Bass Pol Plançon

Count Rodolfo is a pivotal figure in the plot of Bellini’s La sonnambula. It is to his quarters at the inn where the sleepwalking Amina innocently wanders. The tarty, scheming Lisa, who has the hots for Amina’s betrothed Elvino, summons him to Rodolfo’s room to behold the shocking scenario. But before those mixed-up shenanigans of the young and the restless take place, Rodolfo, returning to the Tyrolean village, reminisces on his idyllic youth:

If ever there were a definitive litmus test of the operatic bass’s vocal technique and musical sensitivity, it’s “Vi ravviso.” In A flat major, in 4/4 time and its lithe, elegant line sustained mainly around the top region of the staff, there is really no other like it in the bel canto realm for bass; it almost unfolds like a cantabile soprano aria, such as Amina’s “Ah, non credea.”

Steady breath emission, an unbroken, long-lined legato, keen, dynamic phrasing, tonal beauty, and textual sensitivity are the requisites to impart the ideal effectiveness of this peerlessly beautiful aria. In addition, maintaining the slurs Bellini wrote in are vital to its melody; many modern basses ignore these markings, and without these portamenti, the aria is bereft of that gentle lilt of expressive nostalgia redolent in the piece. Too, the concluding cadenza must be negotiated with smooth grace and show awareness of its emotional curve; many basses fail outright on both counts, with a bumpy, or heavy-handed, or aspirated zip-through.

Through several decades of hearing this aria by nearly every bass of note, hailing from the dawn of recording and up to the present with countless renditions by “up-and-comers” on YouTube, only a handful have emerged with true distinction – the ones that compel you to return to them again and again.

Historical accounts vary. Tancredi Pasero is rough of vibrato and effortful in delivery. Chaliapin and Christoff are idiosyncratic. From the mid-century on, during the emerging bel canto revival, there are many sincere, decent, but not essential accounts. A totality of means is more elusive than one might garner; many struggle to merely keep the line unblemished, focused, and secure, or they simply lack an indefinable “voice-face” (Steane’s term-description). When that happens, they fail to linger in the memory, through perhaps no fault of their own; this aria, all told, is a fiend, so exposed and needing to be contained, and yet calling for an ability to make it imaginative and emotionally compelling. Others simply cannot handle it even adequately, as in the exponent of the Met’s most recent staging. It must not be loud, stentorian, or overly emphatic in delivery. The mood of the piece is the exquisite, nostalgic yearning of a distinguished gentleman.

Pol Plançon

This survey must begin with (as far as I know) the earliest documented rendition, from 1903, by the French bass Pol Plançon. For any aficionado of not only great singing, but of a bygone way of singing style, a traversal through Plançon’s recordings on YouTube is an absolute must. (If you can still find it, Ward Marston’s superb Romophone 2 CD set of the bass’s work, remastered, is worth seeking out.) I believe Plançon’s is among the very last documented instances of the true bel canto style. We can’t be absolutely certain, of course, but when you hear him zip through the most difficult coloratura passages, roulades, and real trills with an astonishing flair and fleetness that you just don’t commonly hear in basses, it’s a discernible glimpse into what was then becoming a rapidly extinct style of vocalism. Verdi, Wagner, Strauss, and Verismo, requiring more ballast, volume, and size in tonal means, had already long ushered out the great part of the bel canto repertoire by the start of the 20th century – and with it an entirely different style of singing.

That aside, Plançon’s rendition divides opinion. The primitive recording process for one thing produces that characteristically dim, hazy acoustic that made most voices sound, well, odd, often “straight” in tone (the high notes of sopranos often sounded like a baby’s wail). Vocal aficionados, though, have learned to train and condition themselves to adjusting to the funky sound (even on the Maplesons), because their historic value is vital to understanding the historical precedents and legacy of singing: we would not want to live without them.

Then, too, no conductor of today would permit the excessive portamenti, rubati, and laissez-faire approach to note values; Plançon leads the pianist, not vice-versa. There’s something vital going on here. The approach to this free-wheeling musicality does not in the least come across as self-indulgent; if anything it sounds organic, welling out of Plançon’s consciousness readily, spontaneously. It’s based on, rather, a sublimity of a purely individual artistic expression. It is such a telling document of its stylistic mien, where the rigidly strict, four-square method of phrasing is anathema to the musical sensibility.

For me, this recording is a virtual window into a bygone manner of singing, predating what eventually grew into the age of fascistic conductorial literalness in score presentation, leading to a kind of artistic anonymity: you often can’t discern arresting, singular vocal individuality as of late. The greatest artists, you knew who they were, pronto, from a mere half-note. Everything is so confoundingly, boringly correct nowadays. In art, the motto should be, give me liberties or give me death!

But, oh my sainted aunt, what individuality of utterance leaps out of the acoustical dim murk here, oozing charm and personality. Plançon is unabashedly sentimental (but not mawkish), endearing, and yet dignified, even aristocratic. Aristocratic is exactly this kind of singing.

Cesare Siepi

Cesare Siepi made a fine recording of the aria in 1948, but it’s his account in the complete 1952 set of the opera that remains the near-definitive ideal in the modern era. Siepi’s approach to the singing of it is modern, too, a complete departure from Plançon’s in that it is strictly held to tempo, note values, and fidelity to the score; the slurs, absolutely vital in Bellinian singing and often ignored in modern performance, are exquisitely incorporated here.

What distinguishes this account is the sheer molten beauty of Siepi’s tone, his supremely elegant phrasing; he has a way of breathing the emotion into the elegiac line of text: “i dì passai” in the sixth bar is particularly graceful. The concluding cadenza is taken a piacere, and, most importantly, though technically impeccable, manages to impart a fitting emotional finish, akin to a wistful sigh.

Plinio Clabassi

Out of Italy in 1956 came a lip-synched movie of the opera featuring the young Anna Moffo. To my unexpected surprise and pleasure, the Rodolfo of Plinio Clabassi is one of the finest ever. Closer in tonal quality to Plançon than to Siepi, Clabassi comes closest to the latter in the modern fashion of adherence to the score values, plus a marked and instinctive eloquence of delivery. The tone is unusually sweet for a bass, and he spins it out with wonderful sensitivity. Clabassi, relegated to essaying on the main minor roles in several recordings, emerges as a Rodolfo of true “dark-horse” distinction – basses far more famous and renowned can’t sing this piece this well. The physical portrayal, too, is dignified and gentlemanly.

Federico De Michelis

While browsing on YouTube, I came across this rendition a few years ago by the Argentine bass-baritone Federico De Michelis, in a recital from 2014. De Michelis, a versatile artist who also dabbles in jazz and tango, has never essayed the role of Rodolfo, but he masters the requirements far more than most, to the effect of causing me to remember him long after the first hearing. What impressed me about this account is how much care De Michelis puts into the lyrical values of Bellini’s lines, and then wedding that effectively with the sensitively intoned text. The slurs are gracefully notated, and the reading is heartfelt and sincere.

Mirco Palazzi

Mirco Palazzi, an outstanding coloratura bass, has been essaying Rodolfo for several years now. Palazzi’s most recent traversal hails from Budapest in recent months. Though he is an otherwise durable, sterling artist, I wish Palazzi did not feel compelled to sing out so extrovertly, on the loud side, rather putting it up for grabs. You can tell he realizes the import of what he is singing, but the sentiment of the aria’s mood is not interiorized, lacking wistfulness and yearning. The slurs are largely ignored, and the prevailing impression is of the stolid and routine. Included here is the cabaletta “Tu non sai” which is given in full, second verse lightly decorated, and is most accomplished; here is where Palazzi makes a more positive impression. If only the slow melody were more heartfelt and distinctive.

Lukas Lemcke

Over a year ago, I had the most pleasant surprise on YouTube encountering this young German bass, Lukas Lemcke. My mind reeled discovering Lemcke was all of 22 when he recorded the aria in this video, what appears to be an online audition calling-card. Basses twice his age often don’t sound this poised, this musical, this vocally resplendent, this musically sensitive, this finished. Lemcke has an exceptional tonal beauty, resonant, rich, and yet clear. No woofy breathiness, artificial darkening, or throaty rumbling. The voice is all of a piece, with free, unencumbered highs, and rock-solid lows. Integrity of line, well-bound, and heeding the slurs. There is sincerity and appeal in the personality, as well as communicative intent. Some of the higher-lying lines might benefit from a slight modulation of volume, but this is mere quibbling – this young man is off to a smashing star to his career.