Tag: Opera

Suites & Arias
Anders J. Dahlin Haute-Contre, L’Orfeo Barockorchester, Michi Gaigg
65:51
cpo 555 156-2

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This is a recording of conveniently sliced portions of Rameau to showcase the voice of the Swedish tenor, Anders J. Dahlin, and who wouldn’t wish to spend an hour lost in some fine French Baroquery when delivered so reverently and sensuously, done to a T… bien cuit!

Pigmalion – being that famous story of the sculptor falling for his statue with the help of Cupid (L’Amour) – was Rameau’s first outing with the “Acte de Ballet” in 1748. He must have enjoyed some success, for he wrote another seven between 1748-1754. In this version, the other characters, (including the Statue!) and the choral interjections have been removed to allow the eponymous hero to take centre stage. There’s much to admire with this slightly truncated version; the French musical idioms are very well-observed and delivered with the keenest charm and cogent skills. Both the dynamic orchestral shading and their lilting supportive tones are a delight to hear, and Dahlin himself dramatically creates the aspects of infatuation and afflicted pygmalionism. Even curtailed, it is a fine soupçon of the emotive dramaturgical effects Rameau could conjure from his vivacious, sparkling musical esprit.

Track 3, which is effectively the Graces teaching the statue to dance, echoes some of Rebel’s Caracteres de la danse; the whole piece closes with a sprightly Contradanse (Ballet general….au son du tambourin?). After modest initial success, Pigmalion was repeated in 1750s onwards and revived in 1781! It testifies to Rameau’s fecundity of ideas during a prolific period of activity.

Dardanus was staged three times, in 1739, 1744 and 1760. Drastic revisions were made, with the result that there are really two different operas. The extensive Ouverture et suite de danses (Track 20) from Dardanus featured on an Amati recording by the same ensemble in 1993; it is always fascinating to compare and while the Amati perhaps languished in those special “moments to savour”, strikingly, the closing Chaconne has a longer unfurling at 4:30 compared to only 4:07 here.

It is mighty difficult to cherry-pick from such works of transformative, scenic musical genius, especially when the range of options is so broad; this said, a happy “cross-section” has been made and played with verve and vigour. Dahlin displays pieces from salient moments in this Tragedie en Musique, yet perhaps something might have been included from one of the earlier acts too? This is, overall, an admirable display of some of Rameau’s moments of drama; touching key notes and reaching for those elegant, cheery moments of guaranteed infatuation.

David Bellinger

André Morsch Miriways, Robin Johanssen Sophi, Sophie Karthäuser Bemira, Lydia Teuscher Nisibis, [Michael Nagy Murzah, Marie-Claude Chappuis Samischa, Anner Fritsch Zemir, Dominik Köninger Geist/Scandor, Paul McNamara Gesandter,] Academie für Alte Musik Berlin, Bernard Labadie
150:23 (2 CDs)
Pentatone PTC 5186 842

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There has been some serious attention given to this splendidy exotic baroque opera from the lively Hamburg stage, which premiered on the 26th May 1728, that was six years after Telemann took full control of the Gänsemarkt Opera house, and ten years before it finally failed to draw in the crowds and faltered to a close in 1738. This places this remarkable gem of a libretto by Johann Samuel Mueller, later to become principal of Hamburg’s famous Johanneum school, in the years of the opera’s artistic ascendancy. As the historical background goes, “Miriways” or more correctly Mir Wais, an Afghan tribal warlord (or possibly his son) was the instigator of several uprisings, setting in motion the liberation of Kandahar province from Persian rule circa 1700. Now place the main character within this historic frame but add his missing daughter, Sophi, who loves the deposed Shah’s son, who Miriways guides to pick a wife, and he falls (luckily!) for Bemira the reputed daughter of Nisibis, a beautiful woman fled from Ispaphan, who attracts the attention of a tartar* and Persian prince (Zemir) and now we have several love interests and episodes of misplaced, thwarted and unrequited love(s) swaying and sighing through the plot.

There are some really quite exquisitely well-observed arias from the main love-entangled protagonists and even some excellent martial ones for Miriways himself: Ein doppler Kranz (Track 7) is a striking example. The opening ouverture with prominent horns sets out in fine form with an animated majestic tone; in fact, the horns come to the fore on several notable occasions, giving at times hints of exotic foreign tones, but also marking intense emotions of the main “dramatis personae” bearing their souls. Telemann deftly deploys the rich array of instrumentation to marvellous effect, from the delightful dulcet sleep scene from Nisibis (Track 13) and the pleasant rising wind for *Murzah’s aria (Track 15), also the incredibly vivid outbreak of fire in Act 3 scene 6, after the simply wonderful drinking Aria from Scandor, a servant of Samisha, Miriways’ secret wife, mother of Bemira (here followed by an outbreak of spontaneous applause!) all illustrating the clever contrasts and tremendously well-contoured dramatisation of the piece.

This very fine live recording by NDR in 2017 has a few differences to the 2014 CPO recording (777 752-2) by Michi Gaigg and L’Orfeo Barockorchester, which itself has some instrumental insertions from TWV50:4, and is a very noteworthy, clean and tidy version with many admirable qualities; this said, hand on heart, the nimble, alert Akamus Live version here, seems to shine and shimmer with that added “something” that draws you along, right through the love-entanglements, right up to the hopeful (anticipated) “happy end”/ final denouement.

Amid the quivering, fluttering pairs of flutes, and oboes/oboi d’amore, it is probably the strident pair of horns which leave a lasting impression. To think that this was but one of at least three operas Telemann produced in 1728! Only one other has survived and it still awaits resuscitation from dusty slumber and neglect…

David Bellinger

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The 42-Page CD booklet explains the full background to the opera, and the love entanglements (pp. 20-21)

For information: The first concert performance in modern times was given in 1992, during the 11th Telemann Festival in Magdeburg, with Musica Antiqua Köln under Reinhard Goebel. It featured a few extra arias, including one in Italian! This might possibly have been inserted when the opera was reprised in 1730 or maybe an earlier undocumented performance.

Van Wanroij, Vidal, Dolié, [Santon-Jeffery, Lefebvre], Les Chantres du CMBV, Ensemble Les Surprises, L.-N. Bestion de Camboulas
120:34 (2 CDs in a card folder)
Ambronay AMY053

This charming pastorale héroique was one of 18th-century France’s greatest operatic hits. First performed in 1697, re-worked in 1708 and 1724 and still in the Versailles repertoire in 1773, it also enjoyed a sustained run in Paris from late 1733 into 1734. The music is lovely – dramatically engaging, melodically inventive and orchestrally colourful – and, even in this five-acts-and-a-prologue form, of manageable length.

I might have loved much of this in a theatre but the repeated listening that a recording gets raises some questions. The rather studious composed orchestral ornaments for e. g., the first section of the overture do sound less likely on each hearing; I doubt that the percussion was specified by the composer; and while theorboes are perfectly reasonable in French opera until about 1730 I’m not convinced by the guitar.

Moreover, the first two-and-a-half minutes raise the fundamental problem of so many performances, particularly of early opera, that one hears. The (brief) overture introduces us to one sound-world after which we are disturbed (not too strong a word) by a voice from another sonic universe – ironically singing about ‘une douceur profonde’. I really did wince. And I think others will also struggle with the un-reconstructed modern singing (including by the chorus) against much beautiful, gentle instrumental sound. But some might not.

The booklet (French & English) offers every help to those wishing to explore. The essay is concise but informative and there is a full libretto with parallel translation. I do wish, however, that the dull artist biographies offered a glimpse of the person behind the lists of prizes, roles and conductors-worked-with.

David Hansell

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Julia Böhme alto, La Folia Barockorchester, Robin Peter Müller
51:01
Accent ACC 24356

In a note so badly translated that it is scarcely intelligible, we are told that the women who played the part of seconda donna, or second woman, in 18th-century opera are both figuratively and often literally ‘Women in the Shadows’, the use of shadows then expanded into a discussion of the Baroque taste for chiaroscuro. The space taken up by this pretentious nonsense would have been far better occupied by telling us something of the singers who undertook roles that frequently complemented the prima donna in their opposition or rivalry to her. They are not even mentioned. In the case of Alcina in Vivaldi’s Orlando furioso (1727) one could even question whether the role is that of seconda donna. Originally sung by Anna Girò, Vivaldi’s brilliant young protégée, in her most ambitious part to date, this a multifaceted role that includes no fewer than seven arias, including the delightfully playful ‘Amorose ai rai del sole’ and lively ‘Vorresti amor da me’ included here.

Or perhaps we might consider the role of Matilde in Handel’s Lotario (1729). Wife of the usurper Berengario, she is far too positive to be considered a shadowy figure, rather is she ‘a veritable dragon without a redeeming feature’, to quote Winton Dean. Matilde was originally sung by Antonia Merighi, a contralto particularly noted for her acting and for whom Handel composed a number of important secondary roles. The range of her music is amply illustrated in this selection by two arias and the powerful act 3 accompanied recitative, ‘Furie del crudo averno’. In the bitingly sarcastic ‘Arma lo sguardo’, Matilde addresses both her son Idelberto and the heroine Adelaide, while ‘Quel superbo’ is a cantabile ‘simile aria’.

What we have here, then, might have thrown an interesting spotlight on some of opera’s mostly less than heroic women, but for that reason alone intriguing. That it is not, I’m afraid, is the fault of performances that never rise above the level of ordinary and are marred by the monochrome tonal palette of Julia Böhme, whose vocal acting and Italian diction are so poor as to project little idea of text. While her basic technique is sound, with well articulated passaggi, her approach to embellishment, both written and added, is often tentative and unimaginative. The support given by the La Folia Barockorchester, here pared down to one-string-per-part despite a booklet illustration that promises more substantial forces (if nowhere approaching the size Handel had at his disposal in London), is routine at best and too often merely pedestrian. In sum, a thoroughly disappointing CD.

Brian Robins

Monteverdi Choir, English Baroque Soloists, directed by John Eliot Gardiner
185:50 (3 CDs)
SDG 730

Those looking for a HIP recording – and I assume that would apply to most readers on this site – of this marvellous product of Monteverdi’s old age should be warned this is not it. In a long and to me at times pretentious note John Eliot Gardiner makes clear that he views Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria not as an up-to-date opera in mid-17^th century Venetian style, but as a continuation of that encountered in his earlier operas and works. This surely contradicts not only practicalities, but also the changed ethos of opera. Monteverdi cannot have been unaware of developments that had taken place, particularly since the advent of public opera in Venice three years before Il ritorno was first produced in 1640. Moreover the libretto, based on Homer’s Odyssey, with which Giacomo Badoaro had tempted him to the public theatre presented a totally different approach to the operas of the early years of the century. It is, for example, quite unthinkable to image the comic glutton Iro in Orfeo or any other opera of the first decades of the century.

Gardiner’s contentious proposal enables him to do two things. Firstly, to indulge in some tenuous comparisons with Shakespeare, who had not only died a quarter of a century earlier, but belonged to a different milieu and culture. Secondly, and more importantly, it allows him to indulge his preference for inflated and unidiomatic performing forces. So here, rather than the modest forces found in Venetian opera houses, Gardiner unapologetically fields a sizable orchestra including not only 6-4-1-1 strings but cornetti, recorders and dulcian in addition to a sizable continuo group that includes four archlutes (or guitars), harp, organ and harpsichord. Experienced Monteverdians will thus at times find themselves thinking they are listening to Orfeo rather than Il ritorno. This may to some sound pedantic. In fact it is not, because the use of such substantial forces tends to obstruct clear projection of text, crucial in works of this kind. Neither is the non-continuo contribution always restricted to ritornellos, as was customary in 17th century Venetian opera. Among a number of examples the worst is the addition of a tasteless violin solo to the sensuous duet at the conclusion of the delightful scene (act 1, sc 2) between the young servant lovers Melanto and Eurimaco.

It’s an unnecessary and vulgar intrusion that jars, especially as the scene is one of the best performed episodes in the opera. Otherwise there is much to be questioned, particularly in the treatment of the stile recitativo that still dominates the opera. In his notes Eliot Gardiner makes much of the work that was put into making sure both singers and instrumentalists understood the fusion of the all-important text and Monteverdi’s music. Yet to my mind much of the recitative is delivered in far too deliberate a manner, with much fragmentation, exaggeration of rhythmic flexibility and unnatural dynamic extremes. The result is not only self-indulgent and mannered but paradoxically also stilted and at times lugubrious.

The multi-national cast assembled by Gardiner has both strengths and weaknesses. I have mixed feelings about the Penelope of French mezzo Lucile Richardot. The voice itself is disconcertingly unusual, with an almost masculine quality in the chest register contrasting with pleasingly feminine head notes, the break always too apparent. Yet she brings a strong dramatic sense to the role and it is probably not her fault if the great opening monologue at times sounds more like whinging than the dignified distress of a queen. But she sings ornaments with greater conviction than most of the cast and the final, long-delayed reunion with her Ulisse is intensely moving, not least since Gardiner here allows text and music a more natural flow, enabling the drama to speak for itself. Her Ulisse is capably sung by the veteran baritone Furio Zanasi, who brings authority and long-established understanding of musical and textural syntax to the role. The voice may no longer be free of the odd rough edge – he was superior in a performance under Rinaldo Alessandrini given at the 2010 Beaunne Festival – but overall this is an impressive assumption of the role. The outstanding performance here is that of the Polish tenor Krystian Adam, whose Telemaco is perhaps the finest I’ve heard. The youthful fervency he brings to his relations with both his mother and father coupled with excellent articulation of text is totally compelling. Mention has already been made of the fine performances of the servants Melanto and Eurimaco, sung with appealingly youthful vivacity by Anna Dennis and Zachary Wilder. The remaining roles are filled with varying degrees of success.

The recording was made at live performances given in 2017 in Wroclaw, Poland, coming at the end of an extensive and, as I understand, highly successful tour of Europe and the US, during which the three extant Monteverdi operas were given in semi-staged productions. I regret not being able to add my endorsement, but feel that, as with his continued refusal to countenance Bach performances that conform to those of Bach’s own day, Sir John simply has this wrong. My recommendation remains the considerably more idiomatic performance by La Venexiana (Glossa).

Brian Robins