Matochkina shares a mezzo-soprano version of this too-little, too-low arrangement at the bottom of her voice, so the flamenco-flavored roulades of the Veil Song went for nothing, and the wonderful low phrases of “O don fatale” were not as richly filled-out as they can be. Elsewhere, though, this voice is in excellent running order, not quite as large-framed as the dramatic mezzos of old (or that of Dolora Zajik, the most recent fully-equipped Eboli here), but of comparable quality and firmness. When she got going in the Garden and Closet Scenes, she brought an organized fire to her music of a kind we haven’t heard for a while. She often reminded me of Giovanna Casolla, who sang the part here in the early 1980s, and from whom I hoped we’d hear some Santuzzas and, perhaps, Amnerises. For some reason, the house didn’t hang on to her (she later sang soprano roles in Italy). I hope we fare better with this singer.

Among the men, the biggest upgrade was the Filippo of Günther Groissböck. His singing is of a decidedly German method, having little of the tonal beauty, warmth and color span (it’s pretty monochromatic), or upper-range dynamic control of a vocally great Filippo like Siepi or Ghiaurov. His high notes (above D), incline to hootiness, and when he opens the voice (as on the descent from the E of the last “amor per me non ha“) the sound is loud but wooden. What the voice has going is strength, not of the kind we’d call voluminous, but of a cutting-through sort, plus a solid core, security throughout the range, and the ability to sustain a consistent line. Thus, my vocal/musical self, while conscious of remaining in the grading-on-a-curve reality, receives these gifts gratefully, but with modified rapture. My theatrical self, though, truly rejoices, because Groissböck takes the stage with the confidence, authority, and clarity of action necessary to make Filippo the central figure he must be. He also has sufficient inner vision to contact the king’s emotional life and express it in physical and, to a degree, vocal action—though here is where greater expressive range in the voice would be needed for true fulfillment. His work and that of the two women, together with well-marshalled support from the pit, made the Closet Scene the most compelling sequence of Verdi in recent memory. The performers took charge; opera was happening.

Our final principal is Rodrigo, now in the person of Peter Mattei, whose dramatic commitment as Amfortas I have admired. Though there were things to appreciate in the intelligence, sensitivity, and polish of his singing, Verdi is less workable for him. His voice’s lightness and graininess of texture only occasionally serve the music well, and do not allow him the bite and command required of the crucial interview with Filippo or the Garden Scene trio. He’s a tall man, whose curved-neck posture and tentative manner of movement gave the character a rather apologetic look. Finally, he approached the “Per me giunto” with the same damnable crooniness as had Étienne Dupuis, albeit in Italian and with a shade more voice. Where does this notion come from? Among the supporting singers, Alexandros Stavrakakis as The Monk deployed a fine bass, though one that didn’t quite descend to a sonorous low F-sharp at the end of his first-scene solo, and Toni Marie Palmertree’s Heavenly Voice in the auto da fé had a well-guided flight and lovely timbre.