‘A voice distinguished, among other qualities, by its rarity’. Michael Parouty, in Hugh Graham’s elegant translation, is writing, at the conclusion of his introductory notes, of the type of voice he heard here rather than the particular one on parade. The only trouble is that it’s not really so very rare any longer. Looking through the month’s cast-lists in the opera magazines, I found another dozen or so names in roles where that of Vivica Genaux might have been expected. It seems we’re spoilt.

She does all these wonderful things – scales and gruppetti, cadenzas up to a full-voiced high B and down again – and what would have left us gasping if heard on a 1905 G & T is now (almost) ‘just another’. Certainly, the new mezzo does not feather her runs with aspirates as some who were new not so long ago are in the habit of doing, and nor does she go down into the cellar in the manly tones of others. Look beyond this for a distinguishing character, however, and a certain frustration arises.

With the programme, for one: its opportunities for variety are somewhat limited. Cenerentola’s ‘Nacqui all’ affanno’, which is the opening number, nevertheless calls immediately for expression – and if you think of Conchita Supervia singing it, the possibilities immediately light up. Or the opening of Isabella’s ‘Cruda sorte’: again a vivid face can come through, and (mostly) doesn’t. At the end, ‘Una voce poco fa’ is sung with excellent mastery of the technique Rosina can be supposed to have acquired in all those lessons with Don Basilio; but her character (the sweetie who changes with her admonitory ‘but’ into a little minx) hardly peeps through the notes. Most of all, Orsini’s famous Brindisi in Lucrezia Borgia wants panache: think of some of those shameless show-offs of old.

It’s all admirable in sheer competence and in vocal quality (though occasionally not quite so firm as one would like); and the Paris Orchestral Ensemble give stylish support. I’d just like the singing to put a face to the voice.