As Roland Vernon's thoughtful essay for the booklet says, these gentle, simple musical concepts can be profoundly moving ''when sung by a true master of bel canto''. The question is, have we a true master here? ''Young Raul Gimenez,'' you might say, ''is probably a very good singer and, given a chance, he might develop into something more than that. But he's only just arrived: three years ago we hadn't heard of him. A promising artist, but surely not yet 'a true master'.'' Such a prima facie view of the matter would be understandable, but, as it happens, I think, mistaken. First, Gimenez is not exactly young (born 1951). He was a latecomer, making his debut at the age of 30 (which may explain why he sounds so young). Three years ago his name was indeed new to most of us though he had already amassed a considerable repertoire and gained quite a lot of experience (starting at the Teatro Colon), but it was in 1987 that he recorded the Rossini recital (Nimbus (CD) NI5106, 8/88) which drew him to the attention of the record-buying public. Since then he has sung widely in Italy, given highly successful solo recitals in London and New York, and in February this year appeared for the first time at Covent Garden. So he is no apprentice. More significantly, marked and rapid progress took place between the time of the first record and that of the second ((CD) NI5107), an excellent song recital; and now the development has clearly gone a stage further still.
Go straight to ''Una furtiva lagrima'', as good a test as any: smooth, fluent, finely phrased and shaded, the singing is also in character, with the opening of the second verse presented engagingly as a lightly self-indulgent fantasy. The sadness of ''Povero Ernesto'' in Don Pasquale, the grace of his Serenade, the idyllic pastoral mood of Arturo's ''Corre a valle'' in I puritani, all are beautifully caught. Gimenez appeals to the intelligence by the carefulness of his phrasing (hear the Lucia excerpts); and he appeals to the heart by capturing the youthful ingenuousness of many of the characters (the sad reproaches of Elvino in La sonnambula, the eager enthusiasm of Tonio in La fille du Regiment). His timbre is distinctive, with an unusual warmth and a quality which has something to do with his South American nationality; his range takes him with ease to the nine high Cs of ''Ah! mes amis'', the C sharp of ''A te, o cara'' and a good strong D in ''Ah! perche non posso odiarti''. And he has stopped aspirating. Perhaps the 'True Master of Bel Canto Award' should be given only after further proof; but I suspect that future historians of the art will find their proof right here.
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