Finding Fischer-Dieskau

   Obituaries for famous singers are not unlike shareholders’ reports for Fortune 500 companies in that those who are likely to read them almost invariably know the contents before grappling with the first sentence. This is perhaps doubly true for remembrances of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, the legendary German baritone and champion of the Teutonic Lieder repertory who died at the age of eighty-six on 18 May. Cited as the most recorded singer in history and as central—and controversial—in discussions of the art of singing in the Twentieth Century as Maria Callas, Fischer-Dieskau is an artist whose four-decade career coincided with what many observers deem a disintegration of artistic standards in the world’s opera houses, concert halls, and recital venues. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau’s voice aged along with the body by which it was produced, as voices do, but the singer’s adherence to his goals of shaping musical phrases through attention to text and imperturbable technique was consistent and, ultimately, monumental.

As a teen studying violin and just beginning to explore opera, I discovered Fischer-Dieskau in a Deutsche Grammophon studio recording of Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice; unusual territory for me and, as I learned, also for Fischer-Dieskau. Knowing nothing about Gluck and perhaps even less about voices and singing, something nonetheless seemed inherently wrong. The Orfeo possessed a superb voice, of that I was certain, but whereas Euridice and Amore floated streams of sound above an orchestral foundation Orfeo suffered by a reversal of those means, the voice pulling at the accompaniment from below. The term castrato was to me merely an unfortunate cognate then, so the provenance of Orfeo ed Euridice eluded me. Interested but dissatisfied, I moved on.

A few years later, as a budding baritone, the music of Verdi became a source of fascination, solace, and enlightenment, and through it I ‘met’ Lawrence Tibbett, Leonard Warren, Robert Merrill, Tito Gobbi, Giuseppe Taddei, Sesto Bruscantini, Piero Cappuccilli, Cornell MacNeil…and there, too, was that Fischer-Dieskau fellow again. Hearing the DECCA Don Carlo was a revelation, particularly after reading the accepted wisdom of decades of amateur and professional critics (which told me that Tebaldi was too old, Bergonzi too polite, Bumbry too wild, Solti too Germanic, and Fischer-Dieskau—well, too much Fischer-Dieskau). I found that, by transcribing what I heard from Bergonzi, I could recreate Don Carlo’s music almost exactly as it was noted in Verdi’s score. The mature Tebaldi was hardly the teenaged Elisabetta di Valois of history, but Verdi’s Elisabetta she was to the life, regal and turning the strain in the voice to dramatic effect. Bumbry breathed fire but with a voice of genuine star quality, and one can hardly accuse Eboli of being a wan character. Fischer-Dieskau, whose operatic career began with a performance of Don Carlo in Berlin, was not a ‘traditional’—which is to say Italiante—Posa, but listening intently, finding all of the role’s technical hurdles cleared with élan, I could not imagine that Fischer-Dieskau’s performance was one with which Verdi would not have been thoroughly pleased. This led me to the Deutsche Grammophon Rigoletto, which has the distinction, thanks to the work of the brilliant Rafael Kubelík, of being among the best-conducted Rigoletto recordings. To the elegance and tonal refulgence of Bergonzi’s Duca was added the plangent, poignant Gilda of the young Renata Scotto. After hearing Gobbi and Taddei as Rigoletto, how could the lighter, utterly different voice of Fischer-Dieskau compare? Indeed, it could not compare, but an utterly different voice produced an utterly different performance, one in which nuance triumphed over vocal weight. There audibly were different tones for public and private utterances; a nasty, hectoring jester among the Duca’s courtiers and a sad, tender, even slightly claustrophobic presence with Gilda. Musically, there perhaps are too many compromises to pronounce Fischer-Dieskau’s Rigoletto a complete success, but the tragedy is more palpable than in many authentically Italianate performances.

It is this drive for emotional engagement that is, for me, the greatest element of Fischer-Dieskau’s artistry. This is not to say that there are not examples of truly magnificent vocalism in Fischer-Dieskau’s discography, not least in his scores of Lieder recordings, some of which have not been equaled in the years since their preservation. His Wolfram in the Otto Gerdes recording of Tannhäuser on Deutsche Grammophon is as fine an account of that role—musically and dramatically—as has ever been recorded, the famed ‘O du, mein holder Abendstern’ sung with exquisite grace and bel canto phrasing. Early-career recordings of Lohengrin and Tristan und Isolde reveal an atypically thoughtful Wagnerian who, sure of the sufficiency of his technique to meet the demands of the music, offers unique characterizations. Later, Fischer-Dieskau’s Rheingold Wotan for Herbert von Karajan and Deutsche Grammophon, arguably lacking the vocal amplitude required for the music in live performance, offered a veritable master class in the shaping of Wagner’s musical phrases, breathing life into the Walvater’s dignity, nobility, and inner conflict. No other Wotan on records conveys quite the depth of heartbreak that Fischer-Dieskau brings to Wotan’s farewell to Brünnhilde in the final pages of Walküre, recorded for Bavarian radio under Kubelík’s baton.

His prowess in Lieder repertory is rightfully regarded as unsurpassed, but for me the pinnacle of Fischer-Dieskau’s work as a singer and an artist is his concept of the role of Barak the Dyer in Richard Strauss’s Die Frau ohne Schatten. In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I esteem Frau ohne Schatten above all of Strauss’s operas and above almost all other operas, so it should not be surprising that any singer who can deliver a credible performance in this uncommonly daunting score can make a lasting impression. Barak is, in essence, a cousin of the literary Everyman, an ordinary man of no special intellectual distinction whose existence as a laborer, protector of deformed brothers, and husband of a difficult woman seems banal in comparison with those of the gods, kings, and heroes who are the usual operatic subjects. The finest accomplishment of art is not to impose the heroic upon the unexceptional but to recognize and celebrate the poetry inherent in even the greatest simplicity. Fischer-Dieskau emphasized the nobility of Barak, expressing the humanity of a man who endures his wife’s cruelty and petulance because he loves her; not, as some singers portray him, because he is perceptibly at the end of his tether, not because he feels that he has no other options, not because he submits to an unkind destiny, but because he genuinely and unconditionally loves the woman who shares his life. Fischer-Dieskau’s Barak exulted in this devotion, making it the defining aspect of the character. Rather than pitying Barak when he falls victim to his wife’s coldness and rejoicing when, in the opera’s final act, she realizes—or, more accurately, accepts—that she loves him, the listener senses from Barak’s first appearance the inevitability of his ultimate fulfillment. The eloquence with which Fischer-Dieskau sang the role achieved the fusion of poetry and simplicity that, at its heart, makes of the complicated relationship between Barak and his wife a story of love against odds as approachable and touching as that of Rodolfo and Mimì or Roméo and Juliette. For this alone, but also for so many similar moments of revelation and comprehension in music spanning three centuries, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau is an artist whose work will never be forgotten.

DIETRICH FISCHER-DIESKAU

28 May 1925 – 18 May 2012

CD REVIEW: Baldassare Galuppi – SACRED MUSIC (R. Invernizzi, R. Basso, K. Adam, S. Foresti; dhm 88697895982)

 

BALDASSARE GALUPPI (1706 – 1785): Sacred Music [Dixit Dominus, Nisi Dominus, Kyrie, Gloria, Credo] – R. Invernizzi (soprano), R. Basso (contralto), K. Adam (tenor), S. Foresti (bass); Ghislieri Choir & Consort; Giulio Prandi [recorded in the Aula Magna, Collegio Ghislieri, Pavia, Italy, 26 – 29 June 2010; deutsche harmonia mundi 88697895982]

Born in 1706 on the island of Burano in the Venetian Lagoon, Baldassare Galuppi is among one of the ‘forgotten generations’ of composers, in his case that which spanned the valley between the peaks of the Baroque and early Classical periods.  Consequently, the music of Galuppi, even when approached with fresh ears, is condemned to always sounding vaguely familiar without remaining firmly in the memory, with its echoes of Vivaldi mixing with suggestions of Paisiello, Salieri, and even Haydn.  That Galuppi was a master craftsman is never in doubt, whether one’s exposure is to his operatic, sacred vocal, or instrumental music: he was celebrated throughout his life, after all, holding posts as prestigious as Director of Music at Venice’s landmark Basilica di San Marco and Court Composer at the Imperial Court of Tsarina Catherine the Great.  Whether Galuppi was a composer of true genius is less apparent, however, his music proving almost unfailingly pleasing but lacking the indisputable hallmarks of an individual style.  There is certainly an element of advocacy in Ghislieri Consort’s new recording of sacred music by Galuppi, but the recording succeeds most audibly in the sense that is vital to any recording, that of producing high-quality music-making that expands the strengths of the music at hand.

The works on this disc—an undated Dixit Dominus, the Nisi Dominus of 1777, the Kyrie originally composed in 1746 and extensively revised in 1782, the Gloria of 1779, and the Credo of 1781—owe much to the Venetian School of the late Baroque, especially the sacred music of Vivaldi.  [Several notable works previously attributed to Galuppi have, upon academic scrutiny, been re-attributed to Vivaldi, in fact.]  On the surface, it seems surprising that music dating primarily from the last quarter of the Eighteenth Century is so comparatively little influenced by Classicism as it was then developing north of the Alps.  It should be remembered, though, that the model of Alessandro Scarlatti remained a large influence on sacred music throughout Europe well into the first decades of the Nineteenth Century.  What is remarkable in the works of Galuppi on this disc is the mastery of form and melodic shaping displayed by a composer who, at the times at which most of these pieces were created, was in his eighth decade of life.  To ears accustomed to the contemporaneous Masses of Mozart, these pieces by Galuppi sound undeniably old-fashioned, but they are enjoyable, often beautiful examples of the stile antico-infused church music that remained popular in Italy throughout the Eighteenth Century.  Judging from the perspective of the pieces on this disc, Galuppi’s sacred music was more original than that of many of his Italian contemporaries, and this originality combined with the obvious sincerity of the music makes acquaintance with these pieces very welcome.

Twenty voices strong, the Ghislieri Choir (containing, as one might expect of an Italian ensemble, female rather than male altos) sing with ample power but the requisite clarity for fugal passages.  The blend of the voices is excellent, as often is not the case in ensembles specializing in ‘period’ performance, and the Choir is particularly impressive in the grand fugue on ‘Cum Sancto Spiritu’ which ends the Gloria.  The Ghislieri Consort, consisting of twenty-two players including theorbo and organ and led by Giulio Prandi, play with graceful tone and the easy virtuosity required by music of Galuppi’s era.  Choir and Consort respond effortlessly to Maestro Prandi’s idiomatic leadership, giving Galuppi’s music the same enthusiasm they might offer to that of an undoubted master.  The result of their labors is a recording that makes a strong impression without overstating the value of the music.

The fours soloists who all contribute capably to the recording are frequently encountered in performances of Baroque repertory.  Bass Sergio Foresti, a familiar presence in many productions of Händel’s operas, sings with his customary security of tone, firmness of technique, and dedication of purpose.  Unlike his Northern European contemporaries, in whose works darker sonorities were growing more popular, Galuppi gave the bass soloist relatively little to sing, but Mr. Foresti acquits himself with his usual aplomb.

The tenor soloist has more to do, not least in the Domine Deus Rex Caelestis section of the Gloria.  Krystian Adam brings to this music impressive flexibility and a voice of silvery purity.  These qualities are complemented by the elegant singing of soprano Roberta Invernizzi, by whose contributions many recordings of Early Music and Baroque repertory have been improved considerably.  Taking perhaps the largest role in these works by Galuppi, Ms. Invernizzi displays all of the talents for which she is admired: bright, lovely tone; facile brilliance of technique; and vibrato that is slight in adherence to accepted theories of period practice but far more attractive than the straight-toned approach of many Baroque specialists.  Ascents into her shining upper register are handled by Ms. Invernizzi with clarity but caution to avoid undue emphasis on higher tones that would disrupt the balance of the vocal lines.

The artistry of contralto Romina Basso is also familiar from many acclaimed performances and recordings of Baroque repertory.  The darkness of Ms. Basso’s voice lends a certain element of mystery to the sound: in Galuppi’s music, this mystery easily translates into an implicit mysticism.  Though the challenges that she faces in Galuppi’s music are not as imposing as those that she regularly meets in her Händel roles, the strength and beauty of Ms. Basso’s singing are as impressive as ever.  Her contributions to this recording are exceptional, true gifts to the composer.

If his sacred music is not of the same quality or inspiration of the greatest composers with whose careers Galuppi’s own compositional tenure intersected, it is indeed the work of a master craftsman, firmly in the Italian tradition of the early Eighteenth Century but also adopting attitudes of emerging Classicism.  The performances on this disc bring fine achievements by all of the artists involved, proving once again that committed musicianship produces impressive music.  Successful on its own terms, this disc whets the appetite for more of the ‘lost’ music of Baldassare Galuppi.

ARTS IN ACTION: North Carolina native conquers the Metropolitan Opera

 

Countertenor and Durham native Anthony Roth Costanzo, who made his début at New York’s Metropolitan Opera in December as Unulfo in Georg Friedrich Händel’s Rodelinda, enjoyed a second success with the Company on New Year’s Eve as Ferdinand in The Enchanted Island, Jeremy Sams’s ‘Baroque fantasy’ using music by Händel, Vivaldi, Rameau, Campra, Leclair, Purcell, Rebel, and Ferrandini.  Created especially for the MET at the request of General Manager Peter Gelb, the production—a pasticcio after the fashion of composite works popular in the 18th Century—is conducted by Baroque specialist William Christie, founder of Les Arts Florissants, and features a superb cast including countertenor David Daniels, mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato, sopranos Danielle de Niese and Lisette Oropesa, bass-baritone Luca Pisaroni, and, in the rôle of the god Neptune, Plácido Domingo.  Writing in The New York Times, Anthony Tommasini praised Mr. Costanzo’s ‘sweet-toned Ferdinand.’  The Associated Press’s Mike Silverman was particularly impressed by Mr. Costanzo’s singing in the duet ‘I have dreamed you’ (with music lifted from one of Händel’s cantatas) with Ms. Oropesa, which he described as ‘sublime.’

An engaging young artist with an unusually beguiling timbre, Mr. Costanzo has proved his excellence throughout the United States and abroad in productions of repertory ranging from Early Music and Baroque to contemporary music.  He is a welcome addition to the Metropolitan Opera’s roster and hopefully one who will be given another opportunity to shine when Thomas Adès’s celebrated The Tempest has its MET premiere in the 2012 – 2013 season.

IN MEMORIAM: Soprano Sena Jurinac, 1921 - 2011

 

SENA JURINAC

24 October 1921 – 22 November 2011

The goal of writing for Voix des Arts which I pursue with both greatest pride and strongest zeal is that of objectivity.  There are subjects about which even the most dedicated of writers cannot maintain objectivity, however, and for me one such subject is the wondrous soprano Sena Jurinac, who passed away on 22 November at the age of ninety.  Few artists have shaped my musical perceptions or affected my understanding and appreciation of music as powerfully as Ms. Jurinac, whose voice will remain in my mind’s ear among the most priceless artistic treasures of the Twentieth Century.

I was only four years old when Ms. Jurinac gave her final performance and so never heard her ‘live,’ and I recall neither when nor in what music I first heard her voice.  What I shall never forget, derived solely from recordings of her performances, is the impact of her focused, gorgeous tone in music by Mozart and Richard Strauss.  As Tchaikovsky’s Tatyana, even singing in German, Ms. Jurinac combined the intellectual insights of Russian singers like Galina Vishnevskaya with vocal beauty and security seldom heard from Slavic singers.  As Puccini’s Cio Cio San, she was all the more moving and ultimately pathetic for carrying herself with such dignity, like a true Japanese, and soaring over Puccini’s dense orchestration with sounds of doomed triumph.  As Strauss’s Octavian, she poured out sound that was aurally equivalent to the gleam of the eponymous silver rose, proving the proud but passionate young aristocrat to the core.  As Tosca, she was magisterial, nagging but frail and the consummate prima donna, and as Jenůfa she was tormented and ultimately transcendent.

In the music of Mozart, Ms. Jurinac offered in virtually every performance that she sang a veritable masterclass in the art of poised rendering of the Salzburg prodigy’s music.  This affinity for the music of Austria’s most famous composer perhaps accounted in part for the affection for Ms. Jurinac that developed in music-loving Vienna, where she was for a generation one of the brightest stars of the Wiener Staatsoper and one of the artists whose brilliance resurrected the Company after the Second World War.  As Ilia in Idomeneo, she was from the start a broken woman in search of healing through renewed hope and new love.  As Elvira in Don Giovanni, she was too much in love to accept the betrayal she felt so keenly.  As the Contessa in Le Nozze di Figaro, she was sustained by memories of the wooing of her Conte.  In hindsight, what impresses most in Ms. Jurinac’s singing of Mozart repertory is her ability to be expressive, accurate, and unfailingly stylish without in any way altering the voice with which she sang the music of Beethoven and Wagner.  A ‘period’ approach is not required when timeless artistry informs a singer’s work.

For me, to hear the voice of Sena Jurinac is to understand why, after nearly three thousand years, the myth of Orpheus remains meaningful.  She was an artist for whom music was the natural expression of human emotion and the path to Olympus.  The integrity and intensity with which she sang were remarkable even in an age of superb singers.  On this day on which Americans express thanks for blessings of happiness, health, and comfort, fervent thanks are offered for the life and career of the irreplaceable Sena Jurinac.

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Giuseppe Verdi - IL TROVATORE (A. Palombi, L. Daltirus, D. Graves, M. Corvino) – Opera Carolina, Charlotte, NC; 23 October 2011

GIUSEPPE VERDI (1813 – 1901): Il Trovatore – Antonello Palombi (Manrico), Lisa Daltirus (Leonora), Denyce Graves (Azucena), Michael Corvino (Conte di Luna), Kristopher Irmiter (Ferrando), Jessie Wright-Martin (Inez), Brian Arreola (Ruiz); Opera Carolina Chorus, Charlotte Symphony Orchestra; James Meena, conductor [Belk Theatre, Blumenthal Performing Arts Center, Charlotte, North Carolina; 23 October 2011]

No one wants to be that guy who, after seeing the production that is the current rage, shrugs his shoulders and says, ‘I just didn’t get it.’  Even in America, where tradition retains a firmer grasp on operatic stages than elsewhere, there are numerous shrugs in the lobbies and stairways of opera houses.  One of the most endearing aspects of Opera Carolina’s production of Verdi’s Il Trovatore (designed by John Boeshe, directed by Jay Lesenger, and lit by Michael Baumgarten; seen at the Belk Theatre in Blumenthal Performing Arts Center) was that there were no conspicuous efforts at making the opera ‘relevant’ or ‘accessible’ as is now so often the case: this was merely an opera by Verdi, and a very good one whether or not one can embrace the much-criticized libretto, given a stirring performance.  There was a clear message to operatic America: if you have tired of attending performances that you do not understand, of operas that you thought you like, come to Charlotte and renew your devotion.

Opera Carolina’s production made effective use of projection technology, employing projected backdrops with minimal physical scenery to conjure the scenic settings of Verdi’s drama.  While this arguably went slightly too far on a few occasions, especially in the fiery projection that turned a beautiful canyon into what seemed a scene of horrific inferno during Azucena’s Act-Two description of her mother’s actions, there were evocatively beautiful scenes, not least the convent setting that occurred later in Act Two: the physical set, comprised of two large pillars flanking an enormous crucifix, framed projections of the cloister’s courtyard against a starry sky.  The opera’s Spanish setting was always apparent, and the prison setting for the opera’s final scene was also especially beautiful.  Costumes were stylish and appropriate, Azucena’s bohemian clothing suggesting both majesty and hardship and Leonora’s luxurious gowns evoking nobility and providing splashes of color in the fading world she inhabits.  The production was refreshingly simple in its obvious aim at presenting Verdi’s opera as the composer intended.

The principal singers were given a firm foundation upon which to build a powerful performance.  The Charlotte Symphony played with sensitivity and brio, with strong showings by the brass and woodwinds.  The Charlotte audience deserve a reprimand for their collective failure in etiquette, though: a passage as beautiful as the prelude to Leonora’s scene that opens Act Four, gorgeously played, was virtually inaudible until its final bars because of the audience’s chatter.  Maestro James Meena led a firm performance that mostly maintained order and produced good balance between stage and pit.  Especially in the first half of the opera, tempi in certain passages lacked momentum and seemed unnecessarily cautious, though the performance avoided any sense of dragging.  The Opera Carolina Chorus sang wonderfully throughout the performance, proving most effective in halves, as the nuns in the final scene of Act Two and the monks in the magnificent ‘Miserere.’  The celebrated ‘Anvil Chorus’ was suitably rousing, and from start to finish the choristers sang with security, control, and polish far superior to those typical of the house choruses of smaller companies.

The comprimario rôles of Inez and Ruiz were taken by singers active in Charlotte-area music education, soprano Jessie Wright-Martin and tenor Brian Arreola.  Both proved effective performers, with Mr. Arreola appropriately bringing his finest singing of the afternoon to his brief scene with Leonora at the beginning of Act Four.  Bass Kristopher Irmiter, announced as suffering from an indisposition, nevertheless sang firmly as Ferrando, capably launching the performance with his here’s-what-you-need-to-know aria.

Baritone Michael Corvino brought a convincingly frustrated and ultimately defeated stage presence to the Conte di Luna, his reaction to learning in the final bars that he has just sent his own brother to execution enacted with emotional legitimacy.  Throughout the performance, Mr. Corvino sang with pointed, secure tone, giving his all with a voice slightly small for his assignment.  Still, the Conte’s ‘Il balen del suo sorriso’—as demanding and rewarding an aria as Verdi (or any other composer) created for the baritone voice—was given a fine performance, the tricky ornaments and treacherous ascents into the highest register negotiated handily.

Arguably the production’s most provocative element was the presence of dynamic mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves as Azucena.  It cannot be denied that Azucena is an atypical and, in vocal terms, unusually challenging assignment for Ms. Graves.  There were moments of obvious discomfort, notably in the extreme upper register (though a fine B-flat was summoned for the last bars of the opera), and some technical niceties of the role—the trills in ‘Stride la vampa,’ for instance—were unobserved.  What cannot be underestimated, though, is the extraordinary richness and depth of Ms. Graves’s voice.  Hearing her as Azucena was something like what it would be to hear Erda in Verdian guise: Ms. Graves’s voice, as awe-inspiring and mysterious as a glacial lake, seems almost like a primordial sound escaping from some chasm in the earth.  When not under pressure, she produced some notably lovely tone, as in ‘Ai nostri monti,’ which was also phrased with great feeling.  Azucena’s defiance of the Conte in Act Three was as monstrous as her unraveling in Act Four was dismaying, and the maniacal laughter with which she welcomed the realization of her vengeance was stirring if dramatically unnecessary.  In Ms. Graves’s performance, it was more obvious than in many performances of the rôle why Verdi originally intended Azucena to be his opera’s central character.

With such a mother—biological or adopted—as Ms. Graves’s Azucena, Manrico could hardly have avoided being a brooding but explosive personality, and these qualities were brilliantly conveyed in the performance of Italian tenor Antonello Palombi.  Opera Carolina are to be congratulated for bringing Mr. Palombi to Charlotte, for in doing so they introduced their audience to one of the finest Italian singers of his generation and a Manrico superior to almost any singing with the world’s major opera companies.  A veteran of La Scala and many first-rank European houses, Mr. Palombi brought to Manrico a timbre that unconditionally qualified him for the rôle and an energy that never flagged.  First heard from off-stage in the serenade ‘Deserto sulla terra’ (capped in the authentic Italian manner with an interpolated top B-flat, of course), Mr. Palombi’s voice filled the house with gleaming tone.  Once seen, he was the hot-blooded Spanish lover to his core, singing with passion that never threatened to become vulgarity.  Mr. Palombi sang Manrico’s difficult but entrancing ‘Ah sì, ben mio’ with considerable grace, a surprising and refreshing effort from a generally burly and high-spirited Manrico.  ‘Di quella pira’ was sung manfully, with the kind of chest-thumping virility—and pulse-quickening top notes—that the music demands but so seldom receives in this age of ‘thoughtful’ productions.  If there is anything that Verdi makes obvious about Manrico it is that he is a man of action rather than thought, and Mr. Palombi delivered on this premise in spades, giving a formidably accomplished and ringing performance of what seems, owing to its deceptive but unstinting melodiousness, an easy rôle; one that defeats many of the tenors who attempt it.  Mr. Palombi triumphed.

The universal veracity of the aphorism suggesting that behind every good man there is a good woman will be left to debate, but it was beyond doubt that Opera Carolina’s magnificent Manrico was supported by a world-class Leonora.  Soprano Lisa Daltirus, whose first Trovatore was sung only a few seasons ago for Connecticut Opera (the loss of which is one of the greatest blows of the current recession), sang with the poise, technique, and beauty of tone necessary for her rôle and for the Verdi soprano repertory in general.  Given music that never relaxes in its technical demands, Leonora is one of the most difficult rôles in the soprano repertory, and Ms. Daltirus’s accomplishment was remarkable in making the music sound not easy, but natural.  Few rôles offer entrance music as vocally perilous as Leonora’s ‘Tacea la notte,’ but Ms. Daltirus hit the musical ground running: shaping both her opening aria and cabaletta with elegance, she soared through the trio that closes Act One to a ringing interpolated top D-flat.  Her singing in the Act Two finale was similarly impressive, but Ms. Daltirus rose to greatest heights in Act Four, in which Leonora’s demands are most daunting.  In the exquisite ‘D’amor sull’ali rosee’ Ms. Daltirus phrased Verdi’s long lines and executed the trills with uncommon grace, and she drew the audience into her cadenza, which became an almost cathartic climax (and which quieted even the chattiest members of the audience).  Both here and later, in her final scene, Ms. Daltirus’s singing of pianissimo passages in her highest register elicited audible gasps of admiration from the audience, especially in the melting tones of her singing of ‘Prima che d’altri vivere.’  Most remarkable was her singing during the ‘Miserere,’ one of Verdi’s most innovative and dramatically perfect scenes.  Passionately interjecting into the solemn invocation of the off-stage monks, Ms. Daltirus sang with the kind of abandon and commitment to music and text that make issues of the relevance of opera unimportant and frankly idiotic: here was a woman, as real as any in Renaissance Spain or 21^st-Century North Carolina, her betrothed imprisoned and facing certain death, and the sacrifice of her own life at hand.  Conveying this meaningfully through music is the achievement solely of a true artist, and Ms. Daltirus’s success was complete.

Il Trovatore is one of those operas that audiences know that they are supposed to hate, with its heart-on-the-sleeve melodrama, implausible situations, and unrelenting tunefulness; or else it is an opera in which some elusive ‘deeper meaning’ must be sought.  Opera Carolina did Verdi the favor of assembling an exceptionally top-drawer cast and offering Trovatore in a production that presented the story without exaggeration or psychological preening.  Azucena, Manrico, and Leonora are not figures who ponder human evolution, the intricacies of Existential relationships, or world peace: they are simple people, blessed by the genius of Verdi with music of unforgettable beauty, and Denyce Graves, Antonello Palombi, and Lisa Daltirus gave them burning life.