This long, fascinating, highly ambitious recital, nothing less than a conspectus of Verdi’s soprano-tenor duets, is executed with distinction on all sides, but I wonder why the pieces haven’t been assembled chronologically? Gheorghiu deserves particular plaudits. It seems that nothing in Verdi (and indeed in much else) is beyond her capabilities. Her singing here, especially as Gilda, Aida and Desdemona, is so exquisite, the tone so warm and limpid, the phrasing so shapely as surely to melt any heart. I cite in evidence Gilda’s touching exchanges with Giovanna, herself sung by the upcoming mezzo, Sara Mingardo (also heard as a grieving Amneris), the whole of Aida’s solo beginning “Presago il core”, with the soprano’s warm lower register coming into play, and that ultimate test, Desdemona’s poised “Amen”. Throughout, musically and interpretatively, she cannot be faulted, not even in the exchanges near the end of Don Carlo, something that I know she learnt on the spot at Abbado’s insistence yet delivers as if she had had the role in her repertory for an age.
Neither she nor her husband is backward in coming forward with less hackneyed pieces, those from the early operas – try the section starting “Ma un’iri di pace” in the Masnadieri duet, the two voices in ideal blend, phrases and tone sweetly shaded with the following cabaletta all light eagerness on both sides. Then there’s plangent singing on both sides in the sad little piece from Vespri, though it’s a pity they did not attempt this in the original French. Here and throughout Alagna is his customary self, assured (a few over-pressed high notes, some unwritten, apart), impassioned, thoughtful and accurate in his phraseology, nowhere more so than in the parts he is unlikely as yet to take on stage – Radames and Otello. Indeed the duet from Verdi’s penultimate opera is what I would suggest you hear first: sung by two lyric voices it sounds that much more touching and romantic. Even more important in so many passages, Alagna finds the right mezzo-piano, where heavier tenors have to sing forte, notably in the closing phrases where Otello wafts his love of Desdemona on to the night air – a moment of sheer magic.
We mustn’t forget the contribution of conductor and orchestra, both at their peak of achievement, or the production staff, who at last catch these voices in their full glory, to the success of this desirable issue, possibly the best the pair has yet made.'