One half of the often star-crossed Renee Fleming returned tonight to San
Francisco, the city where she always found warmth and approval, and she
gave an excellent, almost great recital.

The half that was present in Davies Hall was Fleming the singer - minus
coyness, and too many smiles, and "look how defenseless and lovable I am."
She sang, without all those off-putting distractions, and that much was
wonderful.  The missing half, needed to realize the greatness for which she
has shown only the potential, is the expression of feelings, of passion, of
genuine vulnerability, not the "act."

Sponsored by the San Francisco Symphony, the recital presented an
unusual pairing of two soloists, rather than a singer with an accompanist.
Jean-Yves Thibaudet did accompany Fleming (well, but not half as memorably
as some "plain accompanists" can provide), but also had a portion of the
program to himself.  During that time, he played two Chopin pieces
excellently, banged through the Etude in F Major, managed "Clair de Lune,"
and then brought the house down with as great a performance of "Jeux
d'artifice" as I ever heard.

Fleming started with five Faure songs, singing simply and well,
former bad habits of scooping and narrowing the voice held to a minimum,
and interrupted between songs by stupid applause, compelling her after
the intermission to appeal to the audience.  Four songs by Joseph Marx
followed, Fleming still striding in the straight and narrow, then reaching
the high point the evening, with Debussy's "Chansons de Bilitis." The
all sounded fine, but all sounded pretty much the same.  Vocally, it was
impressive and enjoyable.  But the message - which some say should be left
to Western Union - undelivered, by and large.

Rachmaninov's "In the Silence of Mysterious Night" was a somewhat puzzling
choice - Fleming's remedial Russian doesn't do much, especially before
an audience with a large Russian contingent.  Still, her voice was in
excellent condition, the frequent forte passages shook the one-million
cubic feet cathedral of Davies, there was a bit of a slipup in intonation
at one point (the only such happening the whole evening), and a big finish
with "Oh, Do Not Sing to Me" and "These Summer Nights."

If the fates remain kinder to Fleming than during a lengthy period she went
through, and if she manages to stick to tonight's singing mode to stand up
and deliver, and she finds the way (and the courage) to sing with some
genuine soul - we'll all be the richer for it.

Janos Gereben/SF, CA
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