How can a critic fully convey the scope of Cecilia Bartoli’s magnificent artistry without running out of superlatives? In her Cal Performances recital on Sunday afternoon, titled “Maria Malibran’s Salon Romantique,” which ran the gamut from intimate salon songs by Rossini, Donizetti, and Bellini to encores written long after the renowned Malibran’s death, the great Bartoli proved herself at least the equal of any singer who has recorded her chosen repertoire.
Most startling were the two encores of Neapolitan songs by Ernesto De Curtis. Is it possible that Bartoli actually surpassed renditions by Di Stefano, Pavarotti, Gigli, and other tenor exponents of this repertoire? Certainly, with a voice most suited to smaller Baroque theaters and venues like Hertz Hall on the UC Berkeley campus, she had neither the volume nor the sheer gut-wrenching visceral impact that operatic tenors bring to climaxes. But in Ti voglio tanto bene (I want you very much) and Non ti scordar di me (Don’t forget me), she produced singing so nuanced, so limpid, and so heartfelt that it was difficult to hold back tears. If Bartoli were ever to record an entire CD of Neapolitan song, every tenor of old from Caruso to Corelli would sit up in their graves at the sound of the mezzo from Rome who, by singing softer rather than louder, made high art of these gems.
Bel Canto Mastery
Dressed in a fabulous bell-shaped blue and rhinestone dress that elicited cheers, Bartoli (named today as first recipient of the Cal Performances Award of Distinction for the Performing Arts) began with Rossini’s La regata veneziana (The Venetian regatta). The three-song minidrama, which she first presented in Hertz Hall in 1991, is the perfect vehicle for her animated, larger-than-life delivery. Little vocal figures and short coloratura turns were dispensed with utmost ease, as Bartoli made a critic imagine that she was standing on the bank of a Venetian canal, urging on her beloved Momolo to victory.
In interviews conducted at the time she released Maria, her recital of repertoire associated with the great mezzo coloratura Maria Malibran (1808-1836), Bartoli expounded on her belief that the true art of bel canto (”fine singing”) lies in the mastery of minute shadings of tone color and volume. Both were in ample display in her performance of seven songs by Bellini. It is doubtful that any artist, male or female, ever drew so much feeling from L’abbandono (Abandonment), exhibited such an impeccable legato in Il fervido desiderio (The fervent desire), or sang so inwardly in Vaga luna (Lovely moon). Certainly not Tebaldi or Scotto. To the beginning of Dolente immagine di Fille mia (Sorrowful likeness of my Phyllis) Bartoli brought a heartbreaking fragility rarely heard in this repertoire.
How often do we see or hear a singer so in love with the lilt of a song as Bartoli was with Rossini’s Or che di fiori adorno (Now adorned with flowers)? Who else could perform that composer’s Canzonetta spagnola (Little Spanish song) with such subtlety, throw off so many extra trills in his often-heard La danza (The dance), so impeccably present the echo effects in L’orpheline du Tyrol (The Tyrolean orphan girl), or create such an animated presence in Donizetti’s Me voglio fá’na casa (I want to build a house)? It was impossible not to love her.
Throughout the recital, pianist Sergio Ciomei provided equally nuanced accompaniment. A prizewinning pianist, fortepianist, and harpsichordist who performs with Il Giardino Armonico, Europa Galante, La Scintilla, and other early music ensembles, Ciomei knows how to pull back to let Bartoli shine, then come to the fore in meltingly sweet interludes. While Bartoli has recorded with a host of big-name pianists, to my ears Ciomei is the most sensitive, most supportive of the bunch.
Encore Revelations
In the second half, dressed in a striking red version of the same dress, Bartoli continued in prime form. When she indulged in four selections by the Garcia clan, consisting of Maria Malibran, her sister Pauline Viardot, and their famed baritone father Manuel Garcia, the danger of overdoing the cutesy factor was balanced by amazingly high trills, clapping, and enough rolled letter r’s to propel a bowling team to victory.
The icing on the proverbial cake, besides the dress itself, was the encores. In addition to the two aforementioned Neapolitan miracles, Bartoli performed the Seguidilla from Bizet’s Carmen (which premiered 39 years after Malibran’s death) and Montsalvatge’s “Canto Negro” from his Cinco canciones negras of 1946.
Given her lack of volume, it is doubtful that Bartoli could ever pull off a complete performance of Carmen unless it was staged in a small house with smaller-voiced costars. But in recital, she presented the most insinuating, seductive Carmen whom Don José might ever have had the misfortune to meet. And where the great Victoria de los Angeles was sweet and charming in the Montsalvatge, Bartoli was earthy and vital.
It was an amazing afternoon, perfectly pitched to an adoring crowd.