PROM 15: Rossini, Donizetti, Falla, Granados, Chabrier:  Juan Diego Flórez (tenor) Artur Pizarro (piano) BBC Concert Orchestra cond. Barry Wordsworth. Royal Albert Hall, 25.07.2006. (ME) 

 

 

Most of the music in this concert belongs firmly in the second and even third rate ranks, but it was graced with performances which were indisputably of the very first, especially in the case of the tenor soloist. Reviewing Juan Diego Flórez’ first major London recital, I said that his singing was characterized by brilliance of tone, seamless accuracy of coloratura and elegance of phrasing, and even the searing heat of the hall on this evening did little to interfere with those qualities. ‘Cessa di più resistere’ is infrequently performed as part of Il barbiere di Siviglia even though it features in most scores of the work, simply because it is too difficult for most singers, its relentlessly taxing and yet verbally subtle coloratura being quite beyond the scope of the can belto bulldogs or lyric Mozarteans who generally fill the role of Almaviva. Flórez sings it as though it holds no hazards at all, yet the important thing with this singer is that the art is not just seemingly effortless even in 90 degree heat, but the taste, the elegance, the sheer accuracy and, incredible though it may seem, the restraint are what make his singing stand out.

 

You only had to hear the attack of the first line, or even just the first word – ‘Cessa!’ to be aware of the difference between a truly great, once-in-a generation artist such as Flórez and a simply very, very good singer such as Bryn Terfel: if you’re sceptical about this, then listen on the BBC’s site to that very first line and compare it with Terfel’s ‘If I forget thee’ from Prom 13. It isn’t a matter of more exciting vocal type, or even greater agility, but of the way the tenor almost falls upon the words, as someone once finely remarked of Pavarotti, ‘as though he were hungry for them.’ Not to mention the absence of intrusive vibrato and aspirates, and the presence of the skill to pitch the music right to the back of a huge hall without any hectoring, shouting or straining. And we’re still on the first line… the rest of the aria, save for a little sagging in the middle of a couple of lines and a slight parting of the ways between soloist and orchestra for a bar, was an equal model of style: it was all there, from the sudden tenderness of ‘E tu, infelice vittima,’ so meltingly phrased, through the flourishes of ‘Giosci in libertà’ to the diamond-like brilliance of tone and seamless accuracy of ‘Della mia felicità.’ Small wonder that the audience could barely restrain themselves from applause even before the last note.

 

‘Ooh – nah – fooh – hoorteevah – laggreemah’ – as most singers will have it – was Flórez’ second offering, although of course he gave you ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ with vowels so mellifluous that you could almost spread them on toast, and consonants so sharp that you could almost see them. This was the perfect marriage of singer and song, remarkable for its expected sweetness and accuracy, its lack of any snatching at the words, its complete eschewal of cloying sentimentality at ‘M’ama, io vedo’ and its surprisingly restrained approach; this of course is only surprising because most singers just belt it out, forgetting that it is supposed to be about a furtive tear which inspires Nemorino to realize that he might just have a chance with Adina. The solo bassoon deserved an individual credit.  

 

‘Ah! mes amis, quel jour de fête’ from La fille du régiment was Flórez’ final aria of the first half, and what a showcase it was. Those dazzling high notes – the spectacular series of nine high Cs hit cleanly in the middle, the vocal acrobatics not just there for show but all of a piece with the high-flying sentiments being uttered, the youthful bravado sweeping all before it – and the exact French diction, with the kind of bite in the enunciation that every native French person is supposed to imbibe with their Racine. Naturally, the audience went wild, the Prommers stomped – for once, with good reason.

 

Flórez showed his more – for want of a better word – ‘populist’ side in the second half (darn it, isn’t Donizetti daft enough?) with some ‘Latin-American popular songs:’ needless to say they were gloriously sung, if hideously amplified, and, as you would expect, I loathed them – all that tosh about ‘the voice of my guitar’ and ‘They say it’s a lie that I love you.’ Just my opinion, of course, and clearly one not shared by the rest of the audience, but to me this was a waste of one of the finest voices of our time.

 

The rest of the programme was not lacking in distinction, with Artur Pizarro giving a limpidly elegant account of Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain, and the orchestra showing just what a classy band it can be in Chabrier’s España. This was Barry Wordsworth’s last concert as its Principal Conductor, after a 17 year stint, and it was typical of his collaborative, supportive and unshowy style. But the night really belonged to the tenor, who once again showed lovers of vocal art that the so-called ‘Golden Age of Singing’ cannot be automatically located in the imagined past, when it has such clear representation in the real present.

 

Melanie Eskenazi