This was recorded at three live performances in Chicago in April 2011, and for the second half at least, it has the marvelous frisson of a live show, despite the fact that it was not staged. This is not to denigrate the first half; it is more to point out the fire in the second. A DVD appeared a few years ago of this opera from Salzburg under Muti (see my review here) with the same tenor, then just 33 years old; he was vocally excellent but dramatically wanting; he is superb now.
Muti is incapable of conducting either sloppily or without purpose; what he can occasionally be is manipulative in the name of perfection where a bit of swagger might do. That’s the case in the first act here: The opening storm is fine, but Otello’s arrival is “announced” by a slight slowdown; it’s an anticlimax. The “Fuoco di gioia” chorus is so delightfully precise that it draws attention to its own flawlessness; the ensuing ensemble, in which Iago gets Cassio drunk, is so well wrought that we can hear every word. Otello’s re-entrance and the Love Duet are similarly excellent—but there’s no sense of abandon and the latter lacks sensuality. The Iago, Carlo Guelfi, is the singing cast’s weak link—he is underpowered and lacks presence, and this weakness carries through to the second act’s “Credo”, which is not menacing. Things improve from there because both Otello and Desdemona, Aleksandrs Antonenko and Krassimira Stoyanova, respectively, are superb. Guelfi delivers a good, insinuating “dream” to the gullible Otello, and from then on we get an exciting performance.
Antonenko’s voice is not only ideal, but he has grown into an artist worthy of it: he crumbles in front of our ears. His power and tenderness in the Love Duet remain through Act 2; by Act 3 he’s falling apart and dangerous. If the Oath Duet is less than potent, his “Dio mi potevi” certainly is not. And his last act evokes both pity and terror, with the final moments on a grand scale. Bravo!
Stoyanova is no shrinking-violet Desdemona. She is confident and loving at the start, and as Otello forces her to lose her footing more and more, her refusal to understand what is going on shows great character. Her lovely sound is both warm and bright, with great sadness in the Willow Song and elegant pianissimo in the Ave Maria. Muti opts for Verdi’s 1894 revision of the third-act concertato, which gives Desdemona less to sing and makes Iago’s plotting clearer. It contains some odd, haunting harmonies—a solo violin shortly after Desdemona’s opening phrases—but the grander, earlier version seems more apt. In that scene, Eric Owens is an excellent Lodovico; Michael Spyres’ Roderigo is fine throughout, but the Cassio of Juan Francesco Gatell could use more of a profile.
If Domingo’s 1976 La Scala version, with Freni and Cappuccilli, led by Carlos Kleiber, were not readily available and inexpensive (Opera d’Oro), or the same tenor’s first studio recording (RCA, under Levine), not to mention Karajan’s recording with Mario del Monaco, this might be essential. As it is, despite the second-rate Iago and Muti’s micro-management, this remains a fascinating reading, certainly worth your attention.
