Before Verdi and Wagner began writing for dark, heavy voices that could cut through massive orchestras, there was bel canto opera, where the singer was king. In this ‘beautiful singing’ genre, performers needed light, flexible ‘coloratura’ voices capable of gymnastic embellishments as well as composers who could combine talent with taste. Enter Gioachino Rossini. Sure, he lifted liberally from his previous works, and produced as many fluffy forgettables as did his bel canto brethren, but his surviving works pack a powerful punch.
Take his 1817 La Cenerentola, essentially a Cinderella for grown-ups. There’s no fairy godmother, glass slipper or singing mice, the wicked stepmother has been rendered male, and his daughters are ugly only in spirit, not in physicality or their breathtaking duets. Fortunately the prince is a character man who exchanges clothes with his valet and goes bride hunting undercover. Cenerentola is beyond reproach, sneaking food to a beggar (the disguised prince’s advisor), ostentatiously forgiving her family, and rejecting the ‘prince’ (his valet in disguise) in favour of the ‘valet’ (the actual prince). Their powerful ‘Un soave non so che’ duet is so achingly tender as to recall teenage emotions, back when romance meant something.
Though popular in its day, Cenerentola remains underperformed, but is a joyful, passionate tale for perfectly blended buttercream voices. Rossini combines moments of genuine pathos and humanity with a breakneck pace requiring vocal fireworks spectacular even by bel canto standards – including the unusual coloratura contralto lead. In truth, this may be hard for the NCPA to pull off – the horn section is intimidating enough. But last month’s L’Elisir d’Amor was an adequate warm-up; the more sophisticated La Cenerentola should reap even greater rewards.