As in its recent 'spotting' of the tenor Ramon Vargas (11/99 - though such well-established merits were obvious enough), RCA has done well in giving this fine mezzo a chance to show her qualities in a recital disc. Denyce Graves's success on stage has previously outrun her achievements on record, her most rewarding role to date being Gertrude in Thomas's Hamlet (EMI, 1/94). That was in 1993, since when the voice appears to have filled out, gaining depth and volume; a slight broadening of the vibrations under pressure perhaps gives warning against a too rapid extension (into the big Verdi roles, for example), but as (say) a Dalila-voice it falls most gratefully on the ear, a luxuriant voice, powerful without hardness, extensive in range at top and bottom and remarkably even in production throughout.
On this present showing, however, there is a missing element which has to be identified as vitality of imagination. Perhaps a different conductor might help to stimulate it, for the speeds and style in the otherwise admirable orchestral work are too relaxed, almost sleepy. The singer is not good with words - hardly anything springs to life with the immediacy of real, present development. Carmen sings her Habanera as though she usually sings it at this time of day anyway and everybody knows the message ('prends garde a toi') already. Werther's Charlotte cries out that she will abandon habitual restraints and let the tears flow; but of course she doesn't, and they are not even a latent presence in the voice. Even in English, she seems not to have the art of making her words live: in Erika's solo from Vanessa, for instance, the singer in the 1958 recording (RCA, 7/90), Rosalind Elias, enunciates with greater clarity and more meaning.
The most successful performances are those in which the music cultivates a relatively placid melodic line, as in the blind woman's song from La Gioconda. The more dramatic force of the aria from Adriana Lecouvreur shows how effective the sumptuous tones can be. But best are the excerpts from Samson et Dalila, where beauty of tone and production provide a rich feast in themselves.'