Barton revealed more of what her “real voice” must be than had her faux-Olde Musick skimming of Orfeo. That voice turned out to comprise an upper range of good, rounded tone, not “big” in any propulsive, house-filling sense, but with a fullness of shape suggestive of size; a middle octave that thinned progressively on the descent; and some low notes that had loudness, but not of a deep-toned, musically integrated sort—they sounded heedlessly flung out as the only available expedient. To an informed listener, that might suggest a rough version of the “hourglass” range conformation endorsed and practiced by Marilyn Horne, except that the latter’s midrange (slender but clear, steady and equalized) opened up into a large, bright top and down into a booming, musically vibrant and, when opened up, exciting bottom—an altogether more complete version of this distribution (which, in any event, is not an ideal one for these female antagonist roles in Verdi or the verismo operas—Horne, we note, was a certifiably wonderful singer of Rossini and Handel, but always somewhat disappointing in that repertory). Barton’s was a piecemeal sketch of the role, last sung to good effect here by Dolora Zajick.

The Rodrigue of this production was Étienne Dupuis, a baritone from Nézet-Séguin’s stomping ground of Montreal. He has sung Marcello and the Figaro Count here, but this was my first encounter with his work. Within his vocal limits, he was the most finished performer on the stage, both musically and dramatically. The limits are strict, however. Simply by virtue of having a clue, his Count has to have been preferable to the one we saw this season. But in truth, what we have here is a first-rate Marullo, Moralès, Dancaïre, or De Brétigny. A Malatesta? Not out of the question. I do not list these roles by way of denigration. A baritone who can render them to reliably fine effect is of great and badly needed service to any company. But Rodrigue? Dupuis’ singing is clean and well-balanced, and he sustains a good line. He possesses a trill (and yes, Rodrigue/Rodrigo does need the graces, especially in his Act 2 Romance, and yes, our bigger-voiced baritones often fudge or eliminate them). Linguistically, he has a leg up on the others, without fussing over it. I would be happy to hear him on the same mélodie program that features Polenzani’s Fauré; yet with the “Oui, Carlos. C’est mon jour suprême” (“Per me giunto“), we have slipped down the mélodie ladder from Fauré to Reynaldo Hahn as sung by Reynaldo Hahn; one could barely trace the line. In the big passages, he sang out to his strongest level, never forcing, but without making much impact. The lightest proponents of this part in my previous experience (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, on records, in Italian) and Thomas Hampson (in the house in Italian, on records in French) both sound like Ruffo in comparison. As an actor, Dupuis showed a poised presence and a sense of character. (See below, however.)

And the basses? Cumulatively, they constitute the opera’s most important voice type, the one that, along with Elisabeth’s magnificent Act 5 (or 4, or, in this case, 3) aria, engages most powerfully with its questions of state and soul. In the most crucial of the bass roles, that of Phillip the Second, King of Spain, there was another change from the originally announced singer, Gunther Groissböck, who was also the second of the announced artists who had piqued my interest in prospect. In his stead we had Eric Owens, whose midsized low-baritone instrument would not have been well-matched to the part in its prime. The past few years have seen his voice fray and grey and, at least in the context of this music, shrink. He worked away diligently, but the great role retreated as far from view as its prominence allows. John Relyea has recently taken his warm bass-baritone into blacker territory—Hunding, and now the Grand Inquisitor. In terms of vocal color and projection, he has done so with more success than I would have predicted, but not so much as to quite invest this short but demanding role with either its ideal combination of granitic, black tone and dominant top (Giulio Neri, heard on a couple of ’50s recordings, was the Italian exemplar, and at the Met we had Jerome Hines and Deszö Ernster) or the effective (if it be well-acted) alternative of a strong Heldenbariton (Hans Hotter, Paul Schöffler, Hermann Uhde). He got out more tone than Owens, and with some vehemence of attack, and so “won” their confrontation, though at the expense of notes that would not hold steady under the pressure. Matthew Rose, with more basic vocal substance than either Owens or Relyea, butchered the beautiful, portentous music of The Monk/Charles V by launching every phrase with straight tone (some vibrato emerging later, like a very loud crooner), thus ruining the pliancy and continuity of the line.