Cheryl Studer Scores as Semiramide

“Semiramide,” completed in 1823 and the 35th of his 40 operas, is the kind of Rossini modern listeners have found difficult to swallow, employing as it does many of the dated conventions of opera seria . Given singers capable of leaping its punishing vocal hurdles, the plot can, however, be at least involving. The new, complete Deutsche Grammophon recording (437 797, 3 CDs) solves the vocal problems with stunning success.

The previous, heavily cut recording (“Hemisemiramide”?) on the London label, was a showcase for the vocal acrobatics of Joan Sutherland, as the impossibly conflicted titular queen of Babylon, and Marilyn Horne as Arsace, high-spirited commander of Semiramide’s army, her intended (at one point) but in fact (gulp!), her son ! London’s other singers simply couldn’t hack it.

Ultimately, the plot is incidental to a score that is inventive even by Rossini’s loftiest standards, and perhaps his most original and futuristic in its handling of the orchestra. The writing throughout--vocal and instrumental--is filled with quirky rhythms, striking harmonies and unexpected modulations. There’s a surprise around every corner, and grand tunes galore.

The four leading roles, and indeed the four smaller ones, are devilishly difficult to fill, but DG has turned the trick.

Cheryl Studer, in the title role, scores yet again, knifing through the coloratura with fierce determination while projecting more character than one might think possible.

As the heroic, potentially Oedipal Arsace, mezzo Jennifer Larmore is likewise agile, involved and convincing, while tenor Frank Lopardo is a plucky marvel: One has to be won over by a singer whose voice is so effortfully emitted and inappropriately dark, yet who by sheer force of will is able to negotiate the high-lying convolutions of Idreno, a sort of coloratura Calaf.

Samuel Ramey is the dastard of the piece, the treacherous, lecherous, murderous Assur. If Ramey were to act, the role could turn laugh-provoking. Happily, he just stands and delivers, letting the voluminous, dark-chocolate tones roll forth.

All four principals are, incidentally, Americans.

Ion Marin’s brisk conducting of the splendidly alert London Symphony shows more force than finesse. Still, it’s serviceable work, sufficiently accommodating of the singers and never obscuring the opera’s glories.

The early (1813) one-act farce “Il Signor Bruschino” is, aside from its familiar overture, a rarity, and a delectable one under the right circumstances.

Unfortunately, Deutsche Grammophon has built its production (435 865), pushily conducted by Marin, around Kathleen Battle, who sings with her patented vocal purity, which is hardly to be despised, while repeating her well-worn impersonation of the arch Kathleen Battle, which is. Ramey does little with the comic possibilities of the part of the mock-philosophical tutor and Lopardo is again present, providing heft where quicksilver is called for.

Enter the veteran Claudio Desderi (Los Angeles Music Center Opera’s designated Don Pasquale next season) in the title role to show us how Rossinian comedy should be played: nimbly, zestfully, with maximum regard for the spoken and sung word. Too bad his present colleagues weren’t listening.

The even rarer “L’occasione fa il ladro” (Opportunity Makes the Thief), a longer one-acter than “Bruschino,” its immediate successor, is a Gallic-style, mistaken identity- cum- lechery farce, replete with exchanged valises and “who, me?” double takes, propelled by a score that is an irresistible mix of effervescence and long-spun lyricism.

What would seem to be the score’s first commercial recording arrives courtesy of the 1987 Pesaro Festival, and it’s a sparkling success (Fonit Cetra 2001, 2 CDs) in the hands of Salvatore Accardo, one of our brainiest violinists, who here gracefully swaps bow for baton, leading the willing young members of the Orchestra Giovanile Italiana.

His cast is exceptionally strong, individually and in the numerous hectic ensembles, including Raul Gimenez, his tenor never more honeyed and a vocal actor of great charm; Desderi again, as the most lovable of the opera’s several dolts; soprano Luciana Serra, in most seductive vocal fettle, and American baritone (since turned tenor) J. Patrick Raftery, who handles the Rossinian patter-and-fluster with Italianate deftness.*