Thirty-year-old British baritone Huw Montague Rendall, the son of mezzo Diana Montague and tenor David Rendall, has been causing something of a stir of late, rapidly rising to prominence after his graduation in 2018 from the International Opera Studio in Zurich. When I first heard him, at Glyndebourne as Malatesta in Donizetti’s Don Pasquale in 2022, he struck me as a singer and actor of considerable finesse and subtlety, an impression reinforced by his Count in Figaro at Covent Garden earlier this year. On disc, meanwhile, his contribution to Malcolm Martineau’s complete Duparc survey (Signum, 9/22) was exceptional both for the beauty of his singing and for the unsparing vividness of his way with words. Now we have his debut album, which is likely to consolidate and enhance his reputation even further.

It reunites him with Ben Glassberg and the orchestra from the Opéra de Rouen, where he sang a much admired Pelléas in 2021 as well as his first Don Giovanni, again earlier this year. The programme deals with themes of self-reflection and self-discovery, or indeed their absence (Almaviva is among the least self-aware men in opera), though it also allows us to hear him in roles past, present and future (by the time this review appears he will have sung his first Billy Budd, in Vienna), as well as more Duparc (a beautiful ‘Chanson triste’), and songs by Mahler.

The opening track, the ‘Être ou ne pas être’ monologue from Ambroise Thomas’s Hamlet, effectively sets out the parameters. We immediately notice the quality of Montague Rendall’s voice, not massive but silky and even in tone, along with both the extraordinary range of dynamics and colour of which he is capable and the textual clarity he seemingly brings to much that he does. The moody introspection is beautifully captured, as is Hamlet’s world-weary existential disgust: indeed, Montague Rendall’s characterisations are consistently focused and tellingly insightful throughout.

Valentin in Gounod’s Faust is as much proud soldier as solicitous brother, while his Papageno is sweet and touching as well as funny, and tangibly delighted when he finally meets Elisabeth Boudreault’s lovely Papagena. Don Giovanni’s Serenade really seduces, while Almaviva, all hauteur and bitterness, erupts with self-righteous anger and lofty contempt. A foray into musicals brings Montague Rendall to Billy Bigelow from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel, his ‘Soliloquy’ idiomatically sung with real Broadway swagger. Britten’s Billy, facing execution, naive and trusting to the last, is heartbreaking, and in Fritz’s song from Korngold’s Die tote Stadt, perhaps the most beautiful track on the disc, the mixture of eroticism and regret is simply breathtaking.

Mahler’s Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, at the recital’s centre, meanwhile, gets another wonderful performance, opening in a mood of rueful nostalgia but gradually building to a climax of truly shocking intensity at ‘Ich wollt’ ich lag’ auf der schwarzen Bahr’. Glassberg and his orchestra, excellent throughout, really come into their own here with conducting and playing of great refinement and detail. ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ forms the disc’s effective envoi, haunting in its beauty and contained sadness. It’s a superb recital and a most distinguished debut, and I cannot recommend it too highly.