Production can seriously affect the fates of these operas only by getting rudely in the way. The Trovatore does, a bit. It’s another Sir David McVicar show (re-staged by Daniel Rigazzi, sets by Charles Edwards) of the kind that, by virtue of not being instantly recognizable as off-the-wall, is usually characterized as “traditional” or “conventional.” Actually, it takes this quintessential time-of-the-troubadours Romantic lookback tale and hurls it forward into the early 19th Century (show curtain à la Goya, sets in dirty grey), where it’s a perversely poor fit in terms of how its characters behave, what they believe in, what they say, and the atmosphere surrounding them; then chops its four acts and eight separately set scenes into two big chunks onto which it imposes strained imagistic parallels; and then invents focus-pulling distractions to solve the staging problems it creates. That’s “traditional” only in the sense that it has become common practice. The Luisa (directed by Elijah Moshinsky, re-staged by Gregory Keller, designed by Santo Loquasto) is also updated—relocated, too—but relatively harmlessly. It, at least, has a handsome look.

The pros and cons of pit and production notwithstanding, these works stand or fall on the vocal and dramatic qualities of the singers. Leaving Ms. Rowley aside (she’s scheduled for major assignments next season, and that should give us better grounds for assessment), the Trovatore principals all had interesting attributes. The most complete performance came from the Azucena, Anita Rachvelishvili. I had heard her previously as Konchakovna (as effective as could be expected within Tcherniakov’s tendentious reconception) and as Amneris in Turin (also as positive as allowed under the constraints of Noseda’s reading. Her Azucena was extremely accomplished. As dramatic mezzos go, her voice is of medium calibre (not, certainly, as big or as opened up into the chest as that of Dolora Zajick, the Met’s most propulsive Azucena of recent decades), but full enough, of an attractive and appropriate timbre and accurate intonation, and technically solid enough to permit proportionalities of volume that satisfied the musical shapes of the writing. She commanded an unusual type of midrange piano, a fil di voce one normally associates with effects higher in the range. At times this seemed like an avoidance of supported engagement, but at others (e.g., the long-held note that leads into the dreamed reprise of “Ai nostri monti“) its purity  and light tensility had a haunting effect. She also acted the role well, with an energy and commitment that stopped short of uncontrolled hysteria.

My attention was caught by Quinn Kelsey’s opening phrases as Di Luna. I’d heard and read good things about this baritone, but hadn’t quite anticipated the easy presence, almost bass-like depth, and timbral richness that had me searching back to the days of Warren and MacNeil for comparison in this and similar roles. And the impression held as, on a nice, quick portamento, he swept up to a fine F on “L’amorosa fiamma.” Then it dissipated somewhat as he rather hacked his way downward through “M’arde ogni fibra!“, the tone still substantial but straightened on the passing notes, not truly sung through. This tended to remain true throughout the evening—full, lovely tone in controlled cantabile, a kind of sloughing when the going got more animated. I couldn’t be certain whether the G’s in “Il balen” failed to ring out owing to a not-quite-successful attempt to modulate them, or if G-flat is just the reliable full-voice top. Let’s say the former for now. He sang a good, pleasurable Di Luna; the potential for a great one seems there.