Features

Cecilia Bartoli’s first concert in Berkeley in 1991 was to a half-empty Hertz Hall. Since then she has rocketed to superstardom (commanding fees of $60,000 to $80,000) and is second only to Pavarotti as a successful classical recording artist. Her Vivaldi recording sold over 500,000 CDs—a phenomenal number for a classical disc of unfamiliar music. In the rock world that would be equivalent to a triple platinum album. Her Gluck Aria album was a comparable worldwide bestseller.  

Bartoli returns to Berkeley this month to perform three recitals on the West Coast, in Los Angeles on Feb. 8, La Jolla on Feb. 11 and here in Berkeley at the Zellerbach Auditorium on Feb. 15. After that she will go to Chicago, Ann Arbor, Washington D.C., Carnegie Hall, and Boston, appearing in concerts featuring the music of Salieri from her newest hit recording.  

That means eight concerts in the month of February alone, with lots of grueling winter travel between them. She has been singing approximately 30 concerts and two operas a year. Her appearances are sell-outs, and two biographies have already been written about her. 

What makes Cecilia run? Money? Hype? Devotion to music? Depending on which connoisseur you talk to, the answers will vary wildly. But it is far more likely that she is compelled to perform by her inner artistry. One has only to watch her sing to realize that some divine necessity is urging her on. The audience has the distinct sense of eavesdropping on a kind of private musical ecstasy. She exudes urgency and rapture. She enters the stage seemingly bursting with the joyous anticipation of making great music for both herself and her audience.  

Bartoli is responsible for bringing a Mediterranean flavor back to the Italian vocal music of the 18th century. Her lush, many-hued, vibrato-filled tones contrast sharply with the straight-toned and effete singing style of the English Baroque School that has recently come to dominate this repertoire. She showers forth confetti-streams of coloratura, blazes through octave leaps and produces from the barest vocal attack, a spellbinding messa di voce that ranges from deep quietude to intense forte. By this invigorated approach she has elevated The Italian Anthology of Song from a rote musical primer to scintillating music fare. Upon hearing her imaginative renditions of these basic songs, which generations of voice students have used as rudimentary exercises, one finds her re-fashioning of them a revelation. Not content to stay with familiar repertoire, she has searched out forgotten manuscripts and has revived interest in Gluck and Vivaldi, and, more recently, rescued the much-maligned Salieri from undeserved oblivion.  

She has even sung Mozart! For many decades most Italian school singers (including Callas) have shied away from Mozart because of the affected style of singing that had become de rigueur. That particular tone quality is disembodied and ethereal, accentuating the use of falsetto to suggest a sort of prepubescent innocence. Italian vocalists generally prefer a more sensuous and complete vocal sonority. Consequently, in Italy Mozart operas have become the domain of artists from northern Europe and America. But Bartoli’s more full-bodied approach has opened new realms of interpretive possibilities. She even dared to make her Met debut in the comic role of Despina in Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte: a very non-diva choice for an Italian superstar.  

Bartoli’s career is built on an esoteric repertoire: 18th century music and a handful of operas of that period. The voice is not operatic: It is smallish, and easily swallowed in the larger venues (like the Met and San Francisco), especially when accompanied by a full orchestra. Hence her repertoire is essentially limited to Rossini and his predecessors.  

One of Bartoli’s most impressive skills is her immaculate articulation of fast passages, which she achieves by rapid-fire separate attacks on each note. This ancient Bel Canto technique can be heard, for example, perhaps to an exaggerated degree, in the recordings of singers like Lily Pons. This vocal method, though failing to provide great volume, gives the singer the ability to sing large clusters of notes at roller coaster speed. This Bartoli does with unabashed derring-do. 

The machine behind the phenomenon known as Cecilia Bartoli consist of her mother, who is her sole voice teacher; her backers, producers, and advertisers from Decca records; her master-mind manager Jack Mastroianni; her boyfriend and collaborating musicologist, Claudio Osele; and her high-powered New York publicist. Thanks to Robert Cole, director of Cal Performances, who took a chance on an unknown in 1991, Bartoli returns often to Berkeley. Those fortunate enough to have tickets to the sold-out performance on the Feb. 15 will hear a trail-blazing singer at the pinnacle of her fame.  

Olivia Stapp is an opera singer and stage director who has had a long international career.