On May 27, 2025, at 8 p.m., the Nezahualcóyotl Concert Hall witnessed an unforgettable musical event: the first concert of Sir Bryn Terfel in Mexico. Sir Bryn Terfel's first concert in Mexico, accompanied by the Minería Symphony Orchestraaccompanied by the Sinfónica de Minería under the guest direction of Roberto Kalb.
The concert established a dramatic journey through the history of stage music. A route that began with the philosophical gravity of Wagner, descended to the seductive hell of Boito and Gounod's Mephistopheles, crossed through the brutal realism of Puccini, and ended with the emotional lightness of traditional songs and musical comedy. All this contrasting universe, this emotional map of centuries and styles, took place in a single voice. In the voice of Bryn Terfel.
What was experienced was not just a recital. It was a sung dramaturgy. A show where a single performer became god, devil, executioner, dreamer and, finally, man. A journey from excess to whisper. From the tragic to the endearing. And the audience, as rarely, let themselves be carried away without resistance.
The following is the complete chronicle of the unforgettable unforgettable night in which Sir Bryn Terfle sang for the first time in Mexico.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings Wagner in Mexico
Sir Bryn Terfel appeared on stage in impeccable tails and an enigmatic smile. As he took his first step, he removed one of his shoes. Thus, without further ceremony, he left a bare foot on the stage of the Nezahualcóyotl Concert Hall. The gesture, somewhere between absurd and domestic, broke the ice with disconcerting speed. Within seconds, the whole room breathed differently. It was not a Welsh god who entered. It was an artist at home. A gesture that brought down the solemnity, without diluting the grandeur.
Then, the rite began.
With the aria "How delicate the scent of lilacs", her voice crossed the room like an ancient presence. Grave. Warm. Melancholic. It seemed that the stage was getting smaller and the drama bigger. With "Wotan's Farewell" and "Music of the Magic Fire", Terfel showed a dimension that only true sacred monsters reach. His voice had the weight of a mountain and the edge of a confession. There was nobility. There was desperation. There was restrained fury. The breaths were unheard.
Elisa de la Torre, a 59-year-old surgeon, said during the intermission:
"Honestly, I knew his Mozartian repertoire. The Figaro, for example. Hearing him live in these Wagnerian roles blew me away. I confess that I knew him from the Mozart recordings of the nineties and now to hear his darkened voice, so solemn and terrifying, being Wagnerian gods, is an unforgettable moment."
And yes, that was the word that crossed more than one comment as we left the venue at the end of the first half: unforgettable. Because to hear Bryn Terfel sing Wotan is not simply to hear a voice. It is to see a god surrender. And to surrender in song.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings Boito in Mexico
The second half of the concert began with an unexpected twist. If in Wagner we witnessed the fall of the gods, now we were entering the realm of the villains. And not just any villain: the devil himself.
Sir Bryn Terfel returned to the stage with the same elegance, but with a different sparkle in his eyes. It only took an instant for him to become Mephistopheles. His interpretation of "Son lo spirito che nega", from the opera Mefistofele by Arrigo Boitowas pure black theatricality. There were no effects. There were no tricks. Just a voice that seemed to come from some subway corner of the theater.
In this aria, the demon presents himself with cynicism and clarity: "I am the spirit that denies." It does not threaten. It does not shout. He doesn't need to. Boito built an elegant, intellectual, mocking Mephistopheles, very different from Gounod's romantic Faust. And Terfel knows it. He enjoys it. He inhabits it.
With an impeccable impeccable phrasing and a measured irony, the bass-baritone transformed a simple appearance into a master class of refined wickedness. The audience, between uncomfortable and fascinated, did not know whether to applaud or bow. No one came out unscathed. Because in less than five minutes, Bryn Terfel put a face to the devil. And he made him charming.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings Gounod in Mexico
After Boito's refined demon, Sir Bryn Terfel decided to stay a little longer in hell. This time, with the Faust by Charles Gounod. One more twist on the same myth, but with a more French, more lyrical, more charmingly decadent costume.
With "Le veau d'or" ("The Golden Calf"), Terfel once again dressed as Mephistopheles, now less of a philosopher and more of a showman. This aria is a blasphemous feast. A satire on greed. The devil laughs, dances, seduces, drags everyone towards the glittering calf of money. And Bryn, of course, does so with a crooked smile and a dangerous glint in his eye.
His voice not only sings, it also acts. It goes from laughter to a whisper. From sarcasm to thunder. The phrasing is full of delicious traps. Every word is double-edged. Gounod composed a demon more theatrical than metaphysical, and Terfel understood it immediately. He played with the orchestra, with the audience, with the text. He ate it alive.
The contrast with Boito's Mephistopheles was brutal. And right there was the genius of the interpretation: to show two devils, the same actor. One dark and solemn. The other sarcastic and festive. Both convincing. Both terrifying. Both irresistible.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings Puccini in Mexico
Mass was in progress, but Scarpia was not praying. She was planning.
In the most macabre scene of ToscaSir Bryn Terfel played the police chief with a coldness that chilled the hall. With "Va, Tosca," the character reveals, without shame or haste, how he will manipulate the singer's desperation to possess her. While the city prays, he schemes. Y Terfel sang it with a chilling mastery..
Every word was a calculation. Every pause, a trap. His voice did not shout: it insinuated. The orchestra tensed like a rope. The audience, motionless. I knew what was coming, but I couldn't look away. It was like watching a predator sharpening its fangs amidst incense and candles.
And then, the final twist: the Te Deum. Scarpia, satisfied with his plan, joins in the sacred chant. A solemn hymn becomes the framework for a corrupt desire. Terfel raised his voice above the chorus, not as a believer, but as someone who knows he is unpunished. It was the sonorous portrait of power masquerading as virtue.
Puccini composed this scene with surgical precision. Illica and Giacosa's libretto, based on Sardou's drama, allowed the composer to construct a moment where sacred music and human vileness mercilessly merge. And Sir Bryn Terfel made it a difficult experience to endure... and even more difficult to forget.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings songs of his homeland
After the operatic drama, the evening took a more intimate turn. No gods, no demons, no corrupt kings. Just voice, memory and nostalgia. Sir Bryn Terfel closed his recital with a handful of traditional songs from the British Isles, like someone returning home after traveling the world.
First it was Danny Boythat Irish melody full of longing. Terfel's interpretation was simple, straightforward. No frills. Just his voice stretched out like a bridge between generations. The audience, coming from surviving Wotan, Scarpia and Mephistopheles, lowered their shoulders for the first time in the evening. There was tenderness. There was pause.
Then came Ar hyd y nos ("Throughout the night"), in his native Welsh. Here he was no longer a singer on stage: he was a son singing to his land. The melody floated like a quiet prayer, and Terfel's impeccable pronunciation seemed to open a crack into another time, another landscape. Many did not understand the words. But they understood everything.
Finally, Loch Lomond. Scottish song, anonymous and painful, of love and loss. He sang it as one who remembers. With respect. With gratitude. The entire theater was silent until the last chord. Not for solemnity, but because no one wanted to interrupt.
It was an unexpected ending. Not grandiose, but profound. After having been gods and monsters, Sir Bryn Terfel came back simply as a man who sings. And that, in the end, was the most powerful thing.
Sir Bryn Terfel sings Fiddler on the Roof
After Wagnerian arias, Gounod's demons and Puccini's stark realism, Sir Bryn Terfel decided to end his recital as only he can: with a musical laugh and a knowing wink to the audience. Because yes, he can also be Tevye, the dreamy milkman from Fiddler on the Roof.
With "Jerry Bock's "If I Were a Rich Manthe Welsh baritone transformed himself once again. This time neither a god nor a villain, but a common man who sings of his desires with the brutal honesty of one who no longer expects anything, but still dreams of everything. Each "ya ba ba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dibba dum" was a declaration of humanity. The ironic gesture, the warm voice, the exact humor. And yes, the bare foot was still there, as a reminder that opera can also laugh at itself.
The choice was not accidental. Like Tevye, Terfel also balances worlds in her voice: opera and musical, sacred and domestic, formal singing and simple storytelling. At the time, there seemed to be no distance between Wagner and Anatevka. Everything coexisted. It all made sense.
Encore: A homecoming
As a coda, Terfel gave a series of encores that were postcards of nostalgia and charm. He sang How to handle a womanfrom the musical Camelotwith a touch of elegant self-pity, as if Scarpia had gone to therapy. Then came Some enchanted eveningfrom the classic South Pacificsung with the serene sweetness of one who knows loss but has not lost hope.
And to close, Homeward Boundby Marta Keen. A song about coming back. About leaving behind the stages, the roles, the theaters, and simply returning home. When it ended, there was no thunderous ovation. There was silence. That silence that only comes when the audience finally feels part of something real.
Sir Bryn Terfel didn't just give a concert in his first time in Mexico. He told a story. Of power, of faith, of fear, of tenderness. And, like a good violinist on the roof, he never lost his balance.
