Take Five
Opera singers, that is
In an interview with me some years ago, Marilyn Horne, the legendary mezzo-soprano, had a complaint. The typical opera review, she said, went on and on about the production—about what the stage director had done, what the set designer had done and so on. Only at the bottom was there a smidgeon of comment about singing. That is a complaint that I have long shared. In honor of Horne, and this complaint, let me go on for a while about singing, leaving productions to one side.
The Metropolitan Opera has been lucky in its Rosinas. That is the big female role—almost the only female role—in Rossini’s Barber of Seville. In the last few years, the Met has had Diana Damrau, the German soprano; Elina Garanca, the Latvian mezzo-soprano; and Joyce DiDonato, the American mezzo. All have been different, one from another, and all have been smashing. In the last few weeks, DiDonato has been back, lighting up the Met stage.
Mezzo Joyce DiDonato, the sparkler from Kansas, knows how to steal the show. Photo by Sheila Rock, courtesy of Virgin Classics
That is what she did in 2005, when she appeared as Stéphano in Gounod’s Romeo and Juliet. That is a nothing role, frankly, with a nothing aria. But DiDonato, this sparkler from Kansas, practically stole the show with it. Since then, she has been stunning in recital—I think particularly of her singing of Rossini’s Joan of Arc cantata, and of Copland’s Dickinson songs. And stunning in just about everything else, too. Last January, she ended Marilyn Horne’s 75th-birthday gala in Carnegie Hall with Rossini’s aria “Tanti affetti,” from La donna del lago. Even Horne—no slouch herself in that aria—had to be wowed.
DiDonato was in top form as Rosina on a recent Saturday night. She has just about every gift an opera singer can have, musically, vocally and theatrically. The voice can be sultry and smoky, particularly in its lower register; and it can be pure as the driven snow—everything depends on the musical needs of the moment. DiDonato is perpetually alive, even in relatively trivial bits of recitative: Nothing is routine, humdrum or phoned in. And her technique is quite simply an envy of the vocal world.
Let me offer just one detail, from that Saturday night: In the “Freddo ed immobile” section, Rosina, along with other singers, must sing detached notes—very hard to keep on pitch. Not for DiDonato. And I will not forbear commenting on Rosina’s big aria, “Una voce poco fa.” DiDonato is always coming up with new interpolations for it, new wowings: and they are fitting, exciting—wowing, indeed.
Finally, DiDonato has what I have long called her special ingredient: adorability, which, along with some other key ingredients, cannot be learned, but seems to come from within, or above. And, speaking of adorability: Diana Damrau returns for another stint as Rosina in February.
DiDonato’s Count Almaviva was Barry Banks, the English tenor, whom some of us think underrated and underappreciated. He has had many shining evenings in New York: in Stravinsky’s Rossignol at the Met, for example, and in Strauss’ Capriccio at City Opera. I particularly remember a turn he did in La cenerentola (Rossini) one night at the Met: He produced a string of high Cs that were ringing and spot-on.
There was something else he did that stays in the memory: Toward the end of Don Pasquale (Donizetti), he replaced Juan Diego Flórez, who had become indisposed. Flórez is the leading bel canto tenor in the world right now, or at least the most prominent and praised. (Deservedly praised, too.) When Banks stepped in for him, the show did not suffer one iota.
He had a good and characteristic night with DiDonato in The Barber. He is secure, astute and completely professional. He is sweet and smooth in cavatina, sweet, smooth and nimble in cabaletta. He performs with confidence, and that confidence is earned. Should he be a bigger star? I think so, but he has had a busy, applauded and, I would think, rewarding career. That must be stardom enough.
Two nights after the Met Barber I have been discussing, the volume in the house was turned up considerably: from Rossini and bel canto singing to Aida and Verdi singing—heavy-duty Verdi singing. There were big voices upon that stage, some of the biggest we have: Violeta Urmana, the Lithuanian soprano; Dolora Zajick, the American mezzo-soprano; and Johan Botha, the South-African tenor. There was no apology on this evening: This was big singing by big people in a big ol’ grand opera—very satisfying.
Urmana used to be a mezzo. In fact, I first heard her in Verdi’s Requiem with the New York Philharmonic, under Riccardo Muti. Unexpectedly, the mezzo was the best thing about the performance. As Aida, she was wonderful. The voice was big and rich, but it was also penetrating: It had a cutting, pleasing edge. And her technical control was almost sovereign. Of particular interest was the “Ritorna vincitor” she sang: Seldom will you hear it so musical, so naturally, engagingly shaped. As for Zajick, our Amneris, she has been a mezzo stalwart for 20 years now, and the voice remains pulpy, bold and often thrilling. Plus, Zajick has gobs of operatic smarts and guts.
Botha is not a natural Radamès, or a natural Verdi tenor in general, but he can do the job, and then some. Besides, in this age when Verdi tenors are thin on the ground, who can complain? On the night I heard him, Botha sang gleamingly, sensibly and powerfully, of course. Also effortlessly. It was unusual to hear “Celeste Aida” with no tenorial struggle whatsoever. Botha was just falling off a log. And I’ll tell you something funny: He would sing a little head voice on an F, and it still sounded huge.
Many singers are worried about their weight, not to say terrified. Some are undergoing surgery. We are in an age that emphasizes the visual, and sometimes administrators hire by looks. I like the soubrette or starlet as much as the next guy. But it was nice to see opera-sized people onstage for Aida; nice to know that there is still room for such people. When Botha, Zajick and Urmana sang together, I thought, “This is grand opera, this is the real deal, and be grateful you’re here.”
I said I wouldn’t talk about productions, but let me go back on my word, here at the end: The Met’s current Aida, produced by Sonja Frisell, looks like Aida. Is Aida. It is not “traditional” or “conventional” or “conservative.” The production is simply right, appropriate to the opera. It comes back in March, and, if you haven’t already, you should treat yourself.
