At last – a modern recording of Thais with a soprano who can sing the title-role. Heaven knows why it took so long. It is not as though a recording is as tricky as a stage production, where the casting department needs to find a singer as glamorous and daring as the role’s creator, Sybil Sanderson, who famously exposed her breast at the premiere in 1894. All we need on disc is a soprano with a fabulously beautiful voice, idiomatic French, a sensuous legato, pure high notes up to a stratospheric top D, and the ability to leave every listener weak at the knees. Where was the problem?
Renee Fleming makes it all sound so easy. Her success a couple of years ago at the Opera Bastille in Paris with Massenet’s Manon showed that she has an affinity for this composer. As Thais, a role with a similar vocal profile, she proves equally well cast. Within minutes of her entrance it is clear that neither of the other sets from the last 25 years will be able to touch her. Fleming simply has a vocal class that puts her in a different league from the unsteady Beverly Sills on Maazel’s EMI set or the outrageously voiceless Anna Moffo on the now long-forgotten set from RCA (5/75 – nla). There is just enough individuality in her singing to give Fleming’s Thais a personality of her own, and vocal loveliness brings a bloom to her every scene. When she bids farewell to Athanael with the words ‘We shall meet again in the heavenly city’, we believe her. Few other sopranos today could float up to the top A with such angelic grace.
The Athanael she leaves behind is Thomas Hampson, who is her match in sensitivity and roundness of tone. Their duet at the oasis in the desert is beautifully sung, every word clear, every phrase shaped with feeling. (Thanks to Yves Abel it does not become a wallow even in the final bars, where every conductor must be tempted to squeeze out the last drop of sentimentality.) If only Hampson were equally good at getting beneath the skin of the operatic characters he plays. In the case of Athanael there is plenty of psychological complexity down there to uncover, but Hampson seems unwilling to engage the character’s dark side. Even where Massenet loads the vocal score with helpful comments like ‘d’une voix sourde et terrible’ or ‘avec une furie soudaine’ he remains even-tempered to a fault. So much beautiful and shapely singing is almost more than this frighteningly intense role deserves.
None of the other characters in Thais is important enough to influence a choice of recording. Giuseppe Sabbatini makes an appealing Nicias without quite putting across the glamour of the playboy in the few minutes at his disposal. Marie Devellereau and Isabelle Cals duet nicely as Crobyle and Myrtale and are joined by the elegant Elisabeth Vidal effortlessly walking the vocal tightrope above them in the high-lying role of La Charmeuse. Enkelejda Shkosa, a young mezzo to watch, adds a touch of luxury casting in the small role of the abbess, Albine.
Occasionally, one regrets that Abel does not have the New Philharmonia at his disposal, as Maazel does, but the subtlety of colour and accent that he draws from the Orchestre National Bordeaux-Aquitaine are a world apart from Maazel’s constant up-front aggression. The famous ‘Meditation’, elegantly played by the young French violinist Renaud Capucon, and featuring swoony background chorus (as stated in the score) is a dream. Add in a first-class Decca recording and it will be clear that this new Thais has pretty well everything going for it. The only competition in the current catalogue is Maazel’s unlovely EMI set. So, with an affectionate glance back to Renee Doria’s Thais in Decca’s early ’60s set and Gabriel Bacquier’s Athanael for RCA, I am happy to declare that Abel and company comfortably sweep the board.'