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Recording

Mozart: Mitridate, Re di Ponto

Michael Spyres Mitridate, Julie Fuchs Aspasia, Sabine Devieihle Ismene, Elsa Dreisig Sifare, Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian Franace, Cyrille Dubois Marzio, Adriana Bignani Lesca Arbate, Les Musiciens du Louvre, Marc Minkowski
151:11 (3 CDs in a card box)
Erato 1 90296 61757 7

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Mitridate represents an important milestone in Mozart’s composing career, his first attempt at composing a full-length serious opera. It owes its existence to a commission received when father Leopold and the 14 year-old Wolfgang stayed in Milan in the early months of 1770 during the course of their first Italian tour. The subject of the libretto the boy was asked to set was a historical figure, King Mithridates , the despotic ruler of Pontus, a Hellenic country on the Black Sea today part of Turkey. Mithridates was a fierce opponent of the Romans, but – like most plots based on history – considerable licence was taken by the libretto of V A Cigna-Santi, who based his book on a play by Racine. It concerns the return of Mitridate to Pontus following defeat by Pompey. Suspicious of the loyalty of his own sons, Farnace and Sifare, not least their intention towards his young bride-to-be Aspasia, Mitridate inspires a rumour he is dead to test them. Sifare has indeed fallen in love with Aspasia, in so doing rejecting the gentle princess Ismene. Farnace on the other hand is revealed as the traitor who has fallen under the spell of Roman influence in the person of the Roman tribune Marzio. The opening is thus nicely poised for a conflict of loyalties and emotional turmoil of the kind on which opera seria thrived, indeed depended.   

The opera was first given by a star-studded cast at the Teatro Regio Ducale in Milan on 26 December 1770, being well received and achieving a run of 22 performances, no mean achievement for a new opera in a major house at the time. Both the lavish staging and Mozart’s music were praised, the latter by the Gazzetta di Milano for his studies of ‘the beauties of [human] nature and representing them ‘adorned with the rarest music graces’. The opera is in the usual three acts, dominated by the customary da capo arias and just a single duet (between Aspasia and Sifare) to end act 2. Less conventional is the number of accompanied recitatives (6) that perhaps better than the arias show the young composer’s astonishing and seemingly innate ability to lay open human emotions, often of a profundity and complexity he should not have been able to understand at such a tender age.

As befits a glamorous cast, many of the aria are virtuoso pieces that, as was customary in the 18th century, were tailor-made by Mozart for the singers, with whom he worked closely to ‘fit the costume to the figure’, as he figuratively put it. Such demands frequently give problems to casting such operas today in particular tenor roles such as Mitridate. In this new Minkowski recording Michael Spyres, justly much admired for his singing of later music, in particular the heroes of Berlioz, proves to be no exception. While he is admirably authoritative and at times sensitive, the tessitura in an aria such as the heroic ‘Vado incontro’ (act 3) tests him to the limit, as can be readily heard in some of the less than pleasant sounds he makes above the stave. There is also too much continuous vibrato in the voice and some of his cadences are vulgarly ornamented. Since the latter (and one might almost say the same of the former) is a common problem throughout the set, one can only assume they were what Marc Minkowski wanted. Otherwise there are some satisfying performances, in particular those of Julie Fuch’s Aspasia and Elsa Dreisig’s Sifare, who are particularly sensitive in the lovers’ exchanges in act 2. Sabine Devieilhe brings a lovely, tender quality to the role of Ismene, a prototype for Ilia in Idomeneo. The generally stylish countertenor Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian is an excellent Farnace, his performance reaching a fitting climax and attaining true nobility in act 3’s ‘Già dagli occhi’, a fine extended aria in which he renounces and repents his treachery. 

Minkowski’s direction is uneven, as so often with conductors today playing allegros too fast and slower tempos too slowly. This is particularly marked in act 1, with its preponderance of quick arias, almost without exception driven by the conductor in a manner that not infrequently sounds aggressive. Thereafter the approach allows for rather more nuance and sensitivity, and there is much to enjoy. Howeve, overall I think this performance too uneven to compete with the fine and certainly more idiomatic performance directed by Ian Page (Signum). Moreover Page’s version is obligatory for all serious Mozartians for its inclusion of a fourth CD devoted to variants of a number of the arias that show how much work Mozart put into satisfying both himself and his cast.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Passion

Véronique Gens, Ensemble Les Surprises, Louis-Noël Bestion de Camboulas
57:12
Alpha Classics Aplha 747

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Lully’s music dominates this ‘imaginary opera’ in a recital of arias grouped by mood/subject into five ‘acts’. Véronique Gens came to fame as an exponent of this repertoire: opinion will be divided as to whether her voice as it now is (strikingly successful in Mozart, Verdi and Wagner) is still as effective and appropriate here as it once was.

My own view is that even though the premières actrices and grandes dessus whom she seeks to emulate undoubtedly sang with great passion, a singer with modern training could perhaps be more restrained in early repertoire and seek to get a little closer to the sonic world of the orchestra. The same goes for the choir.

However, despite these reservations and my dislike of the tamperings with the instrumentation, I have to say that, on its own terms, this is a brilliant performance of an excellent programme.

The booklet (essays in French, English and German, though sung texts are only printed in French and English) offers the artists adequate support though the graphic designer should know that a page of text in capital letters is not easy to read and eliminates the possibility of highlighting important names by their initial letter.

David Hansell

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Recording

Destouches Sémiramis

Les Ombres directed Sylvain Sartre and Margaux Blanchard
CVS038
127:38 (2CDs in a card box)

André Cardinal Destouches (1672-1749) was educated by the Jesuits and had a career as a Musketeer before resigning to study music with André Campra. His first ‘hit’ was the pastoral Issé in 1697, which was written for the court but immediately taken up by the Opéra in Paris. He rose to prominent positions in both contexts and Sémiramis was first performed in 1718. Influenced by the Italophile Campra, Destouches abandoned the traditional five-part string scoring of Lully and his followers and created a work that was perhaps too serious for its time: only now are we in a position to recognise his work as an important step along the road from the aesthetic of Lully to that of Rameau.

Not that it is without distinctive characteristics and merits of its own. There is an attractive melodic fluency; the integration of the principal protagonists, the orchestra and the chorus is impressive; and Act V especially has a tremendous dramatic sweep. But I have to say that I found the performance difficult to enjoy. The continuo and percussion sections seem over-staffed to my ears and I strongly suspect that some adjustments/additions have been made to the original scoring. However, it is the singing that I really struggled with and yes, it’s the v-word. The singers are absolutely un-reconstructed modern opera in their approach and simply come from a different sound-world to that of the orchestra. Some of the ornament singing is also very laboured.

The superficially impressive booklet (French, English and German though libretto only French and English) also fails to impress in its detail. Versailles have to get to grips with the quality of their translations. I have commented before on unidiomatic turns of phrase, but here there are mistakes as well.

In brief, this is excellent music disappointingly presented.

David Hansell

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Recording

Monteverdi: L’Orfeo

Ensemble Lundabarock, Höör Barock, Ensemble Altapunta, Fredrik Malmberg
105:39 (2 CDs in a cardboard box)
BIS-2519 SACD

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The arrival of this set gave me pause to wonder about the number of Orfeo’s I’ve reviewed in my time. It’s a fair few and I’ve actually lost track of the exact number, which is not that important anyway. What is important it is that leaving aside its crucial place in operatic history Orfeo is one of those rare operas that almost never fails to make a strong impression. The secret (leaving aside Monteverdi’s great music) is surely its uncomplicated directness, the ability for the central tragedy to penetrate the heart effortlessly. Could anything carry more grief stricken resonance than the simplicity of Orfeo’s single word response ‘Ohimè’ to the Messenger’s words, ‘La tua diletta sposa è morta’ (Your beloved wife is dead’), the exchange empty, devoid of passion?

It’s a moment that comes off with the devastating effect it must in this exceptional new recording from Sweden. It combines the forces of three early music ensembles based remarkably not in the capital but the south of the country. Brought together under the direction of Fredrik Malmberg, a young conductor making a name for himself in Europe, the performance is especially noteworthy for its near-infallible sense of style (the addition of percussion, which Monteverdi’s published full score does not call for, is in places an aggravating aberration). Above all it has been thoroughly prepared – no fewer than four Italian vocal coaches are credited – not only underlining the critical importance of the text but also in relation to ornamentation, which is invariably sung with great assurance, accuracy and precise articulation.

The cast is led by the tenor Johan Linderoth, a Baroque specialist who has worked frequently with Paul Hillier and has a particular penchant for music of the 17th century. If the timbre of his voice lacks the beauty of the most recent outstanding exponent of the role on record, Emiliano Gonzalez Toro (Naïve), it more than makes up for it in a totally idiomatic and sensitive account. As it must, the ornamented version of ‘Possente spirto’ stands at the centre at the performance and even if Linderoth doesn’t quite achieve the diamantine accuracy of Gonzalez Toro (or indeed the great Nigel Rogers) it is nevertheless a formidable accomplishment. The ‘second’ death of Euridice at the end of act four is another heart-stopping passage, vividly bringing home the moral that Orfeo has been punished not for disobedience, but because, in the words of the Chorus of Spirits that ends the act, he has not achieved ‘victory over himself’.

While it is a truism that any performance of Orfeo stands or falls on its eponymous hero, many of the supporting roles make their own demands. The present performance generally fulfils these admirably, particularly in the cases of Kristina Hellgren, who sings La Musica and Proserpina, Christine Nonbo Andersen (Ninfa 1 and Euridice) and Maria Forsström (Messaggiera). Both Hellgren and Andersen are fresh-voiced sopranos and Baroque specialists and stylists of a kind we now rarely seem to encounter in the UK. Listen, for example, to the exquisite way the former ornaments the many strophic verses of La Musica, or the perfect sense of stillness she achieves in its final lines, an evocation of nature paused. Andersen is a lovely, fragile Euridice, infinitely touching in ‘Ahi vista troppo dolce’ (act 4). Forsström is a fine mezzo who sustains the Messenger’s long story with commanding presence and a vivid communicative sense. Steffen Bruun’s Charonte is rather lugubrious, but Karl Peter Eriksson is an imposing, yet sympathetic Plutone. The roles of the various shepherds, infernal spirits and so forth are all more capably filled in what is a fine team effort.

The instrumental playing is of a high standard, my only minor caveat being some over-fussy arpeggiated continuo work from the plucked strings when chords would have been more telling and less obtrusive; Euridice’s ‘Io non dirò’ (act 1) is an example. But in sum this is a remarkable achievement and to realise just how remarkable try to imagine an Orfeo of this calibre given by early music ensembles based in the south of England.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Anachronistic Hearts

Héloïse Mas mezzo-soprano, London Handel Orchestra, Laurence Cummings
76:35
muso mu 045

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Fresh from enjoying Joyce Di Donato’s fabulous new complete recording of Agrippina, I was eased into this CD of Handel operatic arias with the familiar strains of Poppea’s charming “Bel piacere”. A compilation CD such as this relies heavily on the charms of the soprano soloist, and, in this case, we are fortunate to be in the hands of Héloïse Mas, a singer of great musical instinct and superb technique, who like Di Donato is able to bring Handel’s operatic music dramatically to life. Ably supported by the London Handel Orchestra under the direction of Laurence Cummings, Mas conjures up the relevant characters in the course of one short aria and gives expression to their innermost feelings. In among the operatic music are arias from early oratorios as well as a secular cantata, written in Italy in 1707; La Lucrezia, with its narrative of rape and revenge, provides powerful and contrasting emotions for the composer to tap into and for the performers to revel in. All of these performances by Mas demonstrate a voice at the peak of its powers, underpinned with musical and dramatic intelligence, which animates every single moment of this programme.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Grétry: L’amant jaloux (instrumental arrangement)

Notturna, Christopher Palameta
56:42
Atma Classique ACD2 2797
+Entr’acte from “La Caravane du Caire”, F-A Danican Philidor oboe quartet no. 2

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Composed in the late 18th century for the court of Louis XV, Grétry’s three-act opera L’Amant Jaloux was an immediate and enormous success, and in the manner of the times, this anonymous instrumental arrangement of the main musical items for flute, oboe, violin, viola and bass appeared almost at once, to allow amateur musicians to enjoy all the hit tunes at home. The style of the writing is lightly Galant, and the instrumental version permits the enjoyment of Grétry’s ready musical imagination without having to follow the vagaries of a late-18th-century plot! Some of the musical items in the chamber score, made available for this recording by Brian Clark of Prima la Musica, are extremely short, but all of them have an elegant charm, which perfectly evokes the French court just prior to the revolution. The balance of the CD is made up with a delightful quartet for oboe, two violins and bass by François-André Danican Philidor, which in its intensity adds a darker element to the programme. The CD concludes with the Entr’acte from Grétry’s La Caravane du Caire in an arrangement for piccolo, flute, oboe, two violins, viola, horn, and bass. It is a remarkable thought that this charmingly innocent music was composed in 1783, virtually on the eve of the revolution which would sweep its whole world away. The playing of Notturna under the direction of Christopher Palameta is wonderfully idiomatic and expressive, vividly evoking the lost world of this insouciant repertoire.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Lully: Cadmus & Hermione

Le Poème Harmonique – Ensemble Aedes, Vincent Dumestre
122:18 (2 CDs and a libretto in a cardboard wallet)
Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS037

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This was Lully’s first tragédie-en-musique. The libretto and, indeed, the new genre caused a certain amount of outrage among traditional dramatists but the mould had been broken and a new one created. This ‘studio-style’ recording was made in the opera house at Versailles which facilitates some doubling-up of the smaller parts, though this is of no great consequence. The artists are supported by a lavish booklet (essays in French, English and German, libretto in only French and English), though there are some minor typographical errors).

The solo singing is all very good, with well-paced recitative and well-defined emotions. I was less comfortable with the chorus, where the top line is not always as coherent as one might wish. But it is the instrumental contribution that I find disappointing, though others may think it wonderful. As is his habit, this conductor cannot resist fiddling with the instrumentation. The wind scoring is over-elaborated, and I doubt that Lully ever heard recorders at this pitch, let alone used them; I feel that the continuo is over-scored; and I also doubt the need for the percussion contributions.

When so much is so good it is a shame that these irritations occur. Cadmus is a fine work, and does not need this dressing-up.

David Hansell

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Recording

Avondano: Il mondo della luna

Fernando Guimarães tenor, Luis Rodrigues bass, Susana Gaspar soprano, et al
Os Músicos do Tejo directed by Marcos Magalhães
137:17 (2 CDs)
Naxos 8.660487-88

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During the first half of the 18th century, opera in Portugal pursued a somewhat fitful course, a mixture of local genres such as zarzuela and the Italian opera that swept Europe during the latter half of the previous century. Only after 1750, with the accession of the opera-mad King José I, was there a truly flourishing operatic scene in Portugal, though that was severely disrupted by the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, which destroyed the recently built Casa da Ópera just months after its inauguration.

Pedro António Avondano’s Il mondo della luna was given its first performance at another royal theatre, Salvaterra de Magos in 1765. Avondano was the son of an Italian violinist who had found employment in the lavishly appointed royal chapel of Jose I’s immediate predecessor, João V. He followed in his father’s footsteps, serving in the chapel between 1754 and 1782, writing both secular and sacred music. Il mondo della luna, based on a libretto by Carlo Goldoni first set by Galuppi in 1750 and subsequently by a number of composers including Haydn (1777), is his only opera. A three-act comic opera, it follows the usual format for a Goldoni opera of including a number of duets and, crucially, the act finales with continuous musical and often hectic dramatic development that the Venetian writer played such a large role in establishing as an essential component of opera buffa. All are employed in Il mondo, the plot of which concerns the efforts of the suitors of Clarice and Flaminia, the daughters of Buona Fede, a rich, but naïve old man, to fool him into believing he has been transported to the moon, where he has been duped into believing that women live according to the strict moral code he would impose on his daughters. Delighted with the lunar world, Buona Fede then has to watch the farrago that has been planned for him unfold, ultimately leaving him little option but to accede to the marriage of both girls and his shrewish maid, Lisetta, who he had hoped to marry himself.

Avondano’s music reveals him to be not only thoroughly conversant with buffa style, but melodically gifted and capable of orchestral writing that makes extensive use of the wind band. Arias are mostly brief and while few are memorable, there are several in the sentimental style that leave an impression, Clarice’s act 2 ‘Quanta gente che sospiri’ being perhaps the stand-out example, while his handling of the act finales is assured.

The present recording stems from performances given in the Teatro Thalia in Lisbon and omits some scenes and arias. It is curious, indeed unique in my experience, that while recitatives were recorded in live performance, the musical numbers were not, though there is little difference in acoustic. More fascinating is the experimental manner in which the recitatives were prepared, the cast learning the text but fitting it to music only after hearing the accompaniment in rehearsal. It certainly works in part, for the recits have an immediacy and lively point that is not always the case. Against that there are places where it feels over-played, in particular the silly voices adopted for what is presumably intended as ‘moon-speak’, which soon becomes irritating on record, particularly when no text or translation is available with the set.

The performance is dominated by the splendidly rounded bass of Luis Rodrigues’s Buona Fede, who also turns in a master class in vocal acting, relishing the foolish old man’s gullible antics. There is also some fine singing from the principal young couple, Ecclitico (Fernando Guimarães) and Clarice (Susana Gaspar) and another excellent bass, João Fernandes as the servant Cecco. The period-instrument orchestral playing is decent, if not of outstanding quality and the whole idiomatically directed with considerable verve by Marcos Magalhães. If a certain provincial air hangs over the project, that is more than outweighed by its infectious exuberance, a case of the heart being very much in the right place.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Royal Handel

Eva Zaïcik mezzo-soprano, Le Consort
64:59
Alpha Classics Alpha 662
+arias by Ariosti and Giovanni Bononcini

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Eva Zaïcik is a young French mezzo whose cv suggests she might have originally had ideas of becoming an early music specialist, but whose more recent work includes a debut as Carmen in Toulouse and appearances in Pique Dame and Eugene Onegin.  Having heard this CD my guess is that the latter type of repertoire is more likely to become mainstream for her. In full flow the voice is a richly opulent instrument, with a hint of edge to it in the middle register, which itself does not always sit in comfortable relationship with the soprano register. In Baroque repertoire Zaïcek’s voice is on this evidence at its most beguiling singing mezza voce, where the ear experiences a purity of tone and line not always apparent elsewhere. But in general terms neither her technique nor her approach to the mostly Handel arias on the present CD convince that she is truly at home with it. While there is an admirable flexibility and passaggi are in general well articulated, her approach to ornamentation is haphazard, cadences go unembellished and of course there is no hint of a trill. Not that Zaïcek is alone in that respect. As bad is her approach to text or more accurately non-approach. Contrary to the needs of these arias, the performances seem driven by the desire to make a beautiful, lustrous sound. Aria after aria passes with little attempt to explore its emotional core or meaningfully articulate its text.

In this respect, the singer is hardly aided by her choice of accompanists. Le Consort is one of those small French ensembles bearing no relationship to the size of an average 18th-century opera orchestra. It is also characteristic of so many ensembles today in that Le Concert appears to feel it necessary to play quick music very fast and slower numbers excessively slowly. Thus an aria such as ‘Rompo i lacci’ from Flavio is taken so fast as to render it virtually meaningless, despite some agile passagework from Zaïcek, while the funereal tempo and emasculated rhythm adopted for ‘Ombra cara’ (Radamisto) leaves the aria as little more than a glutinous, sentimental wallow.  There are two compensating factors. One is that mezza voce, where the lighter tonal palette can produce exquisite results, nowhere more so than the central section and da capo of ‘Deggio morire’ (Siroe), where criticism is silenced, the listener seduced into luxurious immersion in the sheer beauty of the moment. The other is the inclusion of first recordings of arias by two composers that along with Handel also contributed operas to the first Royal Academy in London (1719-28), the source of the CD’s title. Both Attilio Ariosti and Giovanni Bononcini scored significant successes in its early years and ‘Sagri numi’ from Ariosto’s Caio Marzio Coriolano (1723) is a ravishingly lovely discovery, though as with all the cantabile numbers it is sentimentalized and taken too deliberately.

If the response to this CD is perhaps a little harsh at times, it stems from the depressing regularity with which so many of today’s younger singers seemingly come to Baroque repertoire as a kind of warm-up for bigger, later parts. Such singers need to be taught to recognise that Baroque opera has its own demands that need to be met if they are going to do it more justice than simply winning cheap applause from mainstream critics and audiences.

Brian Robins

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Vivaldi: 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