'Heir-apparent to Marilyn Horne' is the clear message here. Acceptance of it has to be justified by experience: we have still to hear Bartoli in this country (Wigmore Hall debut this month), and even then she has to stay the course. Reports from the Continent have been enthusiastic, though most of what I have read has stopped short of the rapturous. This recording debut is certainly impressive and auspicious. A rich, contralto-tinged voice extends in range over two and a half octaves. Like the City of Jerusalem in the Psalmist's time it is ''at unity with itself', not split into segments; also clear in articulation, free and flexible in movement. Very occasionally a flicker of quick Latin vibrato adds a flavour increasingly rare these days. As to expressiveness she is no Supervia (one does not find oneself smiling or frowning back), but she knows what it is about; none of the sources of modern comparison (Berganza, Horne, Baltsa and so forth) will show her up in this respect.
Where I did find myself driven back to her predecessors to make comparisons not in the new singer's favour was over the vexed question of technique and style in the runs. Bartoli is not a gross aspirater, and it could be that 'in the flesh' her scales, triplets and gruppetti seem quite sufficiently even and well-bound. As recorded, and for my own taste, there is still too much separation. It hardly matters where you listen all of the arias except the solo from the Stabat mater have plentiful examples—and it may be argued that this technique is perfectly apt, a vocal counterpart to a semi-staccato touch on a keyboard instrument. But turn to Berganza for comparisons (Decca—nla), and the Cenerentola finale is a good instance. Berganza achieves clarity at a rapid pace, and nearly always she sings legato. Nor does it have a dulling effect: on the contrary, I find it adds the zest of an additional virtuosity. To my mind, the 'separation-technique'—in favour among singers of many schools and in different repertoires—is always a second-best, and when used so habitually as this it also risks monotony.
That is virtually the only grumble. The runs are certainly very precise, and in less decorative passages there is tenderness, nobility and unaffected emotions in the singing. And the sheer richness of voice the quality that makes one think of Horne seems to be exceptional. Spirited, stylish playing under Patane, and the worthwhile employment of a chorus in excerpts where their services are often dispensed with are further assets. The acoustic is resonant but not oppressively so.'