Celso Albelo wurde 1975 in Santa Cruz, Teneriffa geboren. Er studierte am dortigen Konservatorium sowie in Madrid.
Weiterhin besuchte er Meisterkurse bei Teresa Berganza, Magda Olivero und Carlo Bergonzi.
Zu seinem Repertoire gehören der Don Ottavio (Don Giovanni), der Ruodi (Wilhelm Tell),
die Tenorrollen d der Bellini-Opern Il Pirata, La Sonnambula u. I Puritani, ferner die Tenorrollen einiger Donizetti-Opern.
In Baden-Baden sang er an der Seite von Bartoli den Elvino (La Sonnambula). Er war der Einspringer in Tokio für Florez und feierte dort große Erfolge.
Kürzlich debütierte er höchst erfolgreich als Elvino am Londoner Opernhaus, eine Vorstellung wurde im Rundfunk übertragen.
Er war mir bereits vorher sehr positiv aufgefallen und ich denke, dass er eine große Karriere vor sich hat. Er verfügt über ein außerordentlich warmes Timbre.
Bisher existiert leider nur folgende Aufnahme mit ihm in der Rolle des Ruodi:
Jolanthe
number of singers who, to this pair of ears at least, very strongly resemble a predecessor in terms of their basic timbre and, often enough, means of vocal production. Kaufmann is a classic case in point, whole areas of the voice strongly reminding me of Jon Vickers: and Flórez is another, where I still half expect to look up and see not him but his teacher/mentor Ernesto Palacio. And then there is Celso Albelo, who bears no physical or personal resemblance at all, but whose sound is so similar to that of the late Alfredo Kraus that you wind up wondering whether, given that both were born and trained in the Canary Isles, there isn’t something in the waters around West Africa other than pirates to account for it. In fact, Albelo studied not with his compatriot, but with Carlo Bergonzi, probably the only other tenor of that generation who could actually give Kraus a run for his money in the matter of sheer aristocratic control and sense of vocal style. And happily, as surprisingly often happens, lightning has clearly struck twice.
resumed in the same language, but with a nod in the direction of our ultimate destination, the opera house, in the shape of arias from two zarzuelas, Penella’s Don Gil de Alcalá and Vives’ Doña Francisquita, both very passionate effusions of men in thrall to temptresses, and sung with nicely differentiated, yet virile, intensity. Amusing to note too that no matter how ostensibly sophisticated and scrupulously observant a Wigmore Hall audience is in its behaviour at this temple of high art – the very quiet dog was much the noisiest thing in the auditorium - throw them a couple of prolonged high notes and they break ranks like slappers at a disco, yelling for all they’re worth, to the Latin tenor’s visible delight.