Tag: Vocal music

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Festival-conference

Early Nights in Orkney

D James Ross reviews the
2026 St Magnus International Festival

It is hard to believe that this is the 50th St Magnus International Festival in Orkney, particularly as I attended the very first one as a student in 1976! I was very pleased to see a varied selection of early music in the anniversary 2026 Festival brochure – Orkney and early music seem to me to be a marriage made in heaven. The Festival’s founder Peter Maxwell Davies had a keen interest in Mediaeval and Renaissance music, and historically informed performances of early repertoire, often presented in the islands’ historical churches, have proved very popular in the past.

My first concert this year was a recital in Stromness Town Hall by the beguiling American-Armenian musician Lucine Musaelian, a singer who accompanies herself on the viola da gamba. Performing a selection of 17th-century love songs, gamba solos and traditional Armenian music, she held her audience entranced by the beauty of her singing and playing. With a bias towards female composers including Barbara Strozzi and the Caccini sisters, all composing in the attractive nuove musiche style, Musaelian also touched upon the wonderfully ornate repertoire of the virtuosic Concerto delle Donne composed by Luzzaschi as well as songs by Monteverdi. Observing that a painting, possibly representing Strozzi, shows a woman accompanying herself on the viol, Musaelian admitted a particular affinity with Strozzi, who with a striking extended song In medio maris provided her with the title for her programme. Musaelian’s formidable viol technique facilitated flawless accounts of complex but unobtrusive accompaniments representing up to three polyphonic lines, as in Cipriano de Rore’s Ancor che col partire, which she deftly followed with a set of viol divisions. Further solo viol numbers by Marin Marais and Monsieur de Saint Colombe took full advantage of the six-stringed viol and Musaelian’s impressive technique, but for me it was the songs, including the entrancing Armenian liturgical music by Nerses Shnorhali and Grigor Narekatsi and traditional tunes, which I found most enjoyable. Particularly intriguing was the way in which the traditional sobbing ornamentation and use of chest voice spilled effectively from the traditional material into the Renaissance songs, enhancing their emotional impact. While I expected to be familiar with much of the early repertoire, I was delighted with Musaelian’s consummate vocal and instrumental skills as well as the unique spin she put on the early repertoire, and as a bonus was pleased to recognize the traditional Armenian melody Hov Arek, a piece I enjoy playing on the duduk – it’s a small world!

Lucine Musaelian’s performances
on voice and viol of 17th-century love songs
and Armenian traditional music were a revelation.

Making a long-overdue return visit to the St Magnus International Festival after ten years, the excellent Scottish choral ensemble The Marian Consort under their director Rory McCleery contributed two programmes in as many days, a concert based on the Western Wind theme in St Margaret’s Hope Church and a programme exploring a single Scottish musical manuscript in St Magnus Cathedral. The pretty village church in St Margaret’s Hope, at which my grandfather James Louttit was an elder, has taken the brave decision to remove dingy Victorian pews and pulpit, all too familiar to me from holiday visits to the village, turning the space into a bright, flexible and above all welcoming arts venue and place of worship. Its acoustic turned out to be pleasantly intimate, ideal for the Byrd motets and four-part mass movements as well as parts of the magnificent Taverner Western Wind mass. The Consort’s performances of the Taverner had a magnificent sweep and energy which combined with their wonderfully focussed sound and pinpoint accurate intonation to produce a very powerful account. In among the 16th-century repertoire we had a selection of fine contemporary pieces, including an expressive psalm setting from Nico Muhly and Tom Coult’s Souling, a work intriguingly interweaving folkloric elements into a rhythmically rich texture. In the Marian Consort tradition we also had a world premiere by Daniel Kidan and a spectacular setting of Verbum Domini by Edmund Finnis, to my mind the finest of the wonderfully varied modern pieces. Enthusiastic applause from a capacity crowd elicited a truly lovely encore performance of John Sheppard’s meltingly beautiful Libera nos, salva nos.

The Marian Consort and their director Rory McLeery
about to perform in St Margaret’s Hope Church,
an attractive new venue in South Ronaldsay.

The Consort appeared again the following evening in the magnificent St Magnus Cathedral for a concert entitled The Auld Alliance, focussing on one of the handful of surviving Scottish Renaissance church music manuscripts, the Dunkeld Antiphoner. In fact, five of an original set of six partbooks are associated not with Dunkeld but with Lincluden Collegiate Church; nowadays the collection is more accurately referred to as the Lincluden or Dowglas/Fischar Partbooks, referencing two signatures in the manuscript. In addition to containing major works by important French and Burgundian masters such as Josquin, Pierre Certon and Johannes Lupi, all of whom featured in this fascinating programme, of particular interest are two six-part Masses probably by Scottish composers, although they are frustratingly anonymous in the manuscript. If the Mass Felix Anna, from which the Consort sang the Kyrie, Credo and Sanctus, lacks the flamboyance of the contemporary mass settings of Robert Carver (which incidentally may include the Mass Cantate, the other Scottish Mass preserved in the partbooks), it is an impressively rich and consistently imaginative work, given a beautifully effective account by the Consort. It is a piece I am very familiar with, having performed it several times around thirty years ago with my group Musick Fyne, and even having recorded it – I have to admit that it has further grown on me over the years, and McLeery and his Consort found unexpected depths in it, persuading me to return to it shortly! This concert was being recorded for future broadcast on BBC R3, and the Consort were on peak form for this important opportunity to reach a wider audience with this fine but neglected repertoire. Their opening account of Josquin’s powerful Benedicta es was simply exquisite, while Certon’s Inviolata was a revelation and the concluding eight-part Salve cereberrima virgo by Johannes Lupi was truly magnificent. If the world premiere of Emily Hazrati’s sâye seemed a little out of place in this programme otherwise so intensely focussed on a single 16th-century manuscript, it proved to be an intriguingly imaginative and innovative piece impeccably performed by the Consort – and a particular delight to have the young composer present to accept her share of the applause. An encore of the ubiquitous Tallis Canon proved a soothing conclusion to a memorable concert, of which the star was undoubtedly the enigmatic and eloquent anonymous Scottish Mass Felix Anna.

A group making their first visit to the St Magnus International Festival are Voces Thules, an ensemble dedicated to the exploration of their native Icelandic musical heritage. As one who has dabbled in the performance of the Norse sagas, I was looking forward greatly to their first programme, Sagas, Skalds, Songs, and intrigued as to just what they were going to be performing. We had reluctantly come to the conclusion that if the saga texts had ever been ‘performed’ it would have been in the form of dramatic declamation of the Old Norse text to the simple accompaniment of perhaps a Viking lyre – in fact, unambiguous internal evidence made it disappointingly clear that the sagas were generally ‘read’. Voces Thules, five male vocalists who double on a number of mediaeval instruments, were clearly going to take a very different approach. Drawing on the two rich traditions of the sagas and the oral tradition of Icelandic folk music, they largely combined the two in lively accounts of passages from the Sturlunga and Grettis sagas, using various combinations of voices and instruments and frequently resorting to drones and organum. The instruments ranged from a variety of drums and timbrels, a bunch of crotal bells, a primitive folk flute, a mediaeval symphony, Viking lyres and the distinctive Icelandic langspil, a simple bowed psaltery with drones and a melody string – the brief appearance of a plastic Aulos sopranino recorder was both disappointing and unnecessary. Generally speaking, the solo voices and the male voice consort were both very effective, while the instrumental element complemented the voices well. The group’s obvious commitment to their material and the energy of their performances were greeted with enthusiastic applause in a packed St Margaret’s Hope Church. Notwithstanding my reservations, I enjoyed these honest accounts of the sagas as well as the several items of Icelandic traditional music which followed, also given the distinctive Voces Thules treatment – my appetite had definitely been whetted for their second performance in St Magnus Cathedral in which they were to present early Icelandic sacred music, which I knew would be more firmly based on archival sources.

Voces Thules with a selection of their instruments
in St Margaret’s Hope Church, South Ronaldsay.

After a moment of trepidation when I spotted a modern ebonite clarinet lurking among the waiting instruments, I was soon swept up in the opening group of plainchants, sung with admirable subtlety and unanimity by the five male voices. As I had hoped, this time they drew on the surviving written sources of Icelandic church music to bring us a wealth of intriguing sacred material ranging from melody and drone through organum, faburden, ars nova polyphony, compelling call and response structures and simple accompanied melodies of beguiling beauty. Remarkably, the material came exclusively from Icelandic sources from the 14th to the 18th century, with one noble exception – the iconic Hymn to St Magnus : Nobilis, humilis preserved in Norway and possibly composed there or even here in Orkney. It was given a lovely and moving performance by the group, standing in the Saint’s magnificent Cathedral not twenty paces from his mortal remains in the pillar behind them. In several pieces they used the same range of instruments to enhance the vocal textures as previously, with the addition of a tenor crumhorn and small bells. The clarinet made mercifully only one appearance, playing a simple cantus, which honestly could have been played by anything – given their otherwise admirably HIP approach, the excuse ‘I know it’s not mediaeval but it’s useful’ doesn’t really cut it! My only other criticism of an intriguing and enjoyable exploration of very unfamiliar material was the hesitant (and in the Cathedral acoustic largely unintelligible) verbal commentary as well as an occasional ‘faff’ about who does what. Again, the group’s utter commitment to their material and the brilliant idea of involving the audience in the call and response of their final processional won them sustained and enthusiastic applause. Their encore from the Sturlunga saga overlooked the fact that many of their audience would probably have attended their earlier concert – perhaps this was the point at which the Hymn to St Magnus could have achieved maximum musical and emotional effect…

Voces Thules in the ecclesiastical garb
preparing to perform in St Magnus Cathedral.

My final concert at this year’s festival was a homage to the late John Wallace, whose arrangement of Giovanni Gabrieli’s Canzoni and Sonate of 1615 called The Invisible Symphony involved some thirty brass players including Wallace’s own celebrated Wallace Collection reinforced by The Cooperation Band playing an hour-and-a-half long compilation from the 1615 publication. I am a huge fan of Giovanni Gabrieli and particularly of his music for wind ensembles, so I was definitely looking forward to this programme – sadly I had more reservations about it than I had imagined. The musicians were positioned in one large circle in the centre of the nave of St Magnus Cathedral around conductor Katrina Marzella with the audience ranged in two equal blocks to the west and east of this. Essentially, notwithstanding the alternation of the musicians playing each piece, for us the sound came from the same direction, and I found my eyes straying to the many galleries, the aisles and the choir stalls, all of which could have housed musicians for the truly dramatic polychoral experience associated with St Mark’s in Venice – and surely hinted at by Wallace’s title. As it was, the conductor and perhaps the musicians were the only ones to experience the music in its full three dimensions. Further problems arose from the upper cornetto lines being assigned to trumpets – the quirky scampering figures, which work wonderfully on cornetti, sounded unidiomatic and risky on the upper brass instruments, and there were disappointingly frequent cracked and fluffed notes and a couple of car-crash moments. Sadly, the decision to stick these short pieces by Gabrieli, intended to be performed singly as an occasional splash of colour in longer liturgical contexts, into an extended suite came across as rather too much of a good thing, emphasising the relative lack of variety both of texture and performance. This is not to deny that the larger-scale pieces involving most or all of the players sounded extremely impressive in the resonant Cathedral acoustic, but to me much of the rest of the programme sounded breathless, unidiomatic – and eventually a bit tedious. The loud ovation which greeted The Invisible Symphony’s spectacular conclusion clearly demonstrated that my opinion was firmly in the minority, and to look on the bright side I am sure that this concert valuably brought Gabrieli’s remarkable music in largely unadulterated form to a whole new audience. This was just not for me, steeped in HIP accounts of this music by the likes of the Gabrieli Consort, Taverner Players and King’s Consort, and even the magnificent final peroration was tainted by the knowledge that some Wagnerian phrases had been insinuated into the texture. There was a lovely moment at the end of the concert when the five members of The Wallace Collection took their own bow – a fitting tribute to their late inspirational founder/director John Wallace.

Members of the Cooperation Band
in performance in St Magnus Cathedral.

The main joy of attending a thriving international festival such as the St Magnus International Festival is the sheer variety of music on offer – even my own selective concert list, ranging from Mediaeval Icelandic secular and liturgical music, via state-of-the-art performances of Scottish and continental Renaissance and contemporary polyphony to a Venetian brass spectacular reflects the imaginative planning behind one week of events offering a truly unbelievable range of musical experiences.

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Recording

De Wert: Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

CD cover De Wert Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

La Compagnia del Madrigale
57:18
Glossa GCD 922813

Although recognised, along with Luca Marenzio, as arguably the greatest of the ‘pure’ madrigalists, the reputation of Flemish-born Giaches de Wert (1535-96) has not translated into significant contemporary recognition. A quick trawl through the archives of EMR revealed only the odd work in collections, usually in association with de Wert’s significant influence on Monteverdi. The only real exceptions to this neglect I can trace are the Consort of Musicke’s recording of the 7th (of 12) Book of Madrigals (1581) (Virgin Classics, 1988) and a mixed selection of five-part madrigals by Cantus Cölln, under Konrad Junghänel (harmonia mundi, 1997). This makes this new issue of the 9th Book of Madrigals for five and six voices from La Compagnia del Madrigale extremely welcome, especially given the excellence of the six singers involved, all of whom are Italian.

Little is known of de Wert’s early years, but apparently he was taken as a child to serve as a singer at the court of the Marchesa della Padulla at Avellino near Naples. In 1588 he entered the service of the Gonzaga family, spending the remainder of his life in the employ of the powerful family in Mantua, but also in his later years in the restlessly experimental environment of the Este court in Ferrara. Book 9 was published in 1588 and consists of 14 madrigals, four scored for six voices, the remaining ten for five. The literary level of the poets drawn on is extremely high, including as it does Petrarch (five madrigals), Tasso (two) and Guarini, represented by a couple of poems highlighting the lighter and more cynical aspects of love. But more generally the mood is passionately serious, the often imitative polyphony closely woven and including telling passages of chromaticism. But despite de Wert’s close association with the sometimes reckless experiments of Ferrara-based composers, his use of dissonance never becomes a major feature of his writing. Around the time of Book 9, Wert’s close associations with Ferrara were enhanced by his hopeless love for the poet and singer Tarquinia Molza, hopeless given that as a widower whose wife had been guilty of taking part in a conspiracy to murder an aristocratic family, de Wert would hardly have been permitted to form a liaison with a lady of the court. Perhaps something of his personal agony informs the intensity of the setting of Petrarch’s canzone ‘Valle che de’ Petrarchlamenti miei se’ piena’. Here the raw pain of the chromatic inflection on the word ‘lamenti’ and its slow, melismatic lines barely lets up before culminating in the near-mystical eroticism attained by the end of the madrigal – ‘Here once I saw my lady, and along this path where naked she ascended into heaven, leaving on earth her lovely mortal body’.

At the other extreme is the enchantingly vital ‘Or se rallegri il Cielo’ (Now let Heaven rejoice). Joyously light on its feet, with exuberant, rapid exchanges between the voices, it was composed for the ‘Coronation of the Duke of Mantua’ in 1587, the duke in question being Vincenzo I, patron of Monteverdi and Rubens. But perhaps the most remarkable piece in the set is ‘Padre del ciel’, a setting of a religious canzone by Petrarch. Its progress is slow, solemn with little touches of melisma until the extraordinary peroration, the words ‘rammenta lor com’oggi fosti in croce’ (Remember how, on this day, You hung upon the Cross) set with a quiet dignity that is at the same time extraordinarily powerful.

I’ve already suggested that the performances are on a high level and so indeed they are. The blend of voices is exemplary, the purity and freshness of the two sopranos especially rewarding. Perhaps my only reservation is that there were times when it is possible to feel that the text might have been a little more passionately coloured; to suggest that while being aware that we remain in the world of the prima prattica that of Monteverdi and the seconda prattica is only just over the horizon. Yet by any standards these are splendid performances of great music that has been neglected for far too long.

Brian Robins

Categories
Concert-Live performance Festival-conference

French Festivals

Vézelay festival image 2026

For those of our readers lucky enough to be in France (whether you live there or are visiting), festival season will soon be upon us. Below are press brochures for three of the best known. Each has a wide range of events that will appeal to diverse audiences, featuring some of the leading ensembles in iconic works, as well as new groups exploring unfamiliar repertoire (or giving pieces you might know a make-over!), and entertainment for all ages, often throughout the day.

Festival de musique baroque du Pays du Mont Blanc 2026
(runs from 11-21 July)

Rencontres Musicales de Vézelay 2026
(20-23 August)

Festival d’Ambronay 2026
(11-27 September, spread over three weekends)

Feel free to send photos or reviews!

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Recording

Bach: Mein Geist

CD cover Bach Mein Geist

Le Banquet Céleste, Julien Barre vc piccolo
70:30
Alpha 1190

The framing of the solo Cello Suite No 6 in D by two of Bach’s cantatas, BWV 115, ‘Mache dich, mein Geist, bereit’ and No 85, ‘Ich bin ein guter Hirt,’ is a somewhat unusual format. Alpha’s note-writer tries, none too successfully, to make spiritual connections, but more convincingly also explains the practical reason for the link. Both cantatas are among a group of Leipzig cantatas from Bach’s second cycle (1724-1725) that specify the use of the violoncello piccolo as an obbligato instrument, now considered also the most likely instrument intended for the 6th Cello Suite, though it is also possible Bach also had the viola da spalla in mind for it.

As it turns out, the performance of the Cello Suite by Julien Barre, co-principal cellist of the B’Rock orchestra, is the highlight of the CD, an extraordinarily beautiful performance of this happy, airy work. Not only does Barre produce an exquisitely nuanced timbre from his instrument, but his technique is impeccable, with cleanly defined and articulated passaggi always at the command of the music. In the opening Prelude, the outdoor spirit of the movement is perfectly captured, with braying hunting calls and the energy of the chase clearly suggested, while in the succeeding Allemande the generous spatial imagery is projected with a broad expressivity that gives this most extensive of the suite’s movements a timeless, musing quality. At the other extreme, the following Courante takes us back out into the natural world on a madcap gallop projected by Barre with virtuosic delight, while the wistful Sarabande features some splendid double-stopping and clean chordal playing. And so continues to the conclusion of this treasurable performance.

On one level, the one-voice-per-part performances of the cantatas earn high commendation, too, but they are marred by a significant flaw. BWV115 is a chorale cantata composed for 5 November 1724. From the outset, the text is dominated by rhetorical demands or commands to which the Christian must attend – ‘Mache dich, mein Geist’ (Make ready, my spirit) in the opening chorale. The following aria for alto scolds the ‘slumbering soul’ – ‘Ermuntre dich doch’ (Rouse yourself!). The only other aria, for soprano, continues the theme of man’s inadequacy in the eyes of God, ‘Bete aber auch dabei’ (But pray, too). It is, as Alfred Dürr wrote in his classic study of the cantatas, ‘conceived in vividly text-related terms’. It is, however, exactly this sense of rhetoric that is almost entirely missing from these neatly turned performances. Listen, for example, to alto Alexander Chance’s singing of that alto aria, ‘Ach schläfrige Seele, wie? ‘Ah, slumbering spirit, what?’ It is neat and capable, but diction is poor, and it lacks any real penetration of the text, so it is hardly surprising that the ear is constantly drawn from the voice to the expressive oboe d’amore obbligato of Patrick Beaugiraud.

BWV 85 dates from April 1725. It takes its topic from consideration of the famous words in the Gospel of St John, ‘I am a good shepherd’, which are quoted at the outset by the bass soloist in a kind of mixture of accompagnato and arioso. The cantata is unusual in that the four soloists come together only in the brief final chorale, the chorale in the body of the cantata being for solo soprano, here beguilingly intoned by Céline Scheen, whose bright, fresh voice is one of the pleasures of the recording. Here the rhetorical element is less to the fore, though I would still like a stronger emphasis on diction. Again, one of the great pleasures of the performance is the instrumental contribution, especially once again the violoncello piccolo, which makes a splendid obbligato contribution to the alto aria.

I’m conscious that there are many admirers of Bach’s cantatas for whom the rhetorical element, the strong impact of the words, means less than it does to others, and they will doubtless place less emphasis on the topic of rhetoric. They are likely to find few reservations. Nonetheless, rhetoric meant a great deal to Bach and his fellow congregations, and if we are to understand fully the precept and message of these timeless works, it is something that should be of importance to us, too.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Handel: Chandos Anthems 10 & 6; Oboe Concerto

CD cover Handel Chandos anthems Musica Gloria

Musica Gloria, directed by Nele Vertommen oboe, and Beniamino Paganini harpsichord/organ
54:47
Et’cetera 1858

Musica Gloria is a young Netherlands-based vocal and instrumental ensemble whose CD ‘Georg Österreich’s Resurrected Treasures’ I welcomed warmly on this site. For their latest recording, they’ve moved forward around 30 years to give us two of the eleven anthems Handel wrote for James Brydges, shortly before he became Duke of Chandos in 1719, during his time with Brydges as resident composer (Johann Pepusch, another German émigré, was director of music). It is sobering to recognize that, had Brydges been alive today, he would almost certainly have been destroyed by the media. He elevated his country house Cannons (near Edgware) to a magnificence rarely found in England outside of royalty by means of fraudulently siphoning off large sums derived from his time as Paymaster General. So without it – over half a million pounds – no Cannons, no Chandos Anthems, no Acis and Galatea.

The Chandos Anthems were all written for the modest forces retained by Brydges, a small chorus and instrumental ensemble (without alto voices and violas) that obviously included an outstanding oboist. Here Musica Gloria field two voices-per-part along with pairs of oboes, recorders, bassoon and strings. As with the earlier CD, there is a marked impression that oboist Nele Vertommen is the driving force of Musica Gloria. Not only are her contributions to the anthems the highlights of the performances, but her playing of the solo part in the Concerto in B flat, HWV 302a, is throughout as finely nuanced and technically as assured as could be wished for.

‘The Lord is my light’ (no 10) notably sets a text drawn from no fewer than eight psalms, and ‘As pants the hart’ (no 6), which more conservatively restricts its source material to Psalm 42, are the anthems included here. Like all the anthems, they include contrasting solo and choral verses much in the style of the French petit motet, but above showing a clear relationship with the verse anthems of Purcell, a source and influence surprisingly not mentioned in the CD’s notes. Unfortunately, the performances do not match those on the earlier disc, though they may please those wedded to the Anglican tradition rather more than they do me. Like so much of that type of choral singing, there is a distinct lack of projection and communication, the performances being more concerned with making a beautiful sound than conveying a message. Diction is poor throughout, a caveat that applies equally to solos as it does to choral work. In ‘The Lord is my light’, this point is dramatically made in the mimetic choral writing at the words ‘the earth trembled and quaked, the very foundations also of the hills’, introducing the shuddering effect first used by Lully in his Isis (1677). Here it goes for little. Tempos are not always convincing either. The opening of ‘As pants the hart’ is disappointingly deliberate and understated, so by the time we reach the second, devastating line, ‘Tears are my daily food’, there has been no sense of build-up to those strong words. Obviously, as already suggested, there will be those for whom such things matter little, and they will likely find much to enjoy in the pleasing blend achieved by the beguilingly fresh-sounding voices. But there is more to this music than we are given here, and there should have been more music given on the CD, too. In this day when 80 minute CDs are no longer the exception, a mere 55 minutes is likely to raise eyebrows. So, sorry not to give more of a welcome, but the impression left is that the performers may not have been sufficiently versed in this music to bring a natural empathy to it.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Charpentier: Messe à 4 choeurs cori spezzati

CD cover Charpentier Messe a quatres chœurs Versailles

Maîtrise de Paris; Choeur de l’Opéra Royal, Consort Musica Vera, conducted by Jean-Baptiste Nicolas
68:56
Versailles Spectacles CVS164

Although the concept of spatial polychoral works for two or more choirs is particularly associated with the basilica of St. Mark’s in Venice and its many galleries that lent themselves to such works, Rome and other cities, such as Bologna, also developed a strong tradition of performing such spectacular music during the course of the 16th and 17th centuries. Throughout the period, visitors coming to Italy recorded their astonishment at the overwhelming effect that could be produced by music emanating from different locations, and indeed the chori spezzati tradition should surely be viewed as a feature of the counter-Reformation. Oddly, one country that seems to have made no attempt to create its own polychoral tradition was France. The single example of a French composer attempting to emulate it comes from Marc-Antoine Charpentier, with his Salve regina à trois choeurs and Messe à quatre choeurs. For reasons not known, Charpentier visited Rome for a three-year period during his twenties (1653-73), coming into contact not only with a wide variety of liturgical works by such masters of the polychoral tradition as Lodovico Agostini and Orazio Benevoli but also the oratorios of Giacomo Carissimi. Both profoundly affected his development as a composer.

The present disc interestingly compares the Messe à quatre choeurs with a group of works by Monteverdi, Giovanni Gabrieli, Benevoli (who Charpentier almost certainly encountered during his stay) and Agostini. The Monteverdi extracts from the 1610 Vespers, the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ – very nicely done by the boys of the Maîtrise de Paris – or the six-part ‘Deus in Auditorium’, with its instrumental reference back to the opening toccata from Orfeo can however hardly be classified as polychoral works. Though born a generation apart, the career trajectories of Agostini (1534-90) and Benevoli (1605-72) follow a similar path, with both having studied at the Église Saint-Louis des Français in Rome. Later, both became music director of Cappella Giulia in Rome, though by that time Benevoli’s career had also taken him to a post in Vienna. The contrasting textures of Benevoli’s 24-part Dixit Dominus, as recorded in the Chapelle Royale in Versailles, seem too complex when taken at such a deliberate pace in a reverberant space, with little separation of the four choirs apparent. It should be noted that the timings for the works that proceed the Charpentier are incorrectly given in the booklet, the 1:26 given for the Agostini Magnificat, for example, more accurately timed at around 6:30.

The Charpentier mass betrays its Roman ancestry from the outset. The opening Kyrie displays the contrasts of texture and weight that are apparent throughout, the solo (petit choeur) opening featuring some lustrous singing by soprano Pauline Gaillard. Here, the entry of the other three choirs is surprisingly and unexpectedly accompanied by timpani. Anyone who has listened to the Italian pieces first will by this time know that loud timpani beats are a feature of the recording and one that conductor Jean-Baptiste Nicolas discusses at length in his notes, noting it is an experiment. Nicolas, who is a musicologist, admits that there is no historical documentation of timpanists being paid for playing church services, but points to examples in painting. Although he argues well and without being dogmatic, I cannot but feel that this is an experiment that has not been successful, indeed one that might have been better suited to a concert than the permanency of a recording. Too often, the entry of timpani comes at the cost of choral clarity or the spoiling of a moment, the most invidious being at ‘Crucifixus’, which follows a transcendent ‘Et incarnatus’, especially touching at ‘et homo factus est’ (and was made man).

I am sure there are those that will find the addition of timpani adds a sense of grandeur and there are indeed some overwhelmingly impressive moments. But I don’t think it works within the context of works that are already giving the listener a considerable aural challenge. Others may find greater satisfaction in the recording of the Charpentier mass – sung within the context of appropriate chant – made by Ex Cathedra (Hyperion, 2003), particularly since it also includes the lovely three-choir Salve Regina. There is also a version by the outstanding Ensemble Correspondances that I’ve not heard (harmonia mundi). But I’m equally sure there are those for whom the visceral excitement of the new Versailles CD will carry the day.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Telemann: Auf Christenheit!

CD cover Telemann Auf Christenheit Kölner Akademie Michael Alexander Willens

Frankfurter Festmusiken 1716
Soloists, Kölner Akademie, Michael Alexander Willens
142:35 (2 CDs)
cpo 555584-2

Sometime around the beginning of 1712, Telemann wrote an application to the Frankfurt free city authority to apply for the post of director of music, stating in the process that he wished to ‘quit court life [he had been employed by the Eisenach court since 1708] and take up a quieter one’. He was appointed to the post in March. In Frankfurt, Telemann’s brief was not dissimilar to that of Bach in Leipzig, including composing church music and occasional works for civic occasions. Of these, almost certainly the most lavish were those celebrating the birth of the Hereditary Prince Leopold to the Habsburg Emperor Charles VI and the Empress Elizabeth on 13 April 1716, an event of great political significance since Leopold became the much-longed-for heir apparent to the Holy Roman Empire, hopes dashed only months later when the baby died in November. (A daughter, Maria Theresa, would become the first Empress to rule).

Plans for Frankfurt to celebrate were set on foot for May 17, Telemann being commissioned for a sacred work to words by Georg Pritius, the preacher of the sermon. The resultant work, ‘Auf Christenheit begeh ein Freudenfest’ (TWV 12: 1a/b), was planned on a suitably lavish scale, with full scoring including three trumpets and timpani. It is cast in two parts, the first to be given before the sermon, the second after. In that sense it follows the plan of many of Bach’s cantatas, but in others it varies considerably, not least the extensive use of accompanied recitative (accompagnati), often used to colourful effect including obbligato parts, particularly for oboe, for which Telemann had the participation of the Berlin virtuoso Peter Glösch in addition to a strong line-up of vocal soloists, some brought in from the court at Darmstadt. The arias are mostly of the strophic or through-composed type and are without exception full of incidental delights and colourful scoring. The entire work is indeed a joy, here enhanced by splendid singing from the soloists, all of whom deserve mention: Hanna Herfurtner and Elena Harsányi (sopranos), Elvira Bill (alto), Georg Poplutz (tenor), and Thomas Bonni (basss), the last named particularly characterful. The chorus consists of the same voices. This entrancing work is directed with idiomatic élan by the experienced Michael Alexander Willens,* it being worth adding that those concertante oboe parts are throughout superbly played by Katharina Andres.

As if this treat in wasn’t enough, festivities continued with a banquet for those entitled to attend and more plebeian celebrations – including military shows with cannons, etc. –for those that weren’t. In the evening, those still on their feet attended an open-air performance of a large-scale serenata by the city’s director of music, who it seems may have suggested it himself (what price a ‘quieter’ life!). In keeping with such festive works, the characters of Deutschland grünt und blüht im Friede (TWV 12:1c) are mainly allegorical, there being no dramatic content. The scoring is even more sumptuous than that of the church work, its forces being supplemented by a pair of horns and three (!) bassoons, while the choral writing is in eight parts, a point rather amusingly brought into the text by the chorus. In contrast to the church music, the arias are mainly in the expected da capo form, with plain recitative rather than accompagnato. Following an extended five-movement concerto, Germania and Irene reflect on the joys of the peace that has descended on German territories, articulating the relief felt by the respite from war, respite attained in the wake of the peace treaties agreed at the end of the War of the Spanish Succession. The mood set, articulated in an aria like Germania’s ‘Mein reich lebt in vergnügter Ruh’ (My realms live in happy peace), veers between the exuberant and more reflective, characterised by an alternation of cantabile writing – here beautifully sustained, if at the expense of diction, by Herfurtner, who also deals expertly with more florid episodes. Later, Mars – a role sung by Bonni with humour and gusto – appears on the scene but promises he’ll leave Germany in peace. The City of Frankfurt endorses the sentiments of Germania and Irene, which are further enhanced by the appearance of Mercury, bringing the news of the birth of the child that will ensure peace. The work ends with military splendour and the firing of cannons, reproduced on the recording. If perhaps not quite on the same level as the church music, the serenata is again an irresistible example of Telemann’s wonderfully fecund compositional skills. As with ‘Auf Christenheit’, the performance is near-exemplary and utterly compelling.

We’re told that the performance that May night was so successful that it was repeated not just once, but twice, which is extraordinary given that the work runs 90 minutes. Even more surprising is that Telemann revived the serenata when music director in Hamburg in 1733, a fate almost unheard of for an occasional work such as this, but fully deserved in this case. There are not many occasional works that have outlasted the occasion.

Brian Robins

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Bach: Johannes-Passion (1748 version)

CD cover Bach St John Passion Pygmalion

Julian Prégardien Evangelist, Huw Montague Rendall Jesus, Ying Fang, Lucile Richardot, Laurence Kilsby, Christian Immler, Etienne Bazola, Pygmalion, Raphaël Pichon
115:00 (2 CDs in a box)
harmonia mundi HMM 902774.75

This performance of the Johannes-Passion has everything: it has Julian Prégardien on fine form as the Evangelista, and a fine operatic baritone (new to me) – Huw Montague Rendall – as Jesus, as well as starry singers like Lucile Richardot and Christian Immler in the line-up. It has the violas d’amore and theorbo of the 1723 version, and the bassono grosso of the last. It has a complex continuo scoring involving cello, double bass, theorbo, harpsichord and organ – a quite substantial instrument with at least principals 8’, 4’ and 2’ rather than the usual little box organ based on an 8’ stopped flute: but we are given no details of this instrument (which I suspect is at some distance from the main body of the performers). This leaves Pichon free to vary the continuo line where (in the Evangelist’s recitative at least) the sonorous double bass is a constant at 16’.

The soprano aria Ich folge has just the ’cello and theorbo, and the agile yet mellifluous tenor Erwäge the theorbo likewise, with, I think, the harpsichord sometimes as well. These, and Huw Montague Rendall’s Betrachte, are beautifully sung as are the arias in Part II: Richardot’s Es ist Vollbracht has that out-of-this-world tone which makes her such a striking interpreter of texts like this, and Huw Montague Rendall has the lyrical depth to give us a matchless Mein teurer Heiland – not too jaunty and hurried but with that hint of a D major resurrection in the moment of death. Not everyone will like the underlying philosophy that the singers in the arias are accompanied by the instruments rather than equal partners with them, as Zerfliesse reveals most clearly.

The splendidly drilled choir of 6.4.4.5 (a little light on alto tone) always sings separately from the six principal singers; it is miked independently so that the balance between choir, orchestra (5.4.3.1.1 strings) and soloists can be balanced artificially. All this, of course, is standard recording practice, and makes for a fine dramatic whole, which Raphaël Pichon in his liner notes spells out in his enthusiastic way, showing that he understands Bach’s take on the theology of St John’s passion gospel: The hinge-point choral Durch dein Gefängnis is sung pianissimo and unaccompanied to make the point. But when every moment of the Evangelista’s narrative is milked for its drama, then we start to suffer overkill.

Is this a conception that Johann Sebastian would recognise? Most disconcertingly for me, the exchanges between the Evangelista and the turba are between people on different planets: However sharply the turba sing and however beguiling the Evangelista woos them into his story, they yield two different sound worlds. This will be true of all performances in which the singers are divided in the modern way into being either soloists or members of the choir. This performance contradicts – as do many modern takes on the Johannes-Passion – not only what we know about how Bach conceived his music but also about how it was received. Bach’s principal singers were the basic chorus – the core participants in his Passions – to which others were added. It was emphatically not like opera, a spectacle out there with distinct roles at which we, the distant spectators, marvelled. It is we who are the participants: We are both the agents of the drama and at the same time the worshippers in church on Good Friday. A performance of the Johannes-Passion that strives for the pinnacle of excellence in its individual components may fall down on the one thing that is absolutely essential – the interconnectedness of the individual parts to the whole.

Listeners need to make up their own minds about performances like this, which many will admire and assume that this is just what Bach would have wanted. It will fill concert halls and sell the CDs. But for me, the central factor – the integrity of the whole – is missing.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Divine Impresario

CD cover Divine Impresario Randall Scotting Academy of Ancient Music

Nicolini on Stage
Randall Scotting countertenor, Mary Bevan soprano, Academy of Ancient Music, directed by Laurence Cummings
78:37
signum classics SIGCD986

This CD concentrates on the career and repertoire of Nicolò Grimaldi, one of the first celebrity castrati and better known to his adoring public by the stage name Nicolini – the famous theatre-goer Samuel Pepys mentions the first of the Italian castrati to visit London in the years prior to Nicolini’s residence, although he is unimpressed. Famous for his stage presence as much as for his fine mezzo-soprano voice, an account of Nicolini wrestling a lion while dressed in a pink flesh suit and singing “Mostro crudel che fai?” by Francesco Mancini evokes this bizarre phase in operatic history – I leave you to devise your own Pink Panther jokes. Such was the impact of this implausible scene on audiences that they demanded that the lion be ‘revived’ for a series of encores! Perhaps for those of us with vivid imaginations, it is fortunate that Randall Scotting spares us Mancini’s setting, singing “Mostro crudel” in the setting by Riccardo Broschi, the brother of one of Nicolini’s successors as star castrato, the legendary Farinelli – towards the end of his career, Nicolini actually appeared onstage in Venice with Farinelli. Scotting has a mellow mezzo-soprano voice, and in his account of lyrical numbers such as Mancini’s “E vano ogni pensiero” he goes a long way to explaining Nicolini’s enormous popularity. Fortunately for us, in addition to performing music by the likes of Gasparini, Porporo, Ariosti and Giaj, Nicolini spent some time in London working with the young Handel, and undoubtedly influencing the young composer’s impressive early efforts at opera. As well as giving ravishing accounts of the slower, expressive arias, Scotting is more than capable of negotiating the virtuoso demands of some of the more flamboyant music audiences came to expect of their castrato idols. He also joins forces with HIP royalty, Mary Bevan, for three lovely duets, while he benefits throughout from beautifully idiomatic orchestral support from the Academy of Ancient Music under the direction of Laurence Cummings, who also contribute a fine account of the Sinfonia from Handel’s Rinaldo. As intriguing as the arias from Rinaldo and Amadigi, in which Nicolini premiered the title role, are the arias and duets by the less familiar composers, part of the ferment of operatic activity in the early 18th century.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Werner: Festive Masses

CD cover Werner Festive masses

Magdalena Harer, Alex Potter, Hans Jörg Mammel, Anton Haupt ScTTBar, la festa musicale conducted by Lajos Rovatkay
70:29
Audite 97.836

‘I am forced to draw attention to the gross negligence of the local castle chapel, the unnecessarily large princely expenses, and the lazy idleness of the whole band, the present responsibility for which must be laid at the door of the present director…’ Those are the words of Gregor Joseph Werner, Haydn’s predecessor as Kapellmeister to the Esterházy family, ‘the present director’ indeed being Haydn himself. It is rather sad that the image of Werner with which we are most likely to be familiar today is that of an embittered and sick old man at the end of his life. Werner had been appointed as Kapellmeister in 1728, becoming an industrious servant of the Esterházys and a pupil of Caldara. His output was largely centred on church music, which is known to include at least 22 oratories, Masses, Requiems, Te Deums, Vespers and Lamentations along with secular instrumental music. Such a prodigious output suggests too great a facility, yet already in his great study of Haydn H. C. Robbins Landon had recognised the quality of Werner’s compositions, suggesting that his religious music ‘displays all this learning [Werner was trained in the Fux contrapuntal tradition] in a genuinely impressive way …’, while we know Haydn held his music in the highest regard.

The present disc is the final issue of five CDs devoted to Werner’s sacred works, though it is the only one to come my way up to now. It includes two so-called ‘festive’ masses scored for a pair of trumpets, timpani and strings, the Missa ‘Trinitas in unitate veneranda’ and the Missa ‘Iam hyems transiit’, though the disappointingly brief notes by conductor Lajos Rovatkay tell us nothing of their progeny. In addition, there is a brief motet also based on ‘Iam hyems transiit’, a setting of especially lovely lines from chapter 2 of the Song of Solomon, and an even briefer three-movement ‘Symphonia Tertia’ for strings. Both Masses are multi-faceted works that range from the contrapuntal writing one would expect from a composer trained in the wake of the Viennese Masses of Fux and Caldara, through homophonic choral writing to extensive solos and ensembles. Indeed, the extent of the often quite florid solo and ensemble passages is unusual for this kind of work, the more so since it manages to avoid overt operatic influence. But most striking of all is that both Masses are imbued with both a joyous spirit and humane warmth that I do not find in Fux or Caldara, combined with an elegant grace and, at times, intensely moving writing at more solemn moments of the text. For example, the setting of ‘Et incarnatus’ in both Masses is quite different, but in both brings a moment of quiet inner reflection with exquisite harmonies including touches of chromaticism, a distinctive strength of Werner’s writing on the evidence of both these Masses. In the ‘Trinitas’ Mass, ‘Crucifixus’ is a long, melismatic bass solo, its winding line here negotiated by Anton Haupt with sensitive skill, while the equivalent section in the ‘Iam hyems transiit’ Mass is a beautifully worked solo quartet that includes some especially piquant harmonies. So many striking moments clamour for attention. An early example arrives with the second Kyrie of the ‘Trinitas’ Mass, no repetition of Kyrie I but a movement built from the bass up to culminate in a resplendent climax for the whole Kyrie. The unusually-structured motet, presumably intended for performance with its offspring Mass, opens with a verse scored for the same forces before continuing to a tenor recitative and aria. It concludes with a brilliant Alleluia.

Both Masses are a revelation, their effect enhanced by the outstanding performances by Hannover-based la festa musicale. I don’t know the strength of the forces employed by the Esterházys during Werner’s tenure, but the modest numbers involved here – two-per-part chorus plus a pair of trumpets, tympani and small string ensemble – work well, with the fully-scored festive passages being projected with full brilliance and more intimate moments sensitively handled. All four soloists are quite outstanding either in solo passages or participating in the various ensembles, which reveal an excellent blend. Passage work is uniformly cleanly negotiated; I was especially impressed with the pure but warmly characterful soprano of Magdalene Harer, a name new to me. The conducting of the veteran Hungarian-born conductor Lajos Rovatkay is throughout idiomatic and responsive. Sad to relate that Rovatkay died at the start of 2026 at the age of 92. Renowned for his place in the development of early music study and performance in north Germany, his Werner series will alone stand as a splendid legacy.

Brian Robins