Headshot of La Cieca

Cher Public

  • taminosboyfriend: Yes, it was indeed an excelent performance. There´s only a small cut in the children´s... 1:13 PM
  • Quanto Painy Fakor: Wow, even the teachers use music. How uncomfortable Bunnel appears in this video, which... 1:07 PM
  • quibbleglib: zinka — but what if I turn my speakers up really, really loud? ;) Did you get a chance to... 12:48 PM
  • Milady DeWinter: Has this Braunfels scene from Die Vogel ever been sung more beautifully? httpv://www.you... 12:47 PM
  • Quanto Painy Fakor: Interesting interview with LA Opera Christopher Koelsch in FORTUNE Magazine. He has a... 11:51 AM
  • DeepSouthSenior: Nor the utter, forsaken desolation of the end of Michael Corleone, as great an operatic... 11:35 AM
  • Milady DeWinter: P.S. Sorry about the repetitive adverb usage – guess my ‘mot du jour’ is... 10:55 AM
  • Quanto Painy Fakor: But I don’t think the NYT cares much what Santuzza has to say or sing about. 10:52 AM
  • Quanto Painy Fakor: JJ’s review is admirable and enjoyable to read. Now that the NYT has made heads... 10:51 AM
  • Milady DeWinter: Anyone listen or attend last night’s opening of Hansel and Gretel? I listened via... 10:38 AM

Where the boys are

When Norman Lebrecht is declaring on an almost daily basis that classical music is dead, it’s perhaps heartening that four of today’s prominent tenors have recently recorded what might be called fluff/vanity albums.

Joseph Calleja released an album of eclectic love songs, named (what else?) Amore. Hot on its heels is Vittorio Grigolo’s foray into an equally eclectic mix of religious songs, Ave Maria. On a slightly less fluffy level are Rolando Villazón’s album of Mozart concert arias, intriguingly entitled Mozart, and Juan Diego Flórez’s foray into the French spinto/heroic repertoire, named, naturellement, L’amour.  

These unimaginatively named albums each picture the featured tenor in an unimaginative glamour shot. If we were judging by looks alone, I’d say that Grigolo’s headshot is perhaps the cutest. Flórez’s glamour shot overshadows the left side of his face, and gives him an unexpectedly grim look.

L’amour finds the Peruvian tenor branching out from his usual bel canto repertoire. The album consists entirely of French language arias, and finds him venturing music associated with voices considerably heavier and more spinto-ish. Repertoire includes two arias from Werther, “Ah leve toi, soleil” from Roméo et Juliette, and most surprisingly, “O blonde Ceres” from Les Troyens. All of these are operas he has almost no chance of singing onstage. Other stuff is much more feasible for him—arias from Lakmé, La Favorite, Mignon, and La belle Hélène, for instance.0

When you hear Flórez’s voice and style in repertoire that’s a bit out of the way for him, you realize how much he’s one of those singers whose mantra is “find a few things you do well, and just do them really, really well.” By now we know what he does really, really well—he has almost unparalleled negotiating the fioratura of bel canto operas, and an endless supply of high C’s. He’s also worked out a stage shtick that’s not exactly acting, but usually includes some nice comic timing. As a result he’s been able to trek the world singing Rossini and Donizetti (and, to a lesser degree, Bellini) to almost universal acclaim. But when his voice is taken out of that comfortable niche that he’s carved out for himself, the limitations of his approach are more obvious.

His high C’s, for instance, are ringing and secure, but they’re also narrow and somewhat nasal in tone, without the trumpet-like ping of lirico-spinto tenors. Also, to achieve the effortless ease through the difficult coloratura, he’s kept his voice remarkably light and sweet, and his voice hasn’t thickened and darkened the way most tenor voices do with age.

The tradeoff is that he can’t color his voice in a dramatic enough manner for roles like Roméo or Werther. He sings everything with the elegance and grace with which he approaches bel canto operas, even when a more heroic, emotional approach is indicated. For instance, in Werther it’s all so pretty, but there’s not a drop of the dark, angsty sturm und drang a stage performance would require. “O nature pleine de grâce” sounds as sweet and sunny as “Ah mes amis.” It’s an interesting experiment but just that—an experiment. There are some lovely moments though—“Prendre le dessin d’un bijou” from Lakmé being one of them.

Calleja’s Amore is an odd album, mixing classic Italian love songs like “Ideale,” “Musica proibita” and “Non ti scordar di me,” with Andrea Bocelli (“Con the partiro”), Edith Piaf (“La vie en rose”), Josh Groban (“You raise me up”) and Tchaikovsky (“None but the lonely heart”) thrown in the mix. Calleja’s timbre is one of the most beautiful on the scene today, warm, vibrant, caressing to the ear. Sometimes he can look, and sound, astonishingly like a young Pavarotti. But he can be an occasionally stodgy, stolid performer in operas.

This stiffness affects his interpretations of these songs. It feels like he’s singing to a huge stadium, and the soupy, cheesy orchestral arrangements (courtesy of the BBC Orchestra) take away any sense of intimacy. I’ve started to realize that Calleja has a beautiful voice, but isn’t necessarily the most beautiful interpreter. For instance, in the execrable “You Raise Me Up,” one expects that Calleja’s version will be on a different level than Josh Groban’s, but give it a listen, and it’s every bit as bombastic as Groban’s.

Even in the classics like “Mattinata,” or “Ideale” where a simpler, more romantic style is needed, it’s surprising to hear Calleja repeatedly go for the huge ringing high notes and Les Mis stadium approach. As I said, one never tires of hearing the sound of his voice. But these songs are as much about style as voice, and Calleja has a surprisingly poor handle on the style. By the time the album chugs along to the inevitable “O sole mio” I was more than ready to move onto another “amore.”

Grigolo’s album of sacred arias has an unusually well-written and heartfelt essay inserted into the liner notes. The tenor explains, “I didn’t want to make an album of sacred pieces just because that’s what everyone in the classical world does.” He adds that he made the album because he got his start singing in the choir as a mere boy, and the album is a tribute to “all the people who helped me, all the priests who worked on my voice, to the hours we spent studying and practicing in those little rooms inside the chapel, and to all the incredible music we sang together.” It’s nice to hear a world-famous singer who hasn’t forgotten his humble roots.

He sings with an angelic sounding children’s chorus and the Orchestra Roma Sinfonietta in surprisingly tasteful orchestral arrangements. And Grigolo takes this project seriously. There’s a duet with (ugh) Jackie Evancho (“O Holy Night”), predictable fare like Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” Verdi’s “Igemisco,” and Franck’s “Panis angelicus,” but also some little-known prayers. Grigolo sings all these without the sometimes over-the-top showmanship he applied to, for instance, his Met recital.

And his voice, as I said, is the real thing—maybe not as plush as Calleja’s, but just as warm and more expressive and oddly, more musical. Whereas with Calleja one feels he’s content to just put his beautiful voice out on blast, and let the audience bask in the waves of sound, Grigolo sings like a tenor who maybe was told many times that his voice wasn’t as beautiful as ______’s, and therefore works very hard to create vocal effects. Maybe too hard—if there’s a weakness with Grigolo, it’s that he’s one of those singers who likes to play with extremes in dynamics, to the point of fussiness. But I expected cheesiness, and usually have no special fondness for religious music, but found myself unexpectedly touched by Grigolo’s heartfelt album.

If Calleja’s album is all voice but no taste, Villazón’s album of Mozart concert arias is the exact opposite: all style and not much voice. Villazón’s vocal crises were well-known, and the voice that he has now is very different from the voice that thrilled opera fans about 10 years ago. Even with the close miking and short album (barely an hour of music), it’s obvious how limited in range and scope Villazón’s instrument is currently. The bloom in his voice is gone now—it sounds shrunk and worn. He gingerly attacks high notes and often prefers to let his voice trail off.

But what style! Villazón was always an engaging performer and recitalist, and the infectious happiness and joy of Mozart’s music practically bounces off his voice. There’s none of that generic lyric prettiness that Mozart tenors often feel they have to adopt—Villazón treats each concert aria, even the small ditties (such as the opening track,”Si mostra la sorte”) as a dramatic piece. The pointed diction is a joy to hear as well—you can transcribe every word he’s singing. And it’s heartening that when he could be releasing Christmas albums he’s singing stuff like “Va, dal furor portata,” a piece Mozart wrote when he was nine.

A highlight is a dreamy rendition of “Aura che intorno spiri”—no, the old Villazón voice isn’t back, but you realize the musicality never left. Another delight is the brief patter aria “Clarice e cara mia sposa” that’s less than two minutes in length but so vibrantly sung that you realize how flat and lifeless most patter is nowadays. Villazón does patter like the old-fashioned singers, with the natural up-and-down cadences of both speech and song. There are some reservations—sometimes his trill sounds great but other times it sounds like an awkward chug, and high notes, as I have noted, can fly wild. But this is an admirable vocal and artistic effort from a singer that many wrote off. Credit must be given to the sensitive conducting of Antonio Pappano with the London Symphony Orchestra.

So you have four albums by four current tenors. If I were to rank the tenors by pure vocal health, I’d say I’d put Calleja and Flórez on top, Grigolo in the middle, with Villazón sadly trailing behind. But ranking by artistic merit the order is reversed—it’s Villazón, then Grigolo, then Florez, and finally, with a huge gap, Calleja.

56 comments

  • FaustinaBordoni says:

    . . . for Brownlee?

  • Haimes says:

    Poison Ivy,

    As always an articulate, fair and balanced review. I have seen Calleja at MET in Count of Hoffman and I believe La Boheme. I enjoy his album very much, somehat sappy, but beautiful. I was somewhat bored by Villazon’s album and sadly agree with you that the voice has gone away. Long gone are the days when he thrilled and wowed the audience.

    I wonder what your take is on the cross-over CD’s from Natalie Dessay which I love and Diana Damrau who sings in German and English with her beautiful tone and colaratura capabilities. We last saw her in Rigoletto and will see her this coming Saturday in La Sonambula. Her style is just captivating and her voice always seems to be the top of coloratura finesse.

    Sadly we witness and heard Dessay’s last Traviata at MET and were simply very upset and shocked. We were privileged to see her La Fille du Regiment at MET when she was a cut-up. Damrau was miscast in same role. We did however see Dessay at Santa Fe many years ago in La Sonambula when she was a breathtaking rising star.

    • Poison Ivy says:

      In general I enjoy cross over and popera but I just didn’t think Calleja had the right style for it. I felt like he was singing everything as if it were “Nessun dorma.”

    • Krunoslav says:

      Dessay in 2004 was hardly “a rising star” anywhere but in Santa Fe.

      her stardom arguably began in 1992 with Olympia at the Bastille, but even before that she had sung at Geneva and Lyon- and at the Bastille in other things. She made big hits in Vienna in the 1990s, made a Met debut (Fiakermilli) in 1994 and returned as a star as Zerbinetta and Olympia in 1997-8. Aix and the ROH followed. Vocal crisis # 1 hit about 2002.

      By the time she did Amina in Santa fe, Dessay had the star clout to import her choice of director, who made the show 100% about *her*-- Elvino and Rodolfo were just projections of her mind and thus had no interiority, even in their solo scenes. She did sing it better there than in the Met’s horror-show staging.

      • ines says:

        The story goes, that her first diagnosis of the polyp on the vocal cord, that needed to be operated, was on Sept 11 2001.

  • Cicciabella says:

    Thanks to Ivy, I’ve been listening to JDF’s new album, which, to my delight, includes an old favourite of mine, the aria from Le Postillon de Lonjumeau.

    I think the Werther arias augur well for a live staged version. O Nature is especially fine. Over to the usual suspects to argue who should sing Werther, who shouldn’t, who’s the best, who’s a god and who’s a cockroach.

  • Milady DeWinter says:

    “But are Camarena’s high notes, coloratura, and legato actually superior to Brownlee’s?”
    —good point. Brownlee’s tone is consistently sweeter, less nasal than Juan Diego’s. And Stanford Olsen was a treasure.
    I think the fuss about Camarena is that compared to his Almaviva, which I thought was pallid, he is brilliant in Bellini. Better than JDF, and possibly Brownlee. Camarena’s florid technique is inferior to either JDF, Brownless, and Olsen. But I think, and hear, that he has has just an iota more of tenorial power, and that’s what makes him so thrilling in the Bellini. He should take on Arturo past-haste, and may even be a viable alternate to Hymel and Sypres in the Meyerbeer roles. In any case, they are a more natural fit for him than for JDF, who may be a bit stretched by Raoul etc.

    • Krunoslav says:

      I can’t ( with pleasure) hear JDF taking on Raoul or Werther. Too monochrome and nasal, not enough sheer volume.

      • Evenhanded says:

        Well.

        I agree completely about Raoul and Werther. Both of these roles demand colorful voices that can modulate both tone quality and dynamics. Despite his well-known facility in coloratura, Florez is one of the most monochromatic voices among the current crop of “famous” singers. His recording of Gluck’s Orphee is absolutely terrible, precisely for the reasons mentioned above.

        Brownlee is similar, IMO, though he seems to have quite a bit more skill (and desire) to vary dynamics than Florez. And his voice is also a little bit more beautiful. Florez -- while undoubtedly an extremely accomplished singer -- seems unimaginative and unwilling to add much more to his portrayals beyond secure technique and plenty of thrilling high C’s.