What makes a great singer? Is it some indefinable quality
which we can only reproduce verbally by such daft phrases as ‘Va – va
– voom?’ Or is it possible to say what constitutes true greatness? I
think it is: a great singer must unite a naturally beautiful voice to
exceptional interpretative skills, finely honed technique, what has
been called ‘fire, passion, poetry, in a word, temperament’ and genuine
love for the music s/he sings, but all that is not enough, since there
are many fine singers who possess these qualities –for me, a truly great
singer must be able either to illuminate familiar music in such a way
that one revisits it eagerly and with renewed love and understanding,
or to introduce us to music which was hitherto obscure, and which lives
anew in their performance. It will come as no surprise that this concert
provided unquestionably great singing, in an evening almost entirely
constructed from music that even those of us who love this florid eighteenth-century
style would consider as less well known than the repertoire one hears
more frequently.
The audience had come to hear Bartoli, and whilst they
received the orchestral interludes respectfully (as well they might,
considering that the OAE provided some brilliant playing, especially
in Vivaldi’s D minor Concerto from ‘L’estro armonico.’) the attention
was focused on this vibrant diva with her arresting mane of auburn hair
and spectacular Vivienne Westwood gown. She did not disappoint, and
the all-Vivaldi first group provided some of the most exciting, perfectly
executed singing I have ever heard. ‘Gelosia’ from ‘Ottone in villa’
was a tour de force of dazzling coloratura and terrifyingly difficult
descents through the scale, and it was brilliantly sung.
However, it was the more tender ‘Zeffiretti che sussurate’
and Broschi’s spectacular ‘Son qual nave ch’agitata’ which gave the
most vivid demonstration of her remarkable skill. Her ornamentation
is indeed fearless and wonderfully accurate, her person brimming over
with the most endearing charm, but as with many great singers it is
not in the dazzling passages where we hear her at her most remarkable,
but in the softly phrased, exquisitely delicate, long – spun lines which
ravish the ear by their seemingly never-ending beauty. Vivaldi wrote
‘Zeffiretti’ as a kind of ‘baggage ‘ aria, for a singer to carry around
and display as a showcase of their skills, and it certainly worked for
Bartoli; against a gossamer-delicate accompaniment which included an
off-stage violin, she caressed the onomatopoeic phrases with exquisite
grace, and her piano singing was a miracle of delicacy and subtlety.
Broschi’s aria was one of many written to display the
vocal prowess of his more famous brother, ‘Farinelli,’ and Bartoli’s
singing of it transported us at once to a world where sheer vocal display
once made ladies swoon and men cheer, and if there is another singer
around today who can emit the same quality of liquid tone whilst negotiating
such perilous scale passages then I haven’t heard her, and I have certainly
never heard such a ravishing messa di voce as she produced here.
The second half of the programme was all Gluck, and
what sublime music it was; from a singer who could so easily indulge
herself with easy display or vocal lollipops, it was wonderful to hear
these little-known but highly dramatic pieces. ‘Berenice che fai’ was
probably the one which most of us would be likely to know, and although
I am familiar with it I have never before heard the arioso sung with
such fervour, or the final aria with such superbly judged drama. The
evening’s finest singing came in two of the more tender arias, ‘Se mai
senti spirarti sul volto’ and the first encore, ‘Di questa Cetra in
seno.’ The technical quality of the singing is stunning, the vocal pyrotechnics,
right up to high D flats, are jaw – droppingly sensational, but these
are still not what make such a singer truly remarkable; it is the range
of colours which she brings to the words, and the infinitely musical
phrasing, which distinguish these performances.
Both these arias displayed some of the most beautiful
singing I have ever heard, the gentle melismas providing the kind of
sheer delight which one experiences only rarely, the nuance of the phrasing
so exquisitely shaped as to bring tears to the eyes, and I would not
be surprised if I can still remember these performances thirty years
from now, as I can the earliest operatic singing of which I have any
valid memory, that being Domingo and Price in ‘Otello’ at Covent Garden.
I would place Bartoli’s singing of ‘Quel chiaro rio’ and of ‘Di questa
cetra’ on the same level as Domingo’s ‘Già della notte densa,’
her phrasing of certain lines having exactly the same emotional effect
as his unforgettable ‘Vien quest’ immenso Amor.’ A wonderful evening
which reminded us of the power of a great voice when it is allied to
such musicianship as Ms Bartoli commands.
Melanie Eskenazi
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