Desire: Aleksandra Kurzak
Morphing Chamber Orchestra, Vienna/ Frédéric Chaslin (Sony)
The la
st operatic performance I saw before lockdown was La traviata at Covent Garden, the first time Aleksandra Kurzak sang Violetta in Richard Eyre’s celebrated London production. And, as it turns out, the only time, as the run was rudely curtailed by Covid-19 hours before curtain up on the second performance. Kurzak has been a favourite at the house for some years, an impish Susanna and spinning her sparkling coloratura as Rosina, Fiorilla, Adina and Lucia, but she’s started to dig into heavier repertoire too, as heard on her latest CD which explores a tempting gallery of new roles, entitled Desire.
Kurzak’s soprano has grown and darkened, yet it retains that diamantine brilliance in coloratura, heard here in two Verdi roles – Elvira in Ernani and Elena in I vespri siciliani – which she may well be cautious about performing in full, but whose showcase arias suit her down to the ground. “Ernani! Ernani involami” often finds bigger voices floundering in the cabaletta, but Kurzak’s soprano is nimble enough to negotiate its difficulties with ease, while the gruppetti and trills in the notoriously difficult Boléro from Vespri are most cleanly executed. The third Verdi role here, Leonora in Il trovatore, ideally requires a heavier spinto voice, but Kurzak shapes “D’amor sull’ali rosee” sensitively, and her closing phrase tails off sweetly.
Some of this repertoire is already within Kurzak’s reach. Her coy Nedda and ardent Liù have already hit the stage, as has Cio-Cio-san. Her “Un bel dì vedremo” has the same purity and colouring as the young Mirella Freni and I can think of no finer compliment than that. I don’t necessarily hear her as a natural Tosca – fingers crossed, we’ll find out next season in Paris – but her “Vissi d’arte” is simple and sincere without any vocal grandstanding.
But it’s the slavic repertoire here that really excites and catches the ear. Rusalka’s Song to the Moon is exquisitely beautiful and the Polish soprano could be a wonderful advocate for her compatriot Stanisław Moniuszko’s Halka, an opera which deserves much wider attention. Here she sings Halka’s heartbreaking cavatina where she imagines her child is dying of hunger and sings him a lullaby. Kurzak closes with the Letter Scene from Eugene Onegin, an account where you can feel young Tatyana’s heart palpitating with excitement as she puts pen to paper, where she is finely supported by Frédéric Chaslin’s conducting, which maintains impetus and a sense of yearning. I’m immersed in a big Onegin listening project during lockdown and this account makes me want to hear – and see – Kurzak take on Tatyana as soon as possible, please.