Thinking Small to Great Effect

Vladimir Chernov, the celebrated Ukrainian baritone, gave his first song recital in America Sunday afternoon. It certainly wasn’t your average garden-variety all-purpose mixed-grille song recital.

The locale, perfectly prestigious yet properly intimate, was Alice Tully Hall, the 1,100-seat jewel of Lincoln Center. The piano accompanist--make that brilliant piano accompanist--was none less than James Levine, chief conductor of the Metropolitan Opera.

The Chernov-Levine collaboration is nothing new. It began in New York five years ago and has been predicated on the great operas of Giuseppe Verdi. Therein may lie a rub.

Bona fide Verdi baritones have become a rare--possibly extinct--species these days. For reasons hard to explain, the world has found few if any successors to Lawrence Tibbett or Leonard Warren, Cornell MacNeil or Sherrill Milnes. That is, there are few if any baritones around who can cope properly with the wide range, high tessitura, long lines, dynamic flexibility and intrinsic power so often and so unreasonably demanded by Verdi.

Chernov--who, according to the program biography, began his international career “during the 1989-90 season when he appeared . . . at the Los Angeles Opera”--comes close to providing the right resources. Some opera-goers with long memories, however, fear that his voice may be just a size too small for ideal Verdian impact, especially in a house as big as the Met. The sound at his command--dark and handsome, exceptionally pliant and agreeably incisive--may be more lyric in nature than dramatic. He sometimes forces for impact in heroic outbursts, and he seldom dares to sing really softly in moments of introspection.

The Chernov on display Sunday, however, was a very different sort of artist. He ventured no arias, indulged in no bombast, avoided Verdi altogether and concentrated on miniature challenges that tested the intellect as much as the vocal cords. He seemed intent on proving that he is a probing musician--a poet, perhaps, rather than an high-decibel acrobat.

It was wonderful.

The first half of the discriminating program was devoted to the Russian repertory--rarely heard miniatures of Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Cui, Rachmaninoff and Gretchaninoff. Chernov, obviously on terra cognita, sang with engaging authority and winning compulsion, whether musing on battle, brooding on loneliness, exulting in love, recounting legends, hailing nationalism or basking in despair.

His slightly grainy tone responded sensitively to every narrative nuance. He offered masterly demonstrations of the distinctions between mezza-voce and falsetto, piano and pianissimo, diminuendo and morendo. He made every word count, even for listeners not blessed with a knowledge of the Russian language, and he proved, if proof ever were needed, that in matters of expressive communication less is still more.

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Levine played with passion that buoyed yet never bullied his partner. He also displayed the rare taste and technique of a self-effacing virtuoso.

After intermission, Chernov took some interpretive chances. Abandoning Mother Russia, he turned to Germanic challenges: assorted songs of Schubert plus the shattering “Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen” of Mahler. In other words, he invaded Fischer-Dieskau territory.

And triumphed.

Chernov may have lent a certain Slavic edge to the German vowels, but he left no doubt regarding his understanding of the inherent rhetoric. Without undue storm or stress, he illuminated the tragedy of Schubert’s “Wanderer,” the ecstasy of “Der Musensohn,” the spirituality of “Litanei auf das Fest Allerseelen” and the sweet whimsy of “Die Taubenpost.” He could, no doubt, have done just as well with the grandeur of “Die Allmacht,” but he announced, charmingly, that the All-Mighty had granted him dispensation to sing just four Schubert songs instead of the five originally planned.

Levine provided exceptionally stylish, subtly assertive support throughout. But his work was really astonishing in the delicately graded gallop that forms the rhythmic and harmonic base of “Der Musensohn.”

In Mahler’s “Wayfarer” songs, Chernov conveyed the narrator’s increasing agony with affecting simplicity. Seconding every poignant motion, Levine somehow managed to make his piano sound like a full orchestra.

Encore time brought one evocative “Russian Song” in celebration of composer Sviridov’s 85th birthday, plus a haunting, melismatic folk melody sung without accompaniment. Then, after much applause and many bouquets, vulgarity finally raised its rapturous head.

Chernov and Levine ended the recital with a bel-canto gesture worthy of Pavarotti in a baseball stadium: De Curtis’ “Non ti scordar di me.” The perfumed sentiment seemed particularly cheap in this context. The performance, however, was exquisite.