BelCanto Magazine, Issue no. 3

Believe it or not, this was José van Dam's London recital debut. After establishing a formidable reputation as one of the leading bass-baritone's of his generation, he arrived in London to entertain us with his carefully rounded, illustrious voice.

Since donning the rugged humor of Leporello in Don Giovanni over at Covent Garden with the likes of Roberto Alagna this week, he was then greeted with a flattering turn out at the Wigmore Hall. People enthusiastically piled in at the back of the hall to stand and glimpse at the possibility of vocal history in the making.

Curiously, van Dam has the presence of a warrior yet the voice of a lost soul. He exuded self assurance but one felt that this was something of a requisite performance, with few signs of reaching above and beyond a few carefully chosen dynamics.

The choice of repertoire seemed awkwardly split between a very sombre melancholic first half hour and an outlandishly rowdy finale. For someone looking for a journey though the gently changing landscape of the song cycle, it was more like flying from Russia to Spain. The audience still lapped it up with eager devotion.

Although the introductory "Wohl denk ich oft (Often of my past life)" served only as a warm up, the following "Alles endet, was entstehen (All ends that has beginnings)" received a wonderful interpretation, tilting the phrases with a style distinctly special to the renowned baritone.

There were moments that held the echoes of dark personal experience, the poignant truth of "Du sprichst, daß ich mich tauschte (You tell me I was mistaken)," telling of the last embers of a dying relationship. Then came the gentle yearning of Duparc's Soupir, bringing many a sigh to a wistful audience winding down after work in the city. The youthful exuberance of "Wie bist du, meine Königin (My queen, you are so wondrous)", ended the first half of the evening with the most exquisitely delicate vocal charm.

It was not the big voice that I had assumed would match the aurora of his personality and often the energy and tempo felt too sluggish. The 'Naughty Songs' by Poulenc were thoroughly amusing but not convincingly appropriate when tuned in to Brahms, Wolf and Duparc. Indeed, van Dam pulled off the cocky lyrics with the expertise of a true actor and this is where all his dramatic use of expression really comes into play. Your enjoyment of these songs are really dependent on the colour of your sense of humour and definitely not emotional intellect.

Rounding off with his great Leporello aria, sung with a forcibly violent spirit, it was a final chance to hear him display the velocity that had, until then, been carefully and I hasten to add, somewhat too carefully coveted.

I recommend buying his CD of French songs out on EMI (Mélodies Francaises). If you can, find the opportunity to watch him in action at his most natural -- on the operatic stage, with full hearty voice and stylishly enigmatic persona.