Frederica von Stade’s Cherubino is the outstanding individual contribution here, as it was in more than one production in the theatre. As suggested by the observations above, there is almost no such thing as a poor Cherubino. Like Liù, it is a nominally secondary part of relative brevity whose writing practically guarantees disproportionate success. But von Stade’s complete vocal and musical mastery, and her almost uncanny inhabitance of this adolescent male’s state of being—at once longing and joyful—are special, and vidop closeness magnifies the performance’s unique qualities. I was also more taken by Ruggero Raimondi’s Figaro than I’d anticipated, despite having reservations about both the vocalism and the slant on the character that Ponnelle obviously mandated. The voice was powerful and of striking basic timbre—not forgotten is my first hearing of it, as Monterone on an Angel Rigoletto—but the functional technique awkward enough to keep him a rung short on the Pinza/Siepi/Tozzi ladder. That is apparent here, in a hectoring approach to much of the music and a strange way of darkening notes in the midrange while exposing the top to rawness. That sort of fits with the production’s view of Figaro’s jealousies as dangerous: look at this “Non più andrai“—mean!—and listen to the “Aprite un po’,” cruder than that of Corena, the basso buffo. I don’t really care for the notion, which undercuts the comic playfulness of the work beyond “taking feelings seriously” and makes the resolution implausibly easy. But Raimondi plays it with commitment, and the singing certainly has size and energy.

We have two pleasurable performances much enhanced by the vidop situation. Thomas Allen’s baritone, of warm quality, under keen technical management and musical guidance, is of a piece with his classy presence and sensible, clear acting. Its range and calibre sit a little high and light on this role, but that counts for less here than in the live situation. And Kathleen Battle’s pretty voice, which gathers into some fullness in the upper octave but simply vanishes below, is able to register reasonably well vocally (except in those oft-cheated descents in “Deh, vieni“), while playing through the part with some spirit and charm. Carol Vaness, long a leading presence at the New York City Opera before graduating (I guess that’s the word) to the Met, sings the Countess’s music firmly and with well-drawn line in a voice of appropriate calibration (somewhere between “full lyric” and “Jugendlich,”) and in her acting captures both a good measure of the underlying anguish and the amused gameplaying; she has some subtle moments of interplay, brought to us courtesy of the inquiring camera. In supporting roles, Arthur Korn is a presentable Bartolo without suggesting the major character presence of a Baccaloni or Corena. But two French artists of skills well established elsewhere don’t fare well.  Jocelyne Taillon is led far off-track by directorial intervention in Marcellina’s opening scene, though she recovers in Act 3, while Michel Sénéchal, his bland, grainy tone lacking the point of an Italian comprimario, and seemingly wishing to avoid the conventional Basilio moves, doesn’t seem to know what to do with the character.

All reservations, preferences, and arguments aside, it’s been an inspiration to look back on where we’ve been with this great opera. For where we are now, I must refer you back to the last post.

˜ ˜ ˜

NEXT TIME: That should be on Friday, March 25. I shall have seen the Met’s new production of Verdi’s Don Carlos, in its complete five-act form, and in the original French, as well as the company’s revival of Strauss’s Ariadne auf Naxos. Either, or both, will receive whatever seems to be proper attention.