Lisette Oropesa, for all her wonderful coloratura ability and upward extension, is nothing like a soubrette. Her very first notes here, from Le Siège de Corinthe, are warm and pleading, the tone round and full–and utterly beautiful. As the voice rises, it doesn’t lose texture. The coloratura is close to flawless, as is her pitch. The roulades and runs are so fierce in the Rossini selections that, let’s face it, a touch of hesitation is to be expected and it is just that–a touch. And she miscalculates landing on a middling note at the end of a phrase. But it’s just that–a miscalculation not a flaw. The situation at the close of “Du séjour de la lumière” is all happiness and cascades of notes; her tone and suppleness tell us almost everything. “L’heure fatale…” and “Juste ciel” tell us the rest: fate has intervened and with it, heaviness and fine exclamatory singing.
This is very difficult music–just think of how few recital CDs have included these two scenes. The necessary legato, the sadness, the darkening of the tone, and the purposeful use of vibrato are rare indeed; there is a true musician in the house.
Mathilde’s aria from Guillaume Tell is sure-fire. For years included in the repertoire of somewhat heavier voices (think Ponselle, Caballé, and Freni) due mostly to its lower, more friendly tessitura (B-flat to B-flat), Oropesa manages it beautifully, the start of each phrase knowing full well the direction in which it’s going, the breath control natural. From the “Sombre forêt” to Le Comtesse in Le Comte Ory is a leap: coloratura pyrotechnics have returned to Rossini. It’s good to hear the scene even if Oropesa doesn’t seem to have the ironic stance for grande-dame Adele; and in addition, in the cabaletta her madcap fiorature goes somewhat awry and even a high note thins. She seems vaguely relieved to be done with it, despite a nice flight to a high E-flat at its close.
The Donizetti selections open on serious ground. Paolina’s prayer strikes me as weak Donizetti–even on Callas’ recording of Poliuto it seems somehow truncated–and misses its effect. On to Lucia di Lammermoor and the “ghost” scene; a transposition from the composer’s Rosmonda d’Inghilterra. It’s a lovely scene that tells us much about our sweet, hopeful heroine. How gorgeous this aria and its innocent cabaletta are! Acrobatic, gentle, and full of mid-phrase trills and staccato, handsomely placed.
On to excerpts from La fille du régiment that end the recital. “Il faut partir” is a sappy cavatina of sadness and regret and Oropesa sings it with long lines and pure tone but without hitting the maudlin button. Too classy for sobbing, happily. “C’en est donc fait” has always seemed too repetitively self-pitying to me, and Oropesa sounds indifferent. But the “Salut à la France” is divine: carefree, joyous, full of perfect downward scales and staccatos, and capped with a fine E-flat.
More than anything else, you come away from this recital with the realization that Oropesa and, indeed, the Dresden Philharmonic and conductor Corrado Rovaris, have fashioned a warmhearted, stylistically impeccable look at French bel canto, frequently overlooked. There’s nothing hackneyed here, and no ear fatigue listening to a high solo voice for 65 minutes. I suspect Oropesa will move comfortably into early/middle Verdi and leave the Rossini behind soon enough. But what a fine disc!
