Russian Baritone Chernov Shows an Impressive Range of Emotional Expression

Vladimir Chernov has been hailed, since around the time he sang “Don Carlo” with L.A. Opera six-plus years ago, as one of the few genuine Verdi baritones of our time. He is a singer with a technique and manner finely polished. James Levine and the Metropolitan Opera now rely upon him heavily, as do as many major international houses and record companies.

Yet, until Friday night, when Chernov sang a recital at the Alex Theatre in Glendale, this writer had not been on hand when Chernov actually made much of an impact. At the Met, especially, he never seemed to rise much above all the scenery or the house’s massive scale.

That Chernov proved more involving in recital can only be attributed to one of three things: The Russian baritone has finally come into his own as an artist; the Met is just too damned big; or Chernov has spent enough time in the United States--he lives now in New York--to have seen some Harvey Keitel movies.

The last option is, of course, facetious--but not entirely. Chernov has a similar build and has something of the actor’s brassy manner and ability to make dramatic and frightening mood changes through facial expression. And it is a manner that is all the more striking, given Chernov’s flowing long hair and his modish four-button tuxedo with banded collar.

In fact, all three of the options apply. In the first half of the recital, which was devoted to Russian songs, Chernov revealed himself to be a deeply sensitive singer yet more than enough of a showman to make them work. Russian songs have much in common with country music, what with their languorous obsession over getting, keeping or trying to forget love.

Chernov sang pairs of songs by Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Cesar Cui and Rachmaninoff with an impressive suaveness, his voice displaying body and a silky smoothness through registers. The expression of character he saved for his face and body language, as if his voice and the rest of him were independent. The result is not as spastic as it might sound. Chernov let us know that there is much affect in this music and much beauty and that we don’t have to let the one spoil the other. Thanks to a lesser composer, Alexander Gretchaninov, Chernov also got the opportunity to display a more napoleonic side of his musical character in a nationalistic change of pace.

Avoiding Verdi altogether, in an apparent effort to display his subtle skills with more intimate song literature, Chernov turned next to more familiar lieder--four songs by Schubert and four by Mahler (his cycle, “Songs of a Wayfarer”). Here Chernov demonstrated solid strengths as a recital artist, including a fine sensitivity to text and the ability to scale his voice instantly to the precise dramatic and musical level. The mugging there could have been a problem, but it turned out that Chernov knows full well the difference between what involves an audience dramatically in a song and what panders to them. His Mahler, in particular, was fresh sounding, sung with attention to nuance and emotionally probing.

That Chernov has not yet found the resources to communicate similarly in too-big opera houses is, consequently, hardly surprising. In fact, a final example of Chernov’s quality as a fine chamber musician was his delightful interplay with his compliant partner, Warren Jones. The pianist got no notice in the program, save his name, but the accompaniment in music like this is not chopped liver, and the evening could not have had the musical success it did with a lesser player.