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Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, et al: Cecilia Bartoli, mezzo soprano; Sergio Ciomei, piano; presented by Cal Performances, Zellerbach Hall, University of California at Berkeley. 22.2.2009 (HS)

Hot off her new DVD of operatic music associated with the celebrated 19th-century mezzo-soprano Maria Malibran, Italian mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli shared a more intimate side of music from the same composers in a song recital she calls “Maria Malibran’s Salon Romantique.” I choose the word “shared” carefully, because the ebullient singer conveyed a strong sense of sharing this generous helping of music, rather than serving it up. The capacity audience at Zellberach Hall Sunday ate it up.

Like Malibran, Bartoli is a mezzo who can sing some soprano roles, and does. (She made a wonderful Susanna at the Met a few years back.) Both singers are also know for their coloratura. Although the songs that got the biggest response involved that trademark rapid-fire singing, Bartoli’s best music-making came from the quieter moments.

In a canny program, she began with many of these delicate moments, creating a palpable sense of intimacy with a voice that no one would characterize as big. Sitting in Row J, I wondered at times whether the folks at the back of the 2,000-seat hall could hear the details. By chance, I heard her fourth encore (I did say it was a generous program) from the back of the orchestra, and even under the balcony overhang her sound was crystal-clear, every detail audible.

The audience afforded her a carpet of silence on which to float pianissimo singing that paradoxically managed to be rich, almost voluptuous in sound. Although she never forced the louder phrases, she still found a wide enough dynamic range to create plenty of expressivity. Her clarity of language, accuracy of intonation and naturalness of phrasing completed a portrait of a singer at the top of her game.

To be sure, the bel canto-era trio of composers that made up most of the program are like mother’s milk to Bartoli. But only one encore involved an operatic transcription, and the choices of songs were uncommon, starting with the first set of three from Rossini. “La regata veneziana,” in Venetian dialect, gave Bartoli plenty of story to act out, which she did girlishly. Four Bellini songs, including the exquisite “Vaga luna,” were more familiar and gave us a chance to savor some lovely legato singing.

The next set of Bellini songs began with “Dolente immagine di Fille mia,” in which that pianissimo made it first appearance on the final repeat of the line, “Ombra di Fillide, riposa in pace, è inestinguibile l’antico ardor” (Shade of Phyllis, rest in peace, my passion of old will never fail.) More breathtaking pianissimo in “Ma rendi pur contento” was made all the more lovely by a beautifully controlled crescendo on the final line.

A final Rossini set finally introduced some coloratura. “Canzonetta spagnuola,” however, calls for rapid-fire singing in the lower register, which with Bartoli reminds me of machine-gun fire. It’s impressive, but not lovely. Her coloratura in the higher register, however, seems smoother and less percussive. The first half ended with “La danza,” an irresistible full-on tarantella, fast singing without coloratura.

Around this point, it became apparent to me that pianist Sergio Ciomei, known as a baroque specialist, was dedicating himself almost entirely to supporting and accompanying Bartoli rather than contributing anything of his own to the mix. He favored a delicate touch, which matched her penchant for delicate sounds, but his paying lacked sparkle.

No matter, there was plenty of that from Bartoli, who opened the second half with a four Donizetti songs, more lovely legato until the final one, “Me voglio fa ‘na casa,” with its playful tra-la-la’s. Bartoli clearly was enjoying herself, with gestures and inflections natural only to a native Italian speaker, and a sense of humor. After demonstrating formidable breath control, that big breath in the middle of the ever-faster tra-la’s had to be for comic effect. It worked.

A set of French songs from Rossini was a lesson in pure bel canto singing, including one song, “La grand coquette,” which demonstrated just how to control staccato. Two lovely songs by Pauline Viardot-Garcia and a Spanish song by Manuel Garcia led into the comic finale, a lively “Rataplan” by Malibran herself, complete with long-rolling r’s to imitate the ruffles of the snare drum. Needless to say, it brought down the house.

A generous series of encores included two Neapolitan songs, “Ti voglio tanto bene” and “Non ti scordar di me,” and the Seguidilla from Bizet’s Carmen, which she sang with her hands behind her back (the character is restrained by a rope in the scene). It couldn’t have been more seductive, and despite the gestures, without an ounce of hamminess. Just good fun.

Harvey Steiman

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Harvey Steiman


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