Baritone Paolo Gavanelli, who comes to Dublin this month, tells Arminta Wallace why he hates singers who don't sing well

What, exactly, is a baritone? "Deep-toned male voice between bass and tenor," says the dictionary grudgingly. Well, that's no good. You can try adjectives, but you end up sounding like a second-rate foodie mag: "a dark-chocolate, Cabernet Sauvignon sort of voice with overtones of rare steak". No. The best person to ask about being a baritone is a baritone; for instance, the Italian singer Paolo Gavanelli, one of the best of the opera world's current crop.

His own voice, on the phone from his home near Venice, is light and musical, his English rapid, idiosyncratic and brimming with charm and good cheer. "Ah, the voice; yes, the baritone voice," he exclaims, delighted by the question. "Many people say it is the natural voice of the man. But the truth is, we baritones are forced to sing well. We must sing well. How many times do you hear tenors singing terribly - but at the end of the aria they put high note, and everything is OK. The bass, too.

"Sometimes you hear problems during the aria - but they finish with Very Deep Note, and the public says, 'Oh, my gosh . . .' We baritones have middle voice. No high notes like the tenor, no low notes like the bass. What we can do? We can sing well. Just sing well, and stop."

If all the opera houses of the world were to go out of business, this man could talk for Italy - and win. In the meantime, he has plenty of work, thanks very much. He has just finished a stint as Rodrigo in Don Carlo in Munich and is due, before his three gala concerts in Ireland later this month, to play Macbeth in Berlin. In London, he has earned rave reviews for a trio of very different Verdi roles at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden: the tragic jester Rigoletto, the ebullient Sir John Falstaff, and, earlier this year, Giorgio Germont in La traviata.

"The show was stolen by the Germont of Paolo Gavanelli, in a vast and sinister overcoat," wrote Michael Tanner in Opera magazine, while Michael Kennedy of the Sunday Telegraph praised his "extraordinary sensitivity of tone and phrasing". Gavanelli sighs down the phone. "Ah, you know, I don't like this role. Because I don't like the man, you know? He's exactly the contrary like I am. I don't like the convention. Do this, do that, do the right thing. He is a really, really terrible man." Yet he stole the show with his performances? "You have to be professional; you have to do the best you can. And of course I am speaking of the drama. Musically, Germont's arias are masterpieces."

Gavanelli grew up in Padua, where he was taken to the theatre from the age of six, and saw all the greats in action on the opera stage. As a teenager, he preferred to goof around on the beach with his friends and a guitar. "I sing some songs, you know, and one of my friends told to me, 'Paolo, you have a good voice'. I said, 'Oh, please'. But he was so excited, he phoned my parents and said, 'You have to bring Paolo to a teacher - and this is not a joke'."

The reluctant 18-year-old embarked on singing lessons; and abandoned his plans to become a lawyer when, in his mid-20s, he found himself making his professional opera début as Leporello in Mozart's Don Giovanni. It must have seemed a courageous career choice at the time - though in hindsight, he probably makes more money jetting around Europe's opera stages than he ever would have as a lawyer.

"More money? I dunno," he says, sounding distinctly dubious. "When I was in university I worked with the office of a very successful private law firm. They did a lot of land rezoning, road development, things like this; and believe me, just one or two of this business and you have money for your whole life. Probably I get less money now - but the job is more beautiful."

An opera career is, in a way, a series of decisions, and Gavanelli soon found himself faced with another one. He was offered a contract to sing secondary roles at La Scala - an opportunity many young singers would jump at. "So I have a choice. Either stay in a very important theatre and sing second roles, or go in a smaller theatre and sing lead roles." He chose the latter option. "An example can be in football - it's better to be first in the second league than last in the first league. Some people prefer to sit back and wait for their chance, but if you sing only second roles, you will be . . . be . . ." Typecast? "Exactly. For young singers it's not easy today. Years ago, everyone started with small theatres. But now, in many cases, a singer of 22, 23 years old goes to Metropolitan or La Scala. This can be good, but it can also be bad." In what way?

"Ah, yes. I start with the good. If you have a good success at La Scala at 22, you are lucky. But if you have a bad performance, everybody knows - and you are fired. You are dead. If you have a bad performance in a small theatre, nobody knows. So you have another chance."

Shrewdly, Gavanelli began by taking on roles which would be vocally easy, in order to concentrate on his stage craft. "You really have to be 50 per cent singer and 50 per cent actor in opera," he says. Which, apparently, suits him just fine: but why has he chosen to specialise in Verdi? Partly, he says, because the music is right for his voice; partly because the roles are so challenging. But mostly, it's because the boy Verdi was a local lad. "The plain of Padua is a very flat land in north of Italy, very foggy, you know? A very special place. Verdi was a man of this land, and I feel Verdi very close to me." No need to question his acting credentials, then. Anyone who can deliver such a line over the phone, and get away with it, is an actor - and no mistake.

But as a baritone, does he get mad when the tenors get all the adulation? Superstar baritones, after all, are few and far between. Good-natured laughter rings down the line. "No, no, we live in a full democracy, thank God. There's place for everyone. I just hate the people that don't sing well. That's the problem. Some young singer appears on television, sings with microphones, and a month later he is engaged in big theatre. Sorry, but that's really not intelligent, you know? That's a big problem. Marketing is also a big problem. OK, maybe you have a good face for putting on cover of CD. I say, 'Oh, look, here is soprano very wonderful'. So I buy the CD. But then you have to listen to CD. Big problem."

Listening to Paolo Gavanelli, on the other hand: no problem. And I haven't even heard him sing.

Paolo Gavanelli will be joined by soprano Cara O'Sullivan and the RTÉ Concert Orchestra, conducted by Colman Pearce, for concerts at the City Hall Cork (April 26th), University Concert Hall, Limerick (May 1st) and the National Concert Hall, Dublin (May 3rd). Information at www.barraotuama.com