Anna Netrebko at the Teatro Real
The Teatro Real experienced one of those exceptional evenings that confirm why Anna Netrebko holds an undisputed place among the great divas of our time. The Russian soprano offered an ambitious, generous recital of extraordinary range, conceived not as a mere succession of pieces but as a journey through the different expressive territories that have defined her career.
Since her first appearance in Madrid with Prokofiev's Betrothal in a Monastery, Netrebko has been the protagonist of one of the most fascinating vocal evolutions of recent decades. Her instrument, always recognizable for the richness and sensuality of its timbre, has gained body, breadth and dramatic density without losing the ability to draw back the sound, shape half-voices and build phrases of an almost instrumental delicacy.
Far from seeming uneasy or in need of warming up, Netrebko took possession of the stage from the very first bars. Her voice appeared firm, ample and admirably projected, with that rare ability to fill the hall without ever resorting to stridency. The emission retained stability and evenness across registers, while the artist managed her instrument intelligently, without needless showmanship and always in service of the music.
One of the great moments of the night came with the final aria of Cilea's Adriana Lecouvreur. Netrebko offered an interpretation of enormous intensity, crowned by suspended, exquisitely beautiful spun tones. There was no mere virtuosity in them, but a true dramatic construction: the sound seemed to fade away at the same moment as the character. Equally admirable was Richard Strauss's Cäcilie, resolved in a single, expansive arc of phrase, sovereign breath control and a luminous exaltation, perfectly controlled.
The Russian block offered a glimpse into the singer's most intimate and personal territory. In Rachmaninoff's songs, Netrebko unfolded a phrasing full of nuance, expressive diction and an emotional depth that transcended the literal meaning of the words. Each song took on the character of a small dramatic scene. In the final scene of Rimsky-Korsakov's The Snow Maiden, she combined innocence, lyricism and building intensity to reach a conclusion of enormous evocative power.
She was also splendid in the aria from Charpentier's Louise. The sensuality of the French language found a privileged ally in her voice. Netrebko knew how to recreate the character's emotional awakening with a broad, flexible line full of intention, demonstrating that her artistic personality can assert itself across very different repertoires without blurring their respective styles.
The celebrated "Flower Duet" from Delibes's Lakmé, performed together with Elena Maximova, was one of the most delicate moments of the evening. Both artists achieved a warm, balanced blend based precisely on the contrast between their instruments: Netrebko's enveloping luminosity found a suggestive counterpoint in Maximova's darker color. The result exuded intimacy, elegance and a truly enchanting atmosphere.
In the second half, Tchaikovsky's pages confirmed Netrebko's extraordinary affinity with this repertoire. The romance The Sun Has Set reached an overwhelming depth. The soprano needed no grand gestures: the richness of her inflections, her mastery of color and a direct communication with the audience were enough to turn the piece into an emotional confession.
"Oh! quante volte" from Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi was one of the most revealing challenges. The bareness of Bellini's writing demands a technique with nowhere to hide, and Netrebko faced it with courage and authority. The line was sustained with nobility, the dynamic swells were carefully drawn, and the legato revealed not only the experience of a great singer but also her willingness to keep exploring the limits of her instrument. It was a mature, vulnerable and deeply human Giulietta.
The Csárdás from Kálmán's The Gypsy Princess and Arditi's Il bacio provided the sparkle and effervescence needed to close the program. Netrebko was relaxed, charismatic and in complete command of the stage. Far from being minor pieces, these pages revealed another essential facet of her personality: the ability to enjoy herself, play with the audience and turn virtuosity into celebration.
The program was long, yes, but that generosity should be understood as a sign of respect for the audience. Its stylistic variety allowed one to take in the many dimensions of an artist who resists being confined to a single category. Song, opera, operetta and salon pieces coexisted in a recital conceived as a grand musical portrait.
Among the encores, "Aprite, presto, aprite" from Le nozze di Figaro showed a fun, theatrical and spontaneous Netrebko. Rather than trying to reproduce the lightness of a young Susanna, the soprano turned the fragment into a delightful scenic game, enthusiastically celebrated by the hall. The farewell with Non ti scordar di me, performed by all four artists, put an emotional and intimate seal on a night of true communion with the audience.
Elena Maximova was a solid and expressive collaborator, with a dark timbre that effectively complemented Netrebko's instrument. Violinist Kurt Mitterfellner stood out for the beauty of his sound, the lyricism of his bowing and the sensitivity displayed especially in Strauss's Morgen. Pavel Nevolsin, for his part, was much more than an accompanist: he built an attentive, flexible dialogue with each performer and also shone in his solo passages thanks to refined touch and an admirable sense of color.
Anna Netrebko did not simply offer a recital: she reaffirmed her status as a singular artist. Her voice retains richness, volume and an exceptional expressive palette, but it is her magnetism, her musical intelligence and her ability to turn every page into a theatrical experience that continue to place her above any purely technical consideration. The Teatro Real did not witness an uneven night, but rather the demonstration of a singer in full command of her artistic personality: free, generous, courageous and absolutely fascinating.