Samuel Ramey

As evangelist Olin Blitch, he gleamed lustfully at the title character in Carlisle Floyd's "Susannah." For the role of Mozart's Figaro, he fused gentle mockery with compassion. To portray Boito's Mefistofele, he swathed his lean, agile body in a clingy stocking, leaped atop balustrades, convulsed with agitation and somersaulted into the final throes of wailing, whistling defeat before God.

As unlikely double bills go, it's like pairing "Lucrezia Borgia" and "H.M.S. Pinafore." Or "The Seven Deadly Sins" and "Little Mary Sunshine." Imagine, then, if the same performer were to star in each. What's playing at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion may not be quite that extreme, but it's nearly as challenging. And Samuel Ramey is the hero taking victory laps.

Cervantes sings again. This time, however, the impossible dream bears no Broadway glitz. Don Quichotte--a.k.a. Quixote--is tilting at distinctly operatic windmills in San Francisco. Jules Massenet's sugar-coated portrait of the eccentric man of la Mancha has not fared particularly well in the opera house. Although "Don Quichotte" served as a grateful vehicle for Feodor Chaliapin at the Monte Carlo premiere back in 1910, the opera has been revived only sporadically in the interim.

Vaguely menacing, dressed entirely in black and looking more like a couple of cops on an investigation than two musicians about to perform, Samuel Ramey and pianist Warren Jones came onstage at Segerstrom Hall on Sunday afternoon. Dim, noirish lighting added to the dark impression. Then they proceeded to give one of the more satisfying recitals the Orange County Performing Arts Center has witnessed in its first 16 years. How did they do it? Charm, smarts and utter concentration.

This devil wears a diamond stud in one ear and a brown polka-dot shirt. He is leonine, charismatic and possessed of a voice so deep and mellifluous that it seems capable of seducing any mere mortal within reach, even in a setting as unbefitting the Prince of Darkness as a Dorothy Chandler Pavilion boardroom on a bright winter morning. Still, he doesn't seem like evil incarnate, but that's part of the package, right? Then again, this devil is also Samuel Ramey, distinguished bass.

Giants of the opera usually go for the high notes. Sopranos Maria Callas and Leontyne Price come to mind, as do tenors Luciano Pavarotti and Placido Domingo. Now comes a Midwesterner who has reached the top on the low road. For the first time in years, the opera world's superstar is a bass, Samuel Ramey. He cuts a dashing figure on stage: tall, dynamic, graceful, a swashbuckler when the role calls for it. But it's his voice that makes him opera's most in-demand basso.

They're rehearsing "The Great Gatsby," and Bob Grist is standing in the spotlight, stage center, without any idea which role he is supposed to be playing. He might be Nick Carraway, he might be Tom Buchanan, he might even be Daisy Buchanan. But Grist doesn't ask questions, and he doesn't move unless the disembodied voice from the "God mike" above the stage tells him to. "Take two steps stage left," it says. Grist obeys. "Take one step downstage," it says. Again he obeys.

This devil wears a diamond stud in one ear and a brown polka-dot shirt. He is leonine, charismatic and possessed of a voice so deep and mellifluous that it seems capable of seducing any mere mortal within reach, even in a setting as unbefitting the Prince of Darkness as a Dorothy Chandler Pavilion boardroom on a bright winter morning. Still, he doesn't seem like evil incarnate, but that's part of the package, right? Then again, this devil is also Samuel Ramey, distinguished bass.

"NO TENORS ALLOWED: HAMPSON AND RAMEY" Thomas Hampson, baritone; Samuel Ramey, bass; Munchner Rundfunkorchester; Miguel Gomez-Martinez, conductor Teldec *** 1/2 A baritone has to come clean and declare himself when reviewing a CD with a title like this, which he is congenitally predisposed to cheer. Fortunately, Hampson and Ramey are so obviously accomplished that there is little risk of vocal prejudice.

Controlled energy, high polish and effortless teamwork marked the latest Southern California recital by American basso Samuel Ramey, with Warren Jones at the piano, Saturday night. With Jones playing the entire program from memory--and on a Steinway with its lid fully open--Ramey gave as satisfying a vocal program as one may hear these days. The partners put together a varied agenda, performed it suavely and seemed to charm the large festive audience in Wadsworth Theater in Westwood.