Delibes: Laké

by David J. Baker

Dessay, Haidan, Antoine; Kunde, van Dam, Leguérinel, Burles; Choeur et Orchestre du Capitole de Toulouse, Plasson.
Text & translations. EMI 5 56569 (2)

Léo Delibes' Lakmé, which had its premiere a few months after Wagner's death, is resolutely un-Wagnerian, conventional, downright modest. Delibes came to opera in the shadow of Bizet and by way of operetta. He seems unable to shake the influence of the lighter genre in the rigorously tripartite mold he imposes on individual numbers and also on entire scenes -- theme, alternate theme, reprise of first theme -- with very little symphonic variation. But listen to the final scene of Lakmé, and you'll be reminded of another influence. The droning of an offstage chorus (minor-key non-Christians) supports a gentle, fading farewell duet by soprano and tenor, a suggestion that Delibes had paid considerable attention to the tomb scene of Verdi's Aida.

Lakmé boasts quite a few Verdian virtues: the dynamic of two conflicting worlds, a terse, forward-moving plot, strong melody and vivid characters. The father-daughter relationship provides dramatic tension plus some shadowy undertones (particularly his apologetic, embarrassed hint that the stranger might just be... in love with her). Anyone calling the work a vehicle for coloratura soprano should be reminded of the rich vocal and dramatic challenges thrown at the two other principals, plus a series of minor characters both British and Indian. Casting Lakmé, right down the line, is no mean feat.

This new version is a little shallow in this respect, but it gets the title role right, with a vengeance. Natalie Dessay's brilliance uncovers a range of opportunities for textual and dramatic expression that suggest she is as much a singing actress as a great technician. She drains her voice of color to suggest fright or desolation, swells it to thrilling effect for passionate utterance, lingers over a turn or trill for exotic emphasis. Above all, she offers a progressive portrait of a sheltered girl awakening to romance and learning renunciation and sacrifice.

Her pyrotechnics are expressive as well as exciting, with niceties like a messa di voce on "l'espérance" in the first scene (ignored by Mady Mesplé on the 1970 EMI version), firm trills and many a floated pianissimo. With as many tricks as this, they can't all be beautiful, and there is sometimes a creaky pinched tone or a coarse thickening in the middle register. Mesplé is more uniformly pretty (and a little faster in the Bell Song), a girl-next-door Lakmé who takes innocence almost beyond naïveté. Dessay keeps her character "foreign," shy and reluctant but fabulously sensitive -- so there's a nicely shaded gradation in the way her timbre warms during the Act I love duet.

The taxing lyric tenor role of Gérald puts an audible strain on Gregory Kunde, but he shapes his lines warmly and responds to the text. José van Dam is eloquently devout and paternal as Nilakantha. Neither singer has the full vocal bloom of their counterparts on the earlier EMI set -- a youthful-sounding Roger Soyer and the warm, romantic tenor of Charles Burles (still effective in the character role of Hadji on this version). Casting of the minor parts in the present edition is bush-league (or French provincial) in calibre, particularly the shaky Frédéric of Franck Leguérinel.

Luckily, the choral and orchestral forces of the Capitole in Toulouse show no such limitations. The musicians back the three principals in giving life to conductor Michel Plasson's strong, vivid, imaginative sense of the drama and color in this minor classic. The rich, multidimensional recorded sound serves the performers admirably.