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- The Guardian, Friday 10 November 2006
Anna Netrebko and Renée Fleming recorded their latest albums in close proximity at the Mariinsky theatre in St Petersburg last year. In each case, the conductor is Valery Gergiev, whose presence signifies an uncommon seriousness of purpose beneath a format primarily associated with vocal display. Both programmes combine the familiar with the little known. Netrebko examines the Russian repertoire from Glinka to Prokofiev, including snippets from her key role - Natasha in War and Peace - along with songs and arias by Rachmaninov, Rimsky-Korsakov and Tchaikovsky, including her first forays into Eugene Onegin, an opera she has yet to tackle complete. Fleming, meanwhile, pays homage to the great singing-actresses of the first half of the 20th century, performing music associated with such famously charismatic figures as Maria Jeritza, Mary Garden, Geraldine Farrar and Magda Olivero.
In each case, the intentions are fine, though Netrebko's album turns out to be a dud. One problem is that her much-vaunted theatrical magnetism simply doesn't transfer to disc - a criticism, incidentally, frequently made of the divas to whom Fleming ceaselessly refers. The other principal drawback is that the content is samey. Too many of the numbers are slow, and Gergiev compounds the flaw by dawdling. Nearly all of them need to be sung softly: one takes away the impression that Netrebko's principal talent lies in sustaining pianissimo high notes, and yet we know her to be capable of more than that. There's next to no characterisation, with distraught Marfa in Rimsky's The Tsar's Bride sounding very much like virginal Iolanta in Tchaikovsky's eponymous opera. Above all, the soft-focus feel of much of it steers the whole thing perilously close to the operatic equivalent of easy listening.
Fleming's album, on the other hand, is the finest thing she has done on disc. Yes, we are occasionally aware of the slightly self-conscious nature of her artistry, but the combination of vocal beauty and technical dexterity deployed over an immense stylistic range is breathtakingly compelling. Flimsy coloratura waltzes by Gounod are placed alongside the ecstatic, mysticoerotic outpourings of Korngold's Das Wunder der Heliane. The anguish of Janacek's Jenufa is juxtaposed with the near-pornographic indecency of a chunk of Massenet's Cléopâtre. Gergiev, meanwhile, seems incredibly happy exploring music beyond his core repertoire. It's a knockout disc, one of the greatest recitals of recent years.
