Tag: Baroque

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Vivaldi: Argippo

CD cover Fabio Biondi directs Vivaldi's Argippo

Emőke Baráth Argippo, Marie Lys Osira, Delphine Galou Zanaida, Marianna Pizzolato Silvero, Luigi De Donato Tisifaro, Europa Galante, Fabio Biondi
123:00 (2 CDs in a jewel case with separate booklet, all in a card case)
naive OP 7079

Naïve’s attention to the operatic repertoire in its complete Vivaldi Edition is certainly not skimping. Here, following closely on the heels of an outstanding Tamerlano (Verona, 1735), a review of which appeared recently on EMR, is another pasticcio. Until recently, Argippo was considered to be lost, one of several operas from the early 1730s known only from a libretto housed in the University Library in Prague, where it was first given at the Teatro Sporck in 1730. A libretto for a slightly varied version of the opera given in Vienna, possibly earlier the same year, is also extant. Then, in 2011, an anonymous manuscript that can be linked to the opera was discovered in Darmstadt and it is this, alongside a collection of arias associated with the Vienna version, which formed the basis for the publication of the critical edition of the opera recorded here. Cast in the usual three acts, Argippo is a dramma per musica containing nine arias that can be attributed to Vivaldi. In addition, there are arias by his Venetian contemporaries G B Pescetti (4), A Galeazzi (a composer unknown to Grove Opera or any other authority I’ve consulted), the Milanese composer Andrea Fiorè, whose own setting of Argippo (Milan, 1722) is the source of Osira’s act 3 ‘Vado a morire’, one of the finest moments in the opera, and the better-known names of Hasse, Porpora and Vinci, each represented by a single aria.

The libretto was the work of Domenico Lalli, the poet who enjoyed the company of the composer D’Astorga during their adventurous travels through Europe during the second decade of the century (see the recent EMR review of D’Astorga sonatas and cantatas). It had first been set as Il gran mogol by Francesco Mancini for Naples in 1713, its exotic, colourful location in India conforming with the taste for opera seria to be given settings far removed from everyday life. The book is not exactly a masterpiece. It concerns Zanaida, the much-loved daughter of the Great Mogul, Tisifaro. She is convinced that she was seduced by Argippo, a tributary king, who married her, but then went off to commit bigamy with another princess, Osira. The opera revolves around a visit to Tisifaro by Argippo and Osira, during which it is revealed that Zanaida’s seducer was not Argippo but Tisifaro’s cousin and counsellor Silvero, this however not before poor Osira has been sentenced to death for her husband’s former ‘crime’. In a conclusion that defies all credibility, Zanaida agrees to marry Silvero, the man whose lust for her caused everyone else great distress.

It goes without saying there is no local colour and indeed for much of the first two acts there is little colour of any kind. An exception can be made for two arias for Zanaida, the first in act 1, ‘Se lento ancora in fulmine’ an aria di furia by Vivaldi, sung with glittering precision and fervent intensity by Delphine Galou, while ‘Che gran pena’ (act 2), a graciously melodic aria by Hasse, articulates the princess’s extreme conflicts of emotion. There is little doubt the impression made by these arias owes much to the dramatic commitment of the singer, whose work with her husband Ottavio Dantone has enabled Galou to attain new levels of excellence. Moreover, her delivery of plain recitative also stands out significantly from that of her colleagues. Among them, the Osira of soprano Marie Lys is a mixed success, infinitely touching and expressive in successive arias at the climax of the drama in act 3, but prone to brittle, razor-sharp brilliance in her upper range elsewhere. But she can be forgiven much for the lovely trill at the final cadence of ‘Vado a morir’. In any event, the sometimes wildly extravagant da capo excursions into the stratosphere are not unique to her. I wonder when singers will learn that such lapses of taste invariably end in tears, for the listener at least. Notwithstanding most of the singing is well above average, with some expectedly lovely cantabile from Emőke Baráth’s wronged Argippo and noble bass tone from Luigi De Donato’s suitably regal Tisifaro.

Fabio Biondi’s direction is efficient, but to my ears not particularly inspiring. As so often with him, mannerisms can be irritating, particularly his encouragement of a continuo lutenist whose hyperactivity consistently distracts attention from the voice. The sound also lacks the immediacy of other recent issues in this series. Those collecting the series can be assured of another set well worthy of investigating, but the uncommitted may find it a less appealing proposition

Brian Robins

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Bach: 6 Partitas

Asako Ogawa Bach partitas on harpsichord

Asako Ogawa harpsichord
150:31 (2 CDs in a card tryptych)
First Hand Records FHR92

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Asako Ogawa, an accomplished harpsichordist and accompanist, is based in the Guildhall, where her harpsichord teachers included Nicholas Parle (who produced this recording), James Johnstone and Laurence Cummings, with Steven Devine for fortepiano. As you may imagine with this pedigree, she plays elegantly on a harpsichord by Alan Gotto, 2009, after Jean Goermans/Pascal Taskin, 1764/1783, and writes her own intelligent liner notes on the Partitas and their place in Bach’s output. She recorded them in the Church of the Ascension, Plumstead this summer, so her calling card has been produced in time for pre-Christmas publicity.

I found her lyrical playing engaging from the start: the imitative writing in the opening Praeludium in the B-flat Partita is limpid and elegant on the upper 8’ and in this as in so many other movements you can sense the implied counterpoint. Her ornaments in the repeats are stylish and the choice of registration seems apt. It is certainly varied, and the contrast between the buff stop on the main 8’ she uses for the Minuet I in this Partita and the slightly thinner 8’ on the upper manual for Minuet II is telling. But it brings into stark relief an irritation that I find detracts from the admirable playing. That is the distinctly audible hard metallic chip on the d above middle C on the lower 8’ register, which is the major third in the opening this very key. Whether it might have been a particular trait of the acoustic or could have been solved by re-voicing that one note, I do not know. In general, I like a little individual character in the voicing of ranks (on organs as well as harpsichords), but this is obtrusive. No details are given about the temperament and tuning.

I looked for more details of Alan Gotto’s harpsichords on his website which has sound samples, and in many ways, the Goermans/Taskin double that Ogawa plays seems a good choice for this recording with a good French-style bloom in the middle register. The instrument sampled there certainly doesn’t have a wolf-note on that d, so this must be a peculiarity of that particular instrument, as can happen. In the very French Ouverture of the D major Partita (I.13), the merry clang of the full registration in the opening section certainly masks it and the fugato starts on the upper manual.

For her rhythmic control, listen to the elegant and only slightly inégale Courante in the 2nd Partita, and for contrapuntal clarity the Capriccio at the end of that suite. This is a capable and sensitive player who is intelligently inside the music, and quite capable of drawing us into it. I admire her playing and hope that it shines through the instrument’s infelicity to give her reputation the laurels her playing deserves.

David Stancliffe

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Bach: Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, volume 2

Bach Wohltemperierte Klavier 2 Steven Devine

Steven Devine harpsichord
148:45 (2 CDs in a single jewel case)
resonus RES10261

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As in Volume 1 that I reviewed for the EMR in July 2019, Steven Devine records Volume 2 of Das Wohltemperierte Klavier on Colin Booth’s 2000 harpsichord after a Johann Christoff Fleischer original (Hamburg 1710) that he tunes in a version of Kirkberger III, ‘gently modified so as to retain the key colours that make the harpsichord sing so much better, but eliminating any extreme dissonances’.

I have been waiting impatiently for Volume 2 to appear, as Das Wohltemperierte Klavier is for me a perfect accompaniment to the periods of lock-down we have experienced. Playing one of these highly individual and characterful pieces each day is a way of articulating the passage of time in a way that helps give shape and direction to life when other bearings fail. I said in reviewing the first volume that Devine’s ‘has a particular seemingly effortless grace, and it’s the one of all I’ve heard in the past ten years that I am happiest to live with.’ Volume 2 confirms this judgement, and the ‘effortless grace‘ – which of course is the result of much hard work and study, and is the very opposite to those recordings which make you sit up and take notice of the player’s ability (rather than the composer’s) – is just what I hope readers will want of a recording that they are going to live with. Clever and ‘original’ performances are fine in a concert hall where they can make us sit up and rethink our opinions. But that kind of attention-seeking playing time after time is wearisome. We need to remember that although Bach was a consummate composer, he was revered in his lifetime as a keyboard player, and with that went a lifetime’s experience as a teacher setting goals that would stretch his pupils’ capabilities as well as their imaginations. Stellar performances like this one come I suspect from those who are born teachers too: Devine’s pupils are hugely lucky.

Colin Booth’s harpsichord is never aggressive and I am hardly aware of the chosen registration, as it all seems so naturally right. Without knowing the original on which it is based, all I can say is that this instrument combines clarity with a degree of mellowness that makes the lines sing and gives a distinct aura, like the sympathetic strings of a Viola d’Amore. Prelude 18 in G# minor (CD 2, track 11) illustrates the registrational possibilities well – they are gentle and unobtrusive and don’t clamour for attention – and the listener looking to understand Devine’s subtle approach to rhythmic articulation should listen to the swinging inégales of the Prelude in D (CD 1, track 9) or to the Fugue in D minor (CD 1, track 12). His ornaments and passagework are equally unmechanical and have that degree of fluidity that shows how well he is in command of the music.

The distinctive tuning that results from Devine’s tweaking of Kirkberger III never makes me wince, but results in the sharp keys maintaining a pronounced distinction from the flat keys and while we shall never know with absolute certainty just how Johann Sebastian tuned his keyboards, this version certainly produces a distinctive sound in each key, one of the chief lacks in performances on pianos tuned in modern equal temperament. This time, Devine’s essay ponders the range of possibilities behind this second collection and its context, reflecting some of the more modern or Galant-leaning characteristics that herald the later classical Sonata form.

In spite of being recorded quite closely, the acoustics of St Mary’s Church, Birdsall in North Yorkshire create a wonderful aura of tonality for each piece – just listen to the harmonics hanging in the air between the end of the Prelude and the beginning of the Fugue in G (CD2, tracks 5-6). This is – and remains with the publication of Part 2 – my top choice for the 48.

David Stancliffe

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Cavalieri Imperiali

Lambert Colson CD cover of Cavalieri imperiali Cornetto virtuosi in Vienna

Zenobi & Sansoni, the great cornetto masters
InALTO, Lambert Colson
64:36
Ricercar RIC419

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This programme embraces imaginatively the actual musical commerce across the mountains between Northern Italy and the Hapsburg empire, personified by the two ennobled cornett players Zenobi and Sansoni. These late 16th-century “cavalieri di cornetto” were in high demand in both geographies and admired as much by their peers as by their employers. The all-instrumental programme starts bravely – and arrestingly – with a performance of the Lassus madrigalian motet Concupiscendo concupiscit anima mea. The marvellous expressiveness of the playing of such obviously text-coloured, highly-wrought phrases ironically leaves the listener slightly hungry for what’s missing. This bravery is nevertheless to be applauded, and the translation to instruments works without reservation in other pieces – particularly in the Luzzaschi which is the next example of this sort on the disc. Here the boot is on the other foot as it were, since, in the spectacular genre of musica secreta, voices were surely taking much inspiration from the instrumentalists of the time. After that arresting start using a full ensemble, the second piece is performed on solo cornett and harpsichord, thus bookending the scales of ensemble represented, and evoking the famous contemporary description of Zenobi:  accompanied by a closed-lidded harpsichord, and playing in perfect balance. The third piece finds us in the familiar territory of Castello, played with verve and in a more open acoustic than the previous “chamber” sound. The playing styles, the genres included, the mix of familiar and less familiar works, the changes in scale and acoustic are all extremely well thought through and beautifully rendered. The last genre to be encountered in the programme, and completing the set on offer, is the exuberant Weckmann-style Valentini, Schmelzer and Neri pieces with their heterogeneous mixes of instruments, bringing a new conversational element and extrovert performances to the mix. A tour de force.

Stephen Cassidy

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Handel: Organ Transcriptions by Walsh and Hook

CD cover Vebber plays transcriptions of Handel on the organ

Simone Vebber
54:04
La Bottega Discantica 314

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Transcriptions of Handel’s works for keyboard were intended to make his music widely available and were not made for recital purposes. Shorn of their original context they can seem like simple Gebrauchsmusik. While they do allow the listener to concentrate on Handel’s harmony and counterpoint, without the contrasts between solo and ripieno, or between different vocal groups, sequential repeats can get a bit wearisome. This selection includes two organ concertos, arranged by John Walsh, together with transcriptions by James Hook of two Coronation anthems, ‘Let Thy Hand Be strengthened’ and ‘The King Shall rejoice’. There are also successful arrangements of two choruses from Saul and Judas Maccabeus. Vebber plays on the organ in S. Maria Maddalena, Desenzano on Lake Garda. It includes some pipework from the church’s 17th-century organ by Matteo Cardinali, but was largely rebuilt in 1835-7 by the Serassi brothers. It provides a good range of contrasting stops though some of the big reeds tend to overpower and can sound anomalous, coming as a bit of shock when they substitute for the massed choir in the anthems. The accompanying booklet is in Italian only, and the website provides no translations or further information. Something of a curiosity, then, but the playing is rhythmically consistent, while maintaining good flexibility. The ‘Cuckoo and Nightingale’ concerto bristles with fun and, indeed, the whole recording exudes a strong sense of joie de vivre. Good for raising spirits in these trying times!

Noel O’Regan

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D’Astorga & Lalli: Cantatas · Sonatas

Les Abbagliati perform chamber music by D'Astorga and Lalli

Les Abbagliati
58:56
Ramée RAM1907
+G. Bononcini, Handel, Vivaldi

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The notes for this issue (by Ronan Kernoa, the cellist of the Belgian ensemble Les Abbagliata) open with a bizarre hypothetical account of an evening meeting in June 1731 of Bologna’s famous Accademia degli Invaghiti. Involved are Handel, the librettist Domenico Lalli and latter’s friend the Sicilian-born Baron d’Astorga (Gioacchino Cesare Rincòn), diplomat and composer. Given that Handel was in London in the summer of 1731 – he was involved with the revival of Acis and Galatea – that Lalli was at the time in the service of the Elector of Bavaria and that d’Astorga’s whereabouts at the time are unknown, the conceit seems rather pointlessly far-fetched, serving no purpose other than that of linking D’Astorga and Lalli to Handel.

Lalli and d’Astorga, exiled from Sicily in 1711, had met in Rome, thereafter pursuing flamboyant (and flamboyantly exaggerated) adventures across Italy and Spain. Whether or not Lalli was the author of the texts of the two cantatas by D’Astorga included here is unclear, though given their friendship it must be a reasonable supposition.  Both follow the format of alternation of aria and recitative while conforming to the expected pastoral take on topics relating to the vicissitudes of love. Neither strike me as especially memorable, rather confirming Burney’s view that the cantatas of D’Astorga that he’d encountered, ‘did not fulfil the expectations excited by his high character and the composition of his elegant and refined Stabat Mater’ (D’Astorga’s best-known work). Certainly they fail to match the melodic invention or charm of Bononcini’s ‘Sento dentro del petto’, the third cantata on the CD, which is occupied with happier aspects of love. All three cantatas come from a volume found in the Austrian National Library in Vienna. They are sung by Les Abbagliati’s soprano Soetkin Elbers with warmth and a winning freshness. However although it is evident she has taken care with the texts, Elbers’s Italian enunciation is not sufficiently clearly articulated to point them in the way a native Italian might have been expected to do. Her ornamentation is discreet to the point of reticence and embellishments are too often tentatively approached.

The instrumental works further the tenuous connections the CD is so keen to cultivate in that they are by composers that all set librettos of Lalli, though in the case of Handel’s four-movement Concerto a quattro in D minor there is a rival bid for authorship in the shape of Telemann (TWV 43/d3). Scored for flute, violin, cello and harpsichord, it’s an agreeable work with a spirited final Allegro that would steer me toward putting my money on Telemann. After an over-deliberate opening Adagio with heavily accentuated rhythms, the performance is fine. Indisputable Handel comes in the shape of his Trio Sonata in D minor (HWV 386b), a splendid work made memorable by its exquisitely lovely Largo (iii) based on an aria of Keiser’s. Again the opening Andante comes across as a little studied, but otherwise the performance is well-balanced and capably played, as are the briefer offerings by Vivaldi, Handel and Alessandro Scarlatti.

Brian Robins

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J. S. Bach: Trios pour clavier et violon

CD cover Encelade Bach trios for violin and organ

Odile Edouard violin & Freddy Eichelberger organ
162:15 3 CDs
Encelade ECL 1704

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An unexpected photo of the Railway Station in Erfurt, the capital of Thuringia, forms the cover of this well-presented 3CD recording of Bach entitled Trios pour clavier et violon. The three CDs are recorded using a different organ for each to which a different violin could be matched. Great care has been taken to find suitable organs built in the Thuringian style, though since most of the historic instruments are at Chörton (A=466hz) or higher, all three organs chosen for this project are all recent instruments at 440 or 415.

CD 1 opens with the Fantazia in C minor, BWV 562, played at A=440 on the 1997 organ by Denis Londe in Saint-Louis de Saint Étienne, after Silbermann, and chorale preludes in appropriate keys intersperse the violin works. The second organ (in the Temple de Boudry in the canton of Neuchâtel in Switzerland) is a copy of the actual Silbermann organ in Großhartmansdorf, and the third is by Quentin Blumenroeder in the Temple du Foyer de l’Âme, Paris and is at A=415. Details of their specifications are given in the booklet, which is in French and English. Colour photographs of the three organs and of Edouard’s three violins – Klotz (1757), Bodart, after Stainer (2012) and Hofmans (c.1700) – are on the inner folds of the case.

The nine ‘violin’ sonatas recorded here are the set of six with an independent part in the keyboard’s right hand (BWV 1014-1019), plus two others that are not trios, but simply have a basso continuo (BWV 1021 and 1023 – more like an incipient suite) and BWV 1028, the D major sonata for viola da gamba, of which there is a Bach autograph for violin and keyboard. They make a good group, with their interspersed organ pieces, and are performed splendidly, given that you are happy with the keyboard instrument being an organ, not a harpsichord.

These CDs are celebrating thirty years of Edouard’s and Eichelberger’s longstanding friendship and musical partnership, much of it playing 17th century music. Edouard makes the point that the balance of voices is easier to achieve between the violin and a decent-sized gallery organ with characterful registrations than a harpsichord. The sonorities of the different instruments in the different acoustics are instructive, and have their effect on the tempi as well as the articulation.

From the outset, it is clear that this is a quintessentially French style of playing: the inégales of the opening quavers of the Fantasia are splendidly extreme. And as the C minor sonata begins, it becomes clear that the difference between the string sound and the organ is more pronounced in the slower movements where the warmer string sound with its (fairly restrained vibrato) seems a very different voice, even when the right hand of the organ uses a tremulant. This difference in the way the sound is produced is less obvious in the faster movements, when a more colourful registration is possible on the organ, and the distinction between the way the notes on the organ are produced does not contrast so sharply with the bow strokes and that sense of beginning and growing into a note that is so characteristic of the violin. But by track 12, I was becoming wooed by the sounds and the overall balance. Try tracks 12 and 13 (from the F minor sonata) to judge for yourself.

CD2 takes us to Switzerland and a cleaner acoustic and here I feel the balance between the organ and the 2012 copy of a Stainer instrument is more successful. Again the organ is at 440, but here we seem to be in a more equal partnership: the quality of the individual 8’ ranks certainly helps to achieve the desired equality, and the left-hand registrations speak with amazing promptness and clarity. I especially appreciated the unhurried tempo in the Presto in the A major sonata (track 15).

In CD3 we are with the only organ of the three at 415, and immediately the powerful open principal pedal notes make their presence felt in the concerto-like opening movement of BWV1019, where the organ’s sesquialtera is a more than equal match for the violin. This trio has many similarities in its concerto-like feel with the G major organ trio sonata. This organ is certainly pretty punchy throughout this CD.

So here is a partnership of instruments that grew on me musically over the entire programme. As one who is primarily an organist, I found the choice of instruments fascinating and the playing impeccable, as you would expect. It opens a whole alternative sound-world which I hope our violinists will be keen to explore, even if the right organs will be hard to find. For my money, the Swiss copy of the Silbermann organ in Großhartmansdorf by Jean-Marie Tricoteaux provides the organ that best partners Edouard’s violin (here the Hofmans) and brings out her best playing.

David Stancliffe

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Johann Sebastian Bach: Complete sonatas for obbligato harpsichord and violin

CD cover Bach Complete sonatas Degand and Cochard

Stéphanie-Marie Degand violin and Violaine Cochard harpsichord
91:00 (2 CDs in a card folder)
NoMadMusic NNM 071

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This recording of the six ‘sonatas for obbligato harpsichord and violin’, as the duo reminds us in the brief liner notes that all the copies of these six sonatas that date from Bach day are titled, is the fruit of many years friendship and musical collaboration since the pair were students in the 1990s. The violinist is a protégé of Emanuelle Haïm, and co-founder of Le Concert d’Astrée, but also plays a wide range of more modern music. The harpsichordist is also a singer, and both their biographies in the liner notes are gushingly superlative. In spite of this, I was not altogether taken with their playing of these Bach sonatas.

They tell us how important it is to hear the right hand of the harpsichord part equally balanced with the violin, yet in the recording, the violin is overwhelmingly projected above the harpsichord, and played for my taste with an almost Brahmsian lushness. Either the engineers hadn’t taken the equality of the harpsichord seriously, choosing to regard it as simply the accompaniment of a solo, or the microphones were placed much too close to the violin. Either way, the performers should have corrected this and re-balanced the recording, as especially in the quicker movements with a lot of canonic writing like the first Allegro in the C minor sonata (CD 2.2) or of the F minor sonata (CD 2.6), the harpsichord is not just an unequal partner, it is barely audible at times.

As I grew increasingly dissatisfied, I turned again to my favourite recording of these sonatas made in 2000 by Trevor Pinnock and a youthful Rachel Podger, which is streets ahead of this one, both in balance and clarity of the part-writing and also in the musical understanding of Bach’s interweaving lines. Just compare the first two movements in the F minor sonata in the two recordings and feel the flow and direction in the long phrases from Podger and Pinnock (CD 2.9/10) through the wonderful key-changes in the first movement, where Degand and Cochard (CD 2.5/6) seem to lose their rather self-indulgent way. You really have to know where you are going when playing Bach if you are to take your listeners along with you.

The violin is by Joseph Catenari, 1710 and played with a Tourte bow; the harpsichord is by Ryo Yoshida, after a German one by Gottfried Silbermann. There is no information about temperament or tuning, nor anything about Bach’s music. For that, you need to go to Podger and Pinnock (CCS 14798) and the essay by Jonathan Freeman-Attwood.

All in all, I am sorry to say that I cannot find much to like in this version.

David Stancliffe

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Bach: The English Suites BWV806-811

CD cover of Paolo Zanzu playing Bach's English Suites on harpsichord

Paolo Zanzu harpsichord
130:40 (2 CDs)
Musica Ficta MF8032/3

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This recording of the English Suites by Paolo Zanzu, the young Italian/French harpsichordist, appears to be his debut solo Bach recording. A well-known and trusted collaborator in music projects of a wide variety, Zanzu teaches at the Brussels Conservatoire, and is the founder of Le Stagioni. He posts an impressive list of the people and groups with whom he has played and to whom he has acted as assistant director, including Bill Christie’s Les Arts Florissants, John Eliot Gardiner’s Monteverdi 450 project and the English Baroque Soloists, in the very brief liner notes in French, English and Italian.

He plays with a mature rhythmic flexibility, and I found myself warming to him the more I listened. As you might expect, his playing is not just note-perfect but carefully prepared, and the instrument is well-suited to the complex English Suites. It was built after a historic instrument of c. 1730 from the school of Gottfried Silbermann by Anthony Sidey and Frédéric Bal of Paris in 1995, with 8’ & 4’ on manual 1, and 8’ with harp and lute stops on manual 2. It is tuned at A=405hz in a Silbermann temperament.

The registration possibilities of the instrument are very distinctive. The upper manual’s 8’ is pretty uncompromising in tone, and when used with the lute (and harp?) stop in the 2nd Bourrée of the First Suite, for example, is not only extremely rustic but bordering on the unpleasant. It reminds me of the coarseness of some rustic dances in the Brueghel mode!

This is presumably intended, as the rest of the Suites swing along with that fluency and attention to the patterning of threes and fours in the groups of quavers and semi-quavers that reveal how well aware he is of the very complex interplay of rhythmic nuance that is so characteristic of Bach. This maturity only comes to a secure, established and confident player who is at ease with himself as well as with the Bach. This is an enormously musical performance of a complex work which is not as frequently recorded as it might be.

I would urge those who do not have an up-to-the-moment recording of the English Suites on a characterful instrument to consider this one, played by a real musician who knows how to stroke life out of an instrument rather than batter it into submission.

David Stancliffe

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Vivaldi: Tamerlano

Dantone conducts Vivaldi's opera Tamerlano for the naïve complete series

Bruno Taddia Bajazet, Filippo Mineccia Tamerlano, Delphine Galou Asteria, Sophie Ennert Irene, Marina De Liso Andronico, Arianna Vendittelli Idaspe, Accademia Bizantina, Ottavio Dantone
Vivaldi Edition vol. 65
155:00 (3 CDs in a box)
OP 7080

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Volume 65 of naïve’s remarkable Vivaldi integrale brings us one of the last of the complete opera’s still to be recorded. Il Tamerlano is one of Vivaldi’s later operas composed not for Venice but the historic Accademia Filharmonica of Verona, whose appointment of Vivaldi as impresario for the 1735 Carnival season resulted in two operas, Adelaide and Il Tamerlano, both probably premiered in January.

Of the now lost Adelaide, we know nothing beyond the fact its libretto is most likely by Antonio Salvi (a text set by Handel as Lotario in 1729), while Il Tamerlano is a pasticcio assembled by Vivaldi from previously composed operas of his own and those of Giacomelli (3 arias), Hasse (3) and Riccardo Broschi, Farinelli’s brother, two of whose arias were incorporated. They are all identified in the booklet, though it’s quite fun to listen first and see how many one can identify as not being by Vivaldi. One of the most remarkable to my mind is ‘Sposa son disprezzata’ (As a bride I am despised), taken from Giacomelli’s Merope (Venice, 1734). It is an aria for Irene, the woman abandoned by her fiancée Tamerlano for Asteria, the daughter of the imprisoned Bajazet, who he has conquered in battle. Full of stabbing pain and dissonance, it serves as a reminder that Giacomelli still remains undeservedly neglected. Vivaldi was thus left with just the recitatives, including several accompagnati, to compose from the libretto by Agostino Piovene, a book first set by Gasparini as Il Bajazet in 1711 and subsequently by several others composers including Handel in 1724. The piecemeal nature of Il Tamerlano thus serves to remind present-day opera lovers that far from being a despised form it is often characterised as today, the 18th-century pasticcio was a valid form in itself, utilised by just about every major opera composer of the day, including of course Handel.

The reason it was possible to swap arias from one opera to another is because arias fall almost exclusively into one of two forms: generic expressions of human emotions such as love, hate, jealousy and so on, emotional expressions obviously as valid today as they were in the 18th century; or more impersonal so-called ‘simile’ arias that compared feelings or impressions with something in nature, like a storm at sea. Plot came a long way behind poetic expression and Il Bajazet is unusual in this period in having a strong, direct storyline that concerns the all-conquering Tamerlano’s relationships with the defeated, yet still proud and stubborn Sultan Bajazet and his daughter Asteria, the true heroes of the story (the original libretto was called Il Bajazet). Only with the death of Bajazet does Tamerlano renounce his philandering and turn to being the nobly forgiving and repentant ruler the sentiment of opera per dramma dictates he must finally be.

Ottavio Dantone and his Accademia Bizantina have for a while now been the performers of choice for the operas in the Vivaldi Edition (along with a number of orchestral issues). It is not difficult to see why. In 2019 they produced a superlative account of Il Giustino (1724), an issue matched by this Il Tamerlano, which might be described in a single word: electrifying. Rarely does a studio recording have the febrile excitement we encounter here, a performance in which Dantone has galvanized every one of his performers into singing or playing with an intensity that ranges from anger to distress, from tenderness to evocation of the gentleness of the turtledove. It is founded on Dantone’s belief in the sanctity of text, a belief that provides a foundation for all his opera performances and which involves extensive work on recitative. Virtually every word is invested with meaning and expressed by an outstanding cast that has bought totally into the approach. It would be difficult to envisage more convincing performances of Bajazet, originally a role for tenor, but here commandingly sung by the light baritone Bruno Taddia, of Asteria, a glowing, finely-nuanced assumption by Delphine Galou or the supremely accomplished Tamerlano of Filippo Mineccia, now surely well up near the top of the countertenor league in a crowded field. Of the remaining roles soprano Marina De Liso is a near-flawless Andronico, the Greek Prince who would save Bajazet and loves and is loved by Asteria. Arianna Vendittelli (Idaspe) and Sophie Rennert (Irene) complete a cast that matches Dantone’s fervent advocacy, though neither is free from the common failure of lack of vocal control above the stave. It remains only to note that ornaments are mostly fluently and stylishly added, though as usual cadential (and other) trills are largely noticeable by their absence. But we do get an even more rarely heard ornament from Vendittelli in the shape of a perfectly executed messa di voce in Idaspe’s opening aria.

It hardly needs saying in conclusion that Dantone’s Il Tamerlano is a magnificent achievement, unquestionably one of the most important issues of a wretched 2020 redeemed in part by some truly remarkable recordings.

Brian Robins