‘I want to be remembered eternally through my voice’, Angela Gheorghiu remarks in the publicity material for her first studio recording in six years. Compared with the singers who had the misfortune to be born before the invention of the gramophone (or the first edition of Gramophone), she is naturally advantaged. The Romanian singer also has a penetrating, dark-coloured soprano: once heard – and for many in the UK the first experience was that 1994 Covent Garden Traviata – it is not easily forgotten.

Immortality, however, may depend on more imagination, more effort – more art and less artfulness. ‘Eternamente’, recorded with indifferent accompaniment from the Prague Philharmonia under Emmanuel Villaume, is an unfocused snapshot of a maturing soprano’s voice as Gheorghiu – sort of – transitions from lighter repertoire, exploring Italian opera and song from the composers who followed Verdi but without finding a sweet spot.

Stepping up in dramatic heft but down in tessitura, she begins with bleeding chunks of Cavalleria rusticana, her Santuzza paired with Joseph Calleja’s impassive Turiddu. She presents a more vulnerable, less battleaxe-like heroine than some of the earthier mezzos who have taken the role, but her quivery ‘Regina coeli’ underwhelms and a persistent beat at both ends of her range is troubling. Where she should scorch Turiddu with her anger and shame, she merely administers a light rap on the knuckles.

This is the weakest section of the album but unfortunately it sets the tone, and persistent vocal niggles are troubling. A revisit of ‘Vissi d’arte’ exposes more frail top notes. Another duet with Calleja, ‘Spunta l’aurora pallida’ from Boito’s Mefistofele, is marred by intonation issues and an admittedly brief but nonetheless embarrassing contribution from the bass Richard Novak. She and Calleja at last create some chemistry in the final duet from Andrea Chénier, which has more flair and commitment all round. A trio of rarities from Giordano and Leoncavallo are decently sung but Gheorghiu doesn’t give them individual enough attention to suggest that they are hidden gems you’ll want to come back to.

The bonbons provide overall greater satisfaction. The title-track by Angelo Mascheroni was a hit for Caruso; it suits Gheorghiu’s aptitude for dreamy reverie and lyrical sentiment. This and Licinio Refice’s ‘Ombra di Nube’ – and even the so-called arie antiche from which Gheorghiu chooses Donaudy’s ‘O del mio amato ben’ – are not so much successors to the 19th-century opera tradition as the harbingers of pop and film music, and while they are undoubtedly gooey, Gheorghiu digs in with a long spoon. Eternamente? Perhaps it will suit for Christmas.