exhibition of the silken trumpeting of a superb, polished-silver tenor voice. Even amidst the musical brilliance of Allegro io son, which is all the more enjoyable for being so vividly recorded and handsomely presented by Delos, it is the undeviating directness of Brownlee’s approach to this demanding music that distinguishes this disc. Sincerity is not a trait that is often encountered in opera, on or off the stage, but honest, unforced connection with the music and the characters that it portrays is the heart of Allegro io son. Is an uncomplicated joy in singing perhaps the silk with which Guinness stated that the finest voices are adorned?

One of America’s most acclaimed singers, Brownlee is an artist who has legitimately earned every honor bestowed upon him, not the least among which is the prestigious Richard Tucker Award. Lauded for interpretations of rôles ranging from Rossini’s dashing leading men to the legendary jazz saxophonist and composer title character in Daniel Schnyder’s Charlie Parker’s Yardbird, premièred by Opera Philadelphia in 2015, Brownlee is a performer whose wholly organic operatic portrayals are allied with the utmost technical refinement. Whereas some singers develop idiosyncrasies as their careers progress, Brownlee has thus far honed his skills without sacrificing any of the visceral immediacy of his singing, each new experience broadening his view but never distorting his focus. The tenor’s renown owes much to his breathtaking flair for executing Rossinian fiorature, but the expansive melodic lines of Vincenzo Bellini and the dramatic bel canto of Gaetano Donizetti are equally apt outlets for Brownlee’s prodigious gifts. Avoiding the forcing that compromises many singers’ endeavors in this repertory, Brownlee’s singing on Allegro io son possesses an evenness spanning the full range that, though perhaps easier to control in the recording studio than in the theatre, cannot be faked. As with the sincerity of his expression, the authenticity of his vocalism is remarkable, especially as it is employed in the performances on this disc. Brownlee practices what many pedagogues and fellow tenors can only preach.

It is fitting that the Bellini selections on Allegro io son are drawn from the composer’s final opera, I puritani, in performances of which Brownlee has proved in recent seasons to be a stakes-raising exponent of the rôle of Arturo, created in the opera’s 1835 première by Giovanni Battista Rubini. The fearsome tessitura and stratospheric range of the part lift it beyond the reach of most modern tenors even with downward transpositions and omissions, but Brownlee’s performances of Arturo for Washington Concert Opera, The Metropolitan Opera, and other companies have been notable not only for the appearance of ease with which he sings the music, evidence of his award-worthy acting skills [anyone lulled by his singing into doubting the difficulty of Brownlee’s repertory is encouraged to sing along—at pitch—with any of the selections on this disc to dispel these illusions], but also his astounding projection of the part’s infamous F₅. Brownlee here sings Arturo’s de facto entrance aria—not so designated by Bellini in the score—from Act One, ‘A te, o cara, amor talora.’ Complemented by capable, often lovely deliveries of Elvira’s, Giorgio’s, and Valton’s lines by soprano Viktorija Miškūnaitė, baritone Andrius Apšega, and bass Liudas Mikalauskas, he sculpts the arching melody with superb breath control and rises ecstatically to a bright, steady top C♯. Then, rather than awing with an account of ‘Credeasi, misera’ with the aforementioned F₅, he prefers beguiling with the more subtle charms of ‘Son salvo, alfin son salvo.’ Miškūnaitė sings Elvira’s offstage passage ‘A una fronte afflitto e solo’ hauntingly, and Brownlee answers with vocalism of impeccable poise and lustrous tone. Astounding is the panache with which he manages to sound genuinely heroic whilst also placing vowels squarely on the breath as true bel canto demands.

This disc takes its title from Beppe’s popular aria from the Italian version of Donizetti’s otherwise little-remembered one-act gem Rita, ‘Allegro io son, come un fringuel.’ The rapid-fire triplets with which the composer conjured the opera’s Spanish setting hold no terrors for Brownlee, and Donizetti’s trills are dutifully attempted, the second more successfully than the first. Completely successful are Brownlee’s ascents to the top Bs and C♯. From Act Four of La favorite come Fernand’s recitative ‘La maîtresse du roi!’ and aria ‘Ange si pur, que dans un songe.’ The tenor’s French diction is exemplary, slightly more natural, in fact, than his excellent command of Italian, and the anguish expressed by the character as he reflects on his idealized passion having been shattered simmers in Brownlee’s unexaggerated singing. The beautifully-sustained top C is integrated into the line rather than disrupting it. Dom Sébastien, roi de Portugal is one of Donizetti’s most daunting and therefore least-performed works, and the title character’s sprawling aria that ends the opera’s second act, ‘Seul sur la terre,’ tests Brownlee’s abilities. Reminiscent of the music that prefaces the heroine’s first scene in Lucia di Lammermoor, evocative passages for harp—beautifully played by the Kaunas harpist—introduce an exquisite principal theme that straddles the tenor’s passaggio. Brownlee conquers the aria unflinchingly, resourcefully exploiting his tones’ glistening patina rather than pushing the voice. The trio of top Cs and climactic top D♭ ring excitingly, costing Brownlee nothing in terms of toil that he is not eminently capable of paying. Luciano Pavarotti famously likened the tenor voice to a bank account into which God, nature, or whatever force to which one attributes vocal endowments deposits a finite number of top Cs. Singers’ upper registers are often casualties of the natural aging of voices, but Brownlee is the exceptionally rare singer whose technique seems adept at regularly replenishing his cache of high notes.

There have been few singers as uniquely qualified to sing Ernesto in Donizetti’s Don Pasquale as Brownlee since the days of Tito Schipa and Cesare Valletti. Not even Alfredo Kraus sang Ernesto’s music so winsomely, and Brownlee has the advantage in comparison with the most noteworthy of his fellow Ernestos among today’s tenors of having a warmer, more appealingly youthful timbre. On this disc, Brownlee makes Ernesto’s Act Two recitative ‘Povero Ernesto! dallo zio cacciato, da tutti abbandonato,’ music that can too easily sound inane, truly touching. Matching the artful phrasing of the obbligato trumpet, Brownlee voices the larghetto aria ‘Cercherò lontana terra dove gemen sconosciuto’ ravishingly, the disinherited lad’s despair for once eliciting sympathy rather than derision. The moderato cabaletta ‘E se fia che ad altro oggetto’ receives from this Ernesto a rollicking reading bolstered by a newly-tapped vein of confidence: no note ever recorded exudes confidence more exhilaratingly than the interpolated top D♭ with which Brownlee ends the cabaletta. Aided by the chorus and the atmospheric sounds of the guitar and tambourine, his account of Ernesto’s Act Three serenade ‘Com'è gentil la notte a mezzo april’ is no less alluring. It may be an element of a ruse in its proper context in Don Pasquale, but the only Norinas whose hearts would not flutter in response to such a serenade would be either deaf or dead ones.

There are greater depths of expression in Donizetti’s music for Nemorino in L'elisir d'amore than many tenors bother to seek in their performances of the rôle. Content to garner laughs with a wide-eyed bumpkin’s antics, they leave to audiences’ imaginations the aspects of the guileless young man’s character that ultimately endear him to the sophisticated Adina. In his performance on this disc of the Act One aria ‘Quanto è bella, quanto è cara,’ Brownlee divulges to the listener that poetic wonder is not the exclusive right of those who are able to read poetry. The ebullience of a boyish affection is there in spades, but subtler emotions are also at play. This is also true of Brownlee’s singing of the ubiquitous Act Two aria ‘Una furtiva lagrima negli occhi suoi spuntò.’ There are so many dreadful recorded performances of Nemorino’s arias that one almost cringes to see them included in a disc’s track list, but Brownlee here offers performances of them that anyone who loves this music—or who appreciates singing in general—will want to hear again and again.

In November 2016, Brownlee brings his widely-praised portrayal of the lovesick Tonio in Donizetti’s La fille du régiment, already savored by audiences in Cincinnati, New York, and throughout the operatically-inclined world, to Washington National Opera. Like his Italian cousin Nemorino, the Tyrolean Tonio is frequently depicted as an affable but essentially dimwitted fellow. To be sure, his Act One aria ‘Ah! mes amis, quel jour de fête’ is not the most intellectually stimulating piece ever composed, musically or textually, but its infectious elation is irresistible. Here, too, having no need to fret over the music’s technical requirements, Brownlee looks more closely into Tonio’s heart than many of the tenors who sing the rôle. He interacts merrily but meaningfully with Mikalauskas’s Caporal, the voice pouring out with uncontainable glee. In Brownlee’s handling, there is far more to the cabaletta ‘Pour mon âme, quel destin’ than its eagerly-awaited string of nine top Cs. Each of those Cs rockets from Brownlee’s throat with infallible intonation, soaring as if to say, ‘Is this not how youngsters in love express themselves?’ Nevertheless, the man who so eloquently pleads his case to the intractable but not unmoved Marquise in the Act Two aria ‘Pour me rapprocher de Marie’ cannot be a backwoods yokel whose head is filled with cows and Edelweiss, and Brownlee unfurls the aria’s melodic line like a delicate ribbon. The interpolated top C♯ with which he crowns the aria is a tone of great plangency, a cry from Tonio’s wounded soul aimed squarely at the heart of the Marquise. In these performances, Brownlee’s upper register is unfailingly secure and vibrant, but his bel canto is defined by much more than effective high notes. The silver trumpet is vital, the requisite canto, but the silk is the bel without which singing is only stylized noise.

Recital discs often disclose more about singers’ egos than about their voices or artistries. In the insular setting of the recital disc, there are no needs for dramatic continuity or interactions with colleagues with which to be concerned. In too many instances, this freedom of sorts engenders sloppiness and showmanship of the most deplorable order. The singer in possession of an extraordinary voice can be forgiven for occasionally indulging the impulse to display it, but does a singer’s responsibility to composers dissipate when the project at hand is an aria recital rather than a recording of a complete opera? His singing of the selections on this disc, as insightfully-chosen a repertory as any singer has ever recorded, affirms that for Lawrence Brownlee the answer is obviously, emphatically No. These performances radiate unbreakable respect for Bellini and Donizetti and unshakable trust in the power of their music to, when sung as they intended it to be sung, convey complex emotions with universal simplicity. The tenor Marcello Giordano has been quoted as saying that ‘the tenor voice should be like sunshine.’ Sometimes sweet, sometimes scorching, Lawrence Brownlee’s voice is on Allegro io son always like silver gleaming through silk; a voice that generates its own sunshine.

IN MEMORIAM: Incandescent Italian soprano DANIELA DESSÌ, 1957 – 2016

DANIELA DESSÌ
14 May 1957 – 20 August 2016

As I have written in past, one of the most difficult tasks that an opera-loving writer faces is that of struggling with inadequate words to say farewell to admired artists, especially when those artists are taken from this world when there was so much more that their work might have given us. The unexpected passing of Italian soprano Daniela Dessì, who only recently announced a break from performing due to illness but anticipated returning to the stage for a gala concert in October 2016, is an occasion upon which celebration of all that audiences received from her is tempered by contemplation of the riches of which hateful disease now deprives aficionados of authentic Italian singing. Beautiful, intelligent, warm-hearted on and off the stage, and tirelessly dedicated to preserving the art of song, Dessì was a glistening jewel in a diadem that has become badly tarnished in the years since the voices of Magda Olivero, Anita Cerquetti, and Renata Tebaldi were silenced.

Born in Genova, Dessì was a singer whose extraordinarily expansive repertory was born not of circumstance and happenstance but of artistic curiosity and genuine interest in the history of opera since its modern emergence in the late Sixteenth Century. Acclaimed in rôles ranging from the title schemer in Monteverdi’s L’incoronazione di Poppea and Sesto in Händel’s Giulio Cesare to Bellini’s Norma and Donizetti’s Lucrezia Borgia and Maria Stuarda, Dessì exhibited rare mastery of virtually the entire spectrum of Giuseppe Verdi’s writing for soprano from her first beautifully-vocalized performances of the composer’s Messa da Requiem. In his New York Times review of her 1995 Metropolitan Opera début as Nedda in Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci, a rôle that she recorded impressively during Philadelphia concerts under Riccardo Muti’s direction, noted critic Alex Ross assessed her performance as possessing ‘secure, well-projected high notes, lustrous tone quality at lower volumes, a subtle expressive sense.’ These traits made her portrayals of Verdi’s heroines unforgettable. Related but discernibly unique were the aspects of nobility that characterized her Elvira in Ernani, Leonora in Il trovatore, Elisabetta in Don Carlo, and Aida. Her Alice Ford displayed a perfect balance between joviality and decorum. Whether negotiating the intricacies of Elena’s ‘Mercè, dilette amiche’ in I vespri siciliani or braving Amelia’s long vocal lines in Simon Boccanegra, Dessì’s Verdi singing was principally noteworthy for the unmistakable command of and affection for the composer’s music.

As memorable as her bel canto and Verdi performances were, it was as an interpreter of Giacomo Puccini’s soprano heroines that Dessì shone most brightly. She was a Mimì in La bohème whose joy was as profound as her sorrow, and she was a Tosca whose spirit soared to heights as great as those reached by her voice. Often singing opposite her husband, tenor Fabio Armiliato, her Minnie in La fanciulla del West embodied the indomitable essence of the American West but as a thinking, feeling, suffering woman rather than an archetype. She rekindled the sacred fire that burned in the performances of Rosina Storchio, Geraldine Farrar, Margaret Sheridan, Licia Albanese, and Maria Callas in her own interpretation of Cio-Cio San in Madama Butterfly. To hear her sing ‘Che tua madre dovrà’ was to understand the psychological depth of Puccini’s depiction of a young girl transformed into a shrewd woman by pain and motherhood. Every moment of vocal strain was incorporated into a portrait of grace and grit, one that brought John Luther Long’s resilient heroine to life on the crests of Puccini’s music.

When Geraldine Farrar sang Cio-Cio San in the Metropolitan Opera première of Madama Butterfly in 1907, Henry Krehbiel wrote of her in the New York Tribune that ‘she sounds the note of deep pathos in both action and song convincingly.’ Could he have heard Daniela Dessì in any of the rôles in which her vocal prowess and penetrating imagination were fully engaged, he would surely have lauded her in similar terms. Dessì was an artist whose foremost goal was communication, not perfection. That she continued to share her gifts with audiences even as her body was ravaged by illness confirms that singing was for her a source of life rather than a means of making a living. There can be no redress for the performances that she now will never give us, but there must be tremendous gratitude for all that Daniela Dessì taught us about music that we cherish.

Gli uccelli sono volati troppo presto: Soprano Daniela Dessì as Nedda (left) and baritone Mariusz Kwiecień as Silvio (right) in Ruggero Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci at The Metropolitan Opera, 2004 [Photo by Ken Howard, © by The Metropolitan Opera]