The astonishingly gifted Natalie Dessay continues to please. Her very highest notes–Ds, E-flats, Es–have taken on an edge they previously didn’t have, but it’s not unpleasant and they’re still real notes, not squeaks or whistles. The rest of the voice remains bright and light, but she shades so efficiently, artistically, and intelligently, that it can seem warmer than it actually is. In any event, it never tires the ear as so many high coloraturas can.
Her Manon–the “Cours de la Reine” arias (including the rarely heard alternative bit “Toujours? Vous vous trompez”)–is girlish but pointed; the character may still be young (so few Manons actually sound young), but she’s sure of herself and sassy, with fiorature tossed off matter-of-factly. “Je suis Titania” is the showpiece it ought to be, still a bit empty. The same might be said about the show-stopping L’Ensoleillad, whose aria from Massenet’s Chérubin follows. Both, however, are beautifully sung.
A rarity from Boieldieu’s La Fête du village voisin is charming and tuneful; one from Offenbach’s Robinson Crusoe is simply divine, with a long-held high D-flat that turns into a trill and more, right smack in its middle. (Sutherland recorded this aria years ago to similarly dazzling effect; both sopranos make the high-flying waltz seem absolutely natural in its virtuosity.) The Countess’ first-act scene from Rossini’s Le Comte Ory is a delight, with proper opera seria manifestations and absolutely pure tone. Donizetti’s Marie is by turns pensive and outgoingly patriotic; Gounod’s Juliette sounds like a teenager about to burst into womanhood.
But the best is saved for last: Ophelie’s Mad Scene (and following death scene, rarely recorded, especially in this context) from Thomas’ Hamlet. Well-known as a grand showpiece for coloratura since recordings began, here it takes on tragic proportions, with every word and mood-swing meaningful; even the “La la la” section is so tonally varied as to speak the words Ophelie’s rattled brain cannot. Dessay leans into the “blue note”, slightly under pitch, at the start of a coloratura episode to imply a mental disconnect; it’s enormously effective. Her more-than-two-octave run up to a perfect, sustained, high-E is staggering. And the Death Scene, hushed and sad, is marvelous. So is this whole recital–accompaniments, chorus, tempos, and all. Go get it.
