Music and Dance Reviews : Spendarian State Opera at the Wiltern Theatre

If only they’d known, local voice fanciers would have flocked to the Wiltern Theatre Friday.

As it was, the moments of bona fide Verdian splendor bestowed by the visiting Spendarian State Opera were heard by a sparse but discerning, predominantly Armenian, audience.

Why? No smart publicity campaign cut through the company’s identity confusion. Its calling cards from last week, unfamiliar works by national composers, gave little indication of what to expect in a program of excerpts. The last thing we remember from this earthquake-ravaged Soviet republic is its November tragedy, not high marks on the international opera circuit.

Yet there they were, mixed in with songs of swelling patriotic fervor and sadness: arias from the beloved Italian repertory. And no apologies were needed, save for the obligatory performance by 76-year-old Gohar Gasparian (listed as “Diva”); musicians and audience paid her much hand-kissing tribute.

The agenda was presented in straightforward terms. One at a time the seven singers--all of them poised and most of them attractive--marched on stage for their solos with orchestra, conducted by Hakob Ter-Voskanian and Levon Shabanian. Despite the program’s odd assortment, it did not defy coherence. Varlaam’s Song (“Boris Godunov”), for instance, sung rousingly by basso Valery Haroutiunian, blended with the traditional Armenian entries.

But gradually the accent changed and sparks flew. Emma Papikian held nothing back from Violetta’s aria (“Traviata”). With her somewhat reedy but brilliant soprano, she managed both the introspective drama of “Ah! fors’ e lui” and the coloratura glitter of “Sempre libera”--although pitch problems cut into her ultimate impact.

Earlier, soprano Arax Mansourian made a stirring lament of Amelia’s aria (“Ballo in Maschera”), her full-bodied voice vibrato-rich, and tenor Gegham Grigorian, as Rodolfo (“Luisa Miller”), sang with such fine Italianate propulsion and ringing tone that one could imagine the Met eating its heart out. He capitalized on the same idiomatic cry and urgency for Turiddu’s aria (“Cavalleria Rusticana”), justifiably bringing the house down.

Nor was Hasmik Papian anything but a dewy-voiced Semiramide, negotiating Rossini’s florid line with accuracy and stylishness. Meanwhile, Barsegh Toumanian, in King Philip’s great soliloquy, poured out his grief in a startlingly vibrant basso cantante. Bring these people back.