When a reviewer finds himself recommending a soprano recital disc for the playing of the orchestra, something is amiss. And that’s the case here: the remarkable Rinaldo Alessandrini leads the Concerto Italiano, playing on period instruments, and brings Rossini’s orchestration to life in piece after piece. Indeed, even the who-needs-another-recording-of The Barber of Seville overture sounds newly perky. The winds are bright and shiny throughout (the flutes in the Scala di seta overture are a real delight), the strings–especially as they are attacked–leap from the speakers, and the timpani thwap deliciously. But that’s playing for playing’s sake; this is supposed to portray character.
And that’s why I’m less fond of Alessandrini’s accompaniment of Bayo. He not only takes a back seat but tends to play everything pianissimo–which of course may be a bow to Bayo’s limitations, which I find numerous. The voice is not only small (and, heaven help us, its tone color is reminiscent of Sarah Brightman’s) but overly bright. When she sings softly the brightness turns mellow, but those are our two choices and they’re not enough. All of the ingenue roles she sings here sound interchangeable, and even Amenaide in Tancredi, though singing a lachrymose aria, lacks individuality. You might argue that her Rosina in Barbiere is enchantingly knowing, but much of that is written into the music. (The addition of an aria Rossini composed for a particular soprano in an 1819 revival is most welcome, by the way.)
Bayo’s embellishments are light but never truly impressive and she slurs the occasional upward run (you get the feeling she’s a lyric soprano with youthful coloratura ability rather than a true virtuoso coloratura). I’d be nervous if these arias were performed at A=440 (Alessandrini has the orchestra tuned down a half-step, presumably in keeping with Rossini’s period) given how edgy her voice gets above an A-natural if sung louder than piano. The high Bs and Cs we get here are certainly nothing to bask in. Granted, Bayo sings off the words and exhibits a genuine affinity with the music, but she’s a lightweight in too many important ways.
In general, the whole CD is too well-mannered, reserved, and humorless. Even when his dynamics are being exquisitely observed (Alessandrini discusses them in a booklet essay; Bayo, too, gets to explain herself–too much chatter for a simple Rossini recital disc unless the performers are trying to prove something, no?) Rossini carries within his music a certain dazzle, a certain impetuousness, and it’s missing here. You leave this CD thinking “Well, that was pretty, but I can’t recall any details. Now what?” And I can’t forget about her sounding like Sarah Brightman no matter how hard I try.
