This leaves us with our two bassos. Morris Robinson has a voice of substance and quality, though it is clearly a baritone whose natural Aida role would be Amonasro, not the sort of wide-ranging, granitic bass of a first-rate Ramfis; he had the music in hand. He is a large man who could make an imposing impression, but he waddled comfortably from spot to spot, and in the Triumphal Scene’s dispute over the prisoners gesticulated petulantly, undercutting the High Priest’s adamantine authority. As the King, Harold Robbins behaved sensibly and sang accurately with a bass-baritone of pleasing quality and medium calibration.

All in all, there was precious little in the Met’s new  Aida for a lover of the work with prior knowledge and standards to grab onto, except for the gloomy awareness that this preachy, emotionally evasive production is intended to serve the house for the foreseeable future.

˜ ˜ ˜

For different reasons, both of the Aida recordings added of late to the dozens of studio and live efforts already in circulation present difficulties in fair performance evaluation because of their sound environments. The more recent one (on Warner Classics, recorded in 2015 and first released late that year) is from the same orchestra, chorus, and conductor (Accademia di Santa Cecilia, under Anthony Pappano) as that label’s Otello, and was recorded in the same venue, in the same way. Since I have already characterized that way at some length (see Otello from Another Planet, 5/17/21), I shan’t describe it here, except to say that while some very impressive sounds emerge, both these Roman recordings suggest that “we seem to have forgotten what we once knew” with respect to presenting large operatic forces for continuously enjoyable home listening. The Otello comparisons I made with some of the better releases of the late mono/early stereo era would hold true for this opera. I know that many contemporary devotees don’t much care about opera house reality, and that headphone listening is increasingly their mode of reception. But I prefer music that comes from where real-world music comes from, i.e., in front of me; that it suggests the spaces for which it was written (operas houses, with their aura of stage action, and concert halls); and that resounds in a room, where my ears can process the whole acoustical experience sprung from headphone entombment. Maybe, with six-figure equipment and a listening space that precisely mirrors the dimensions and materials of the Santa Cecilia’s auditorium in the Parca Musicale . . . ? With all the above in mind, along with the fresh memory of the Met’s current presentation:

The Santa Cecilia forces perform with a heartening snap and alertness to expressive opportunities, and it’s good to hear an Italian chorus of good quality in this music. Fresh from Nézet-Séguin’s run-through, and taking all due caution regarding recorded v. live comparisons, I was left with no doubt that Pappano’s reading was easily superior to it in conception, execution, and commitment. It is a thoroughly “modern” interpretation, and not born of long collaboration with singers seasoned in their roles (most of the principals were coming to them for the first time), but it’s clean and strong. As with the Otello, the cast’s biggest selling point is Jonas Kaufmann. The most consistently effective vocalism, though, comes from Ekaterina Semenchuk, the Amneris. For Met devotees, she comes with traces of the same wistful irony as clings to the Blue-for-Netrebko swap, for it was Semenchuk who made room for Kutasi by withdrawing from her scheduled Preziosillas in the Trelinski Forza. Whether or not she had been projected as the new Aida‘s Amneris I am not certain, but she would have been a logical choice. Her voice is less voluminous than a true dramatic mezzo’s, whether of the Mediterranean, Northern European, American, or even Russian/Slavic type (with respect to the last, it wouldn’t compare in amplitude and coloration with, for instance, that of a Preobazhenskaya, Arkhipova, Obrastsova, Bugarinovich, or, to bring us more up-to-date, Rachvelishvili). But it is a quite beautiful voice, of prevailingly darkish (some would say “covered”) hue, filled-in up and down a long range that sports a free top and, almost uniquely among female voices these days, a vibrant chest register that is well blended with her midrange. She maintains a good legato and holds our attention with some seductively nuanced inflections, some of which I doubt would make their points firmly enough  in the opera house.