TONY, September 2004

The human voice is a notoriously fragile instrument. A case in point: Maria Callas, in her late twenties a force of nature capable of virtually any vocal exploit, but ten years later a shell of her former self. Heaven keep tenor Juan Diego Flórez smart and healthy, because right now he is singing with the kind of mastery not heard since Callas's glory days—indeed, as well as anyone who has recorded the early Romantic repertoire in which he specializes.

In fact, Flórez's "Great Tenor Arias" recital (Decca) takes him unusually far afield: to 1918, for Puccini's Gianni Schicchi. The music doesn't test his range or flexibility, so Flórez shows off his greatness by digging into it with all the brashness one would expect from Rinuccio, Puccini's forward-looking young nobleman, and by chiseling the text till it zings.

By contrast, the Peruvian tenor is the soul of decorum for Orphée's lament from Gluck's Orphée et Eurydice: his tone lean but alive with emotion, his every word sculpted but part of a flowing, sensuous whole. He dazzles in Donizetti rarities, makes a seductive case for arias from Cimarosa's Il matrimonio segreto and Verdi's ill-fated comedy Un giorno di regno, and serves up a nimble "La donna è mobile" from Rigoletto—though "È il sol dell'anima" or the quartet would have better showcased Flórez's ability to spin a suave, come-hither vocal line.

Speaking of temptation, Flórez is irresistible in the title role of Le Comte Ory (DG). More than a century before Monty Python, Rossini and librettist Eugène Scribe concocted an opera consisting almost entirely of naughty bits. A Boccaccio-like caper centering on a randy lord who disguises himself as a hermit (and later, a nun) to have his way with the ladies, Le Comte Ory blends the musical inspiration of Rossini's masterpiece Guillaume Tell with the wicked fun of Offenbach's operettas.

These qualities come to the fore in the trio "A la faveur de cette nuit obscure," during which the count, befuddled by darkness, puts the moves on his page, who fancies the same woman as his master. The erotic thrill of Flórez’s singing would confound any heart, whether chaste or staunchly heterosexual. (Ory is a man dressed as a nun courting a female singer playing a man disguised as a woman. Yes, the mind reels.) He moves seamlessly from a velvety middle voice to dreamy head tones, caressing Rossini's blissful melody with a combination of vocal allure and patrician musicianship that defies superlatives.

Recorded in performance at the Pesaro Festival, Ory also features sterling contributions from conductor Jesús López-Cobos and a cast of veteran and up-and-coming Rossinians. But its unqualified star is Flórez—and long may he continue to shine.