Poster Boys

The world loves young, dashing, talented, and handsome, so the baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky and the conductor Christian Thielemann have the world by the tail. Each is a star, with his image splashed all over the place. But each is also a worthy musician, an excellent practitioner of his craft. They deserve their stardom (which is always nice). Lately, they've been strutting their stuff in New York, and we will take a moment to examine that stuff.

Hvorostovsky comes from Krasnoyarsk, Siberia (known to Cold Warriors as the site of the ABM Treaty-violating Soviet radar). His looks are not only dashing, but exotic, which does him no harm on the operatic stage. He is part of a crop of new, or newish, Russian singers who are enjoying international success. He is top dog, however, at least in the male category; he may be seen as the counterpart to Olga Borodina, the stunning, consummately good mezzo-soprano. Quite naturally, a recording company-Philips, to be specific-has gotten them together, in an album titled-plainly if not imaginatively-Olga and Dmitri.

In opera, Hvorostovsky is a fairly versatile performer, excelling not only in the Russian roles for baritone (which he practically owns), but in the Verdi roles and in those of the bel canto composers (Rossini, Donizetti). Every singer, no matter where he's from, is part Italian; in fact, he is even more specifically part Neapolitan. Hvorostovsky has just duly made a recording called Passione di Napoli (available on Delos).

Where he is most valuable, however, is as an interpreter of Russian art song. So too, he is valuable as a singer of Russian liturgical music, of which there is an abundance, largely untapped. Hvorostovsky's album Credo (Philips) is a powerful one, and somewhat unusual from an operatic superstar.

It was in his capacity as a song recitalist that New Yorkers heard him recently in Carnegie Hall. His program was all Russian; indeed, it was all Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff, who form the core of this repertory. Olga Borodina is another singer who offers such Russian evenings. Seldom has this little corner of the overall song literature had two such capable and compelling exponents. (I should add that the Polish contralto Ewa Podles is a third singer who is beautifully equipped for, and utterly convincing in, this music.)

Hvorostovsky boasts a big, rich, meaty, juicy, and adaptable instrument. Its upper notes have a gleam, in the best baritone fashion. At its best, Hvorostovsky's voice is a thing of extraordinary beauty; at its worst, it is a bit dry and "contained"-too inward, not released enough-but this is far from intolerable. Hvorostovsky pays careful attention to technique, producing an evenness of sound. His breathing is superb, his intonation reliable. There is nothing he can't manage, technically, which leaves him free to do as he likes, musically.

He is an intelligent, penetrating interpreter, treating the music with respect, endeavoring to convey what the composer-as well as the poet, in the case of these songs-had in mind. He is an ever-alert singer, not one to place himself on autopilot or cruise control (as many are prone to doing). The main qualities of these Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff songs-besides their excellence and beauty-are melancholy, regret, and despair. Here's a sample lyric: "Again, as before, I am alone, / Again I am filled with anguish." Another? "The punishing God has taken all from me: / Health, the strength of will, the very air." These are typical. After a couple of hours of this, you are ready for a bottle (or several) of vodka. Hvorostovsky performs these songs feelingly, but with no pathos or overindulgence whatsoever. He is willing to let the music and poetry speak for themselves. Additionally, he is lucky to have a superb partner-both on tours and for recordings-in the pianist Mikhail Arkadiev, who, like Hvorostovsky, is a smart, elegant, and sensitive musician.

Hvorostovsky has recorded all of these songs, but, if anything, he has grown over the years: He is better now than ever, reaching a new maturity and mastery. When he sang an unaccompanied folk song for an encore, one felt that Hvorostovsky had touched the very heart of the Russian vocal culture.

A couple of weeks later, he showed another facet of his work, appearing as Rodrigo in Verdi's Don Carlo at the Metropolitan Opera. His singing was, as usual, perfectly correct: smooth, stylish, and accomplished. Yet it lacked a little-to borrow a word from his latest album-passione, a little (to use another Italian word) slancio, meaning guts, impetuosity, a release: the quality that sometimes makes Verdi singing Verdian. His sound can be, again, a little contained, a little stifled, a tad cold. This is not a matter of nationality, as the Brooklynite Richard Tucker and a million others have proven; but it is so. Nevertheless, Hvorostovsky's professionalism and self-control are remarkable. And as an actor, he is better than opera-adequate. He always makes an audience sit up and take notice; our attention, like his, never wanders.