Albums devoted to the bass voice aren’t all that common, fewer yet a bass recital devoted to one composer. The Russian singer Ildar Abdrazakov has certainly gone all out in this collection, with music drawn from all over Verdi’s operas, mixing early rarities (Oberto, Ernani) with classic bass arias and scenes (Simon Boccanegra, Don Carlo).

The expectation of a black-hued, cavernous bass sound – à la Abdrazakov’s great compatriot Boris Christoff – is confounded early on. A signature lead role for Abdrazakov, Attila, is first up: his recounting of the terrible vision that warns of the warlord’s downfall to Rolando Villazón’s Uldino, the first of two unexpected cameos by the Mexican tenor, a DG stablemate. And, instead, it reveals the vitality, smoothness and walnut-toned mellowness of Abdrazakov’s voice. With it comes an extra layer of vulnerability to the character, if not the undertow of menace that surely history’s ‘scourge of God’ should have.

Once Abdrazakov has established this tone, it is pretty much set throughout. Philip II’s monologue from Don Carlo is the highlight, for the intimate confession of a desperate monarch suits the singer’s warmth of tone and the sense of inner struggle is palpable. There’s also a dreamy cello obbligato from the principal player in the Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal, which is conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin with great flair. The Canadian orchestra’s strings are vibrant and gutsy, and Nézet-Séguin pounces on some orchestral details with swagger and charm – the gambolling winds introducing Procida’s ‘O tu, Palermo’ from I vespri siciliani, or the glitter and pomp of the cabaletta to Silva’s ‘Infelice! E tuo credevi’ from Ernani. In doing so sometimes he steals the show.

Abdrazakov shows off plenty of Verdian skills throughout – smooth phrasing, elegant diction – although there are a few top notes that sound short of trumpety ring. What’s missing is variety, and if the thematic monotony of the album contributes to this (couldn’t we have had a duet to break the flow, such as Philip and the Grand Inquisitor from Don Carlos?), so does the singer’s tendency to restrain big emotions, big expressive gestures. If you’re in a supporting role, that’s a curious instinct, and it leaves his Zaccaria (Nabucco) a little short of holy zeal, his Fiesco (Simon Boccanegra) more sorrowful than embittered. Still, it would be churlish to deny his limpid artistry; and if there is filler here, you’re buoyed along by a full-throttle orchestra.