I won’t attempt comparisons; they really don’t pay anymore when it comes to Anna Netrebko. And so no mention of Callas in the Wally, Chenier, or Gioconda arias; Olivero in the Adriana or Mefistofele; Scotto in “Un bel di”.
The color of Netrebko’s voice has become more beautiful as its hue has darkened. It has retained its golden top—all the stronger and better for stopping at C rather than pushing unsuccessfully upward, and the middle is a dark velvet purple. The most remarkable singing here is from Manon Lescaut: a very good “In quelle trine morbide”, but an amazing fourth act, performed complete with her current husband, tenor Yusef Eyvazov, contributing a right-on, bright-toned Des Grieux. (In fact, the sheen of his voice makes you wonder if both his and her tone have been given a “doctored” glow by the engineers, but we have what we have, so why ask?) As the dying, regretful Manon, she realizes tragedy—an angry regret, an epic self-pity, a word-for-word reading that is brilliantly thought through while keeping an aura of spontaneity.
Earlier in the recital is a wonderfully inward “Io son l’umile ancella” from Adriana, with few histrionics—the emphasis is properly on the “umile”. “La mamma morta” starts in a trance and moves through the vision of the burning home, to a pitiful acknowledgment of the harm she’s done, and then to the divine, without ever really plunging into chest voice. And the aria is hot enough without it. Butterfly’s aria is gorgeously sung but with only generalized characterization. A young girl, a Geisha—how would we know? Nedda’s aria from Pagliacci is lovely—full of youthful spirit and with two almost really good trills.
Netrebko interestingly does not begin Wally’s “Ebben? Ne andro lontano” in a state of desperation and misery, but rather in a dreamy state of nostalgia that builds to the aria’s breathtaking bleakness on a rock solid B-natural. It lacks some weight, but few could deny its artfulness. “L’altra notte” features a mediocre trill or two but grand atmosphere, and it’s here that we realize that she substitutes a quiet bottom to the voice when others dip into chest, except for the aria’s very last word. Perhaps not as exciting, but effective and vocally wise.
There are also a few pitch issues in “L’altra notte” and more in “Suicidio”, and again, as good as the latter is, it lacks heft. “Vissi d’arte” makes one bathe in Netrebko’s exquisite legato, but the performance doesn’t linger. Liu’s “Signore, ascolta” is simply ravishing in its simplicity. All ears will, however, land on Turandot’s “In questa reggia”, a direction not normally taken by sopranos who made their names as Adina, Norina, and Lucia. But it’s a fabulous reading—strong, filled with color and ferocity, with the soprano’s wonderful mid-range exploited to the nth degree and the top notes blazing. She’s joined by Yusef Eyvazov, who sings with great strength and a most credible, easy high C.
Antonio Pappano, et al, are very much a part of the CD’s appeal—flickering flames in “La mamma morta”, creepy low strings at the start of the Mefistofele aria, the snow-drifting ending to Wally’s aria all fine details. As I said, no comparisons; but on its own it’s pretty remarkable, occasional blemish or drive-by performance and all.