There are a couple things you need to know about the Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen, whose sensational reputation precedes her.
First, at 6-foot-2, she’s very tall. She also has an enormous voice, which rocketed her to fame after winning the coveted Operalia competition a decade ago.
Yet those bald facts are only a small part of the Lise Davidsen story. The recital that she and the masterly Scottish pianist Malcolm Martineau gave on Tuesday, Feb. 4, at Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall — her Bay Area debut, presented by Cal Performances — showed just how much more there is to her.
Davidsen noted that this was the first complete performance she and Martineau had given together. But the audience couldn’t tell; she’s a complete pro, and he is among the best collaborative pianists in the world, a player of great intelligence and sensitivity. They sounded as though they’d been performing together for years.
There’s no denying the sheer elemental pleasure of a dramatic soprano in full cry, and of course, Davidsen can provide that. I’m sure that some impresario somewhere is trying to sign her up right now to sing the title role of Puccini’s Turandot, a part that requires a ridiculous amount of sheer volume. But it’s not every dramatic soprano who can effortlessly scale her voice down from a thunderclap to a whisper, touching every dynamic level in between, all the while maintaining a superb legato and hitting every pitch with pinpoint accuracy.
Davidsen can color her voice almost endlessly, shading it from dark to light at will, and throughout Tuesday’s program, she showed just how she does it.
In the aria “Thy hand, Belinda … When I am laid in earth” (also known as “Dido’s Lament”) from Henry Purcell’s opera Dido and Aeneas, Davidsen’s voice took on an instrumental quality, possessing a clear, even tone and little to no vibrato.
She made Schubert’s song “Du bist die Ruh” (You are rest) into a lesson in gradations of softness, floating delicate high phrases without pressure but with such projection that her voice still filled the hall. In the same composer’s “Der Zwerg” (The dwarf), which tells of a dwarf who murders a queen who abandoned him (and which bears some dramatic and musical resemblance to one of Schubert’s most famous songs, “Erlkönig”), Davidsen sang with terrifying drama and force.
Her voice is weighted toward the high end, growing stronger as it rises through her range but with some loss of color. Her middle and low registers are somewhat smaller; nevertheless, the richer, warmer colors there more than compensate.
If this sounds to you like a voice built for Richard Strauss’s soprano roles, you’re right. At Cal, Davidsen sang “Es gibt ein Reich” (There is a kingdom) from the German composer’s Ariadne auf Naxos, the aria in which Ariadne contemplates the realm of the dead. The soprano had such an awestruck, beautiful sound and pure line that, unexpectedly, I cried all the way through.
Davidsen sings a broad operatic repertory, and where her voice might lack some of the warmth and vibrancy associated with Italian opera, her sterling technique carries the day. She gave a majestic performance of “Tu che le vanità” (You who knew the vanity), the demanding climactic aria from Verdi’s Don Carlo, fully expressing Elisabetta di Valois’s pride, desperation, and nostalgia.
Then, of course, there was Wagner. Davidsen has sung several Wagner roles and is set to undertake both Isolde and Brünnhilde at New York’s Metropolitan Opera in the next few years. Here, she sang tender accounts of “Der Engel” (The angel) and “Träume” (Dreams) from Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder, and her sole encore was a gripping account of “Schmerzen” (Pains) from the same song cycle.
The concert closed with what Davidsen told us was her first public performance of “Mild und leise” (Mild and quiet), Isolde’s closing aria from Tristan and Isolde. It was at this point Martineau worked a special kind of magic. I could have sworn there were cellos onstage during his introductory phrases, and he drew a truly orchestral sound from the piano. Meanwhile, Davidsen sailed through the aria, building to a tremendous climax and then easing off to lightly touch the final phrase.
And that funny sound heard emanating from Zellerbach after the applause finally faded away? That was the entire audience checking the dates for next season’s production of Tristan at the Met.
This story was first published in Datebook in partnership with the San Francisco Chronicle.
