Maria Malibran is a
name well known to those who follow
19th century operatic music.
She was the Callas of her day who, sadly,
was robbed of a career when only 27
years old. Yet in her short life she
was known the world over and became
a legend. To have become widely known
in Europe in a decade was remarkable
for any singer. She impressed wherever
she went, had an amazing range to her
voice and socialised with the leading
composers of her day. Rossini, Bellini
and Balfe are perhaps the most noted
for their association with her.
This new album from
Cecilia Bartoli has been put together
as a tribute to this legendary singer
and is unique in providing first time
recordings of arias by lesser-known
composers that include Malibran’s father,
Manuel Garcia. Halévy, Pacini
and Persiani are others that make an
interesting appearance on an album of
17 tracks, issued with an accompanying
DVD. The DVD contains four recording
sessions and an interesting interview
about Malibran where Bartoli visits
a museum, sadly not named, to handle
Malibran memorabilia. There’s also a
Decca discography and publicity photos.
Where possible, Malibran
variants of the arias are used and some
of these cover the extraordinarily-wide
Malibran register of nearly three octaves.
Some of the Bellini pieces, are scenas
that include additional singers and
chorus; others carry virtuoso instrumental
accompaniment. Consequently, there is
a good diversity of choice here. Diva
Bartoli is on brilliant form in this
recording and Adam Fischer provides
loving and sensitive handling of the
orchestra, which plays superbly.
Of the tracks, the
Cari giorni (Ines de
Castro) is utterly charming with
elegant, breezy lyrical phrases and
gently rippling harp accompaniment.
A tender and sensuous scene from Infelice
with energetic opening recitative, is
emotive with its melancholic violin
obbligato and changing tempi. Two Sonnambula
pieces radiate spontaneity and lightness
of touch. Bartoli reveals her command
of a wide register that can probably
match Malibran. The chorus sing with
enthusiasm and give purposeful support.
A catchy Rataplan, with
composer unknown from a forgotten French
vaudeville source, makes good use of
those exaggerated rolling Rs that Bartoli
unnecessarily displays in the recording
studio. In the aria, this device suitably
emphasises the accompanying side-drum.
The short Donizetti
tribute to Malibran from L’Elisir
d’Amore, Scorrete, o lagrime
(Amelia ovvero otto anni)
is one of my favourites on the disc.
Here soloist and chorus are perfectly
wedded with exacting balance. The Prendi,
per me sei libero (L'elisir d'amore)
that follows shows off Bartoli at her
best with generous fireworks of energy.
Bartoli is clearly at home with this
opera and enjoys singing these arias.
Perhaps, the least
attractive track is Garcia’s Yo que
soy contrabandista which, although
it effectively carries the Spanish idiom,
is of a different genre from the rest
of the disc.
This large format album
is lavishly presented and contains much
of interest to help us unravel Malibran’s
background. Yet in the historical section
it falls short in covering the milestones
of her life. Readers will be unaware
that for a number of years, she travelled
and promoted concerts in Italy with
the British baritone and composer, Michael
William Balfe. They worked together
playing opposite each other at the Paris
Opera. Malibran promised to appear in
a Balfe opera if he would write one
for her: this he did after returning
to England. This was to be his opera,
The Maid of Artois (1836) and was
the last opera in which Malibran sang
before her untimely death six months
after creating the role of Isoline.
This fact might have been mentioned
since the album fails fully to explain
how Malibran came to be in England at
the time of her death. The album contains
two good double-page spreads of contemporary
posters of the works in which Malibran
appeared, including one of the unexplained
The Maid of Artois. Despite much
available space, we have no portrait
of Malibran: most odd. The only one
that appears is shown fleetingly in
the DVD section that deals with Malibran
the person. The album is visually egocentric
and is filled with many pictures of
Bartoli instead. There is little to
interest the reader in the myriad of
small snapshot photos of recording sessions
and places Bartoli visited that are
used as a graphic ‘leg’ running down
each page as part of the design. The
DVD menu page uses difficult-to-read
captions that are too small for the
resolution of the TV screen.
Raymond Walker
