Il Pomo D'Oro / George Petrou HANDEL Ottone

Premiered at the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, in January 1723, Ottone was the first Handel opera to pair his star draws of the 1720s: the soprano Francesca Cuzzoni, making her London debut as Teofane, and the castrato Senesino in the title-role. Both were singers with attitude. But they met their match in Handel, who reputedly threatened to throw Cuzzoni out of the window until she agreed to quell her prima donna’s vanity and sing Teofane’s simple and touching opening aria ‘Falsa imagine’. Ironically, the aria made Cuzzoni’s London reputation as a soprano without equal in the ‘pathetic’ style. Centring on the attempts of the scheming matriarch Gismonda and her unlovely son Adelberto to prevent King Ottone from marrying the Byzantine Princess Teofane and assuming his rightful throne, Ottone’s pseudo-historical libretto is often hopelessly confused. This evidently mattered not a jot to Handel’s audiences. The combination of Senesino, Cuzzoni and Handel’s melodic fertility (Charles Burney reported that many of the arias soon became ‘national favourites’) made Ottone an instant success. With a total of 36 performances over five seasons, it was eclipsed in popularity only by Rinaldo during his lifetime.

These days Ottone ranks well down the Handel pecking order, not least because of the plot’s muddles and absurdities. On CD, though, it has fared relatively well, with two period-instrument versions appearing in quick succession from Nicholas McGegan (Harmonia Mundi, 3/93) and Robert King (Hyperion, 7/93). Both do the opera fair justice. But this new version, recorded in the sympathetic acoustic of the Villa San Fermo in the Veneto, easily surpasses them in consistency of casting and dramatic flair. Without pressing the tempos unduly (except when dancing on hot coals in the Overture’s fugue), George Petrou draws rhythmically animated, sensitively coloured playing from the crack Italian band. Abetted by an alert, unfussy continuo, recitatives are lively and naturally paced, though not even Petrou and his singers can save the final denouement from blink-and-you-miss-it perfunctoriness.

The cast is uniformly strong. Ottone is more mooning lover than strutting hero, always ready to buckle in a crisis. But Max Emanuel Cencic, with his unusually powerful, sensuous countertenor, rescues him from self-regarding wimpishess. He sings his tender opening siciliano and Act 3 lament ‘Dove sei?’ with intense beauty of line and tone, always responsive to the text, and throws off his bravura arias with unforced brilliance. As the patiently suffering (even by Baroque opera standards) heroine, the American soprano Lauren Snouffer has a warmer, richer voice than either of her CD rivals and a nimble coloratura technique. With a mezzo glint in her tone, she catches well the passionate undercurrents of Teofane’s music, whether in ‘Falsa imagine’, her yearning plea for peace ‘Affanni dei pensier’ or the nocturnal garden scena in Act 3. Some may find her quick vibrato slightly disconcerting in Handel, though I soon got used to it.

Gismonda’s inconsistently drawn character, veering between ruthless ambition and blithe exuberance, is softened by the lulling ‘Vieni, o figlio’, an exquisite outpouring of maternal love. Ann Hallenberg, always a superb Handelian, sings this with musing inwardness, using delicate ornamentation to enhance the intensity of the da capo. Elsewhere she musters all the imperiousness and, in the splenetic ‘Trema, tiranno’, venom that the matriarch’s music demands. In the role of Matilda, in love with the contemptible Adelberto in spite of herself, mezzo Anna Starushkevych sings with sensitivity and (in her fiery denunciation of Ottone) plenty of temperament, though her coloratura can be bumpy. Xavier Sabata, as Adelberto, is mellifluous in his quieter, lyrical music but tends to hoot when spitting out defiance in ‘Tu puoi straziarmi’. Eschewing mere bluster, bass-baritone Pavel Kudinov sings with fine, clean resonance and impressive agility – a hint of tenderness, too, in his final aria – as the jolly pirate Emireno, who eventually turns out to be Teofane’s brother in disguise (don’t question the maths – this is opera seria).

Despite minor provisos, this new recording is emphatically the version to have of an opera whose dramatic flaws are redeemed by magnificent individual scenes and any number of good tunes. It is also more complete than its rivals, including, as David Vickers explains in an informative note, all the music heard at the 1723 premiere plus two new arias added for Cuzzoni’s benefit night later that season and, as an appendix, three numbers Handel composed for Senesino when he revived Ottone in 1726. (Richard Wigmore / Gramophone)

Anita Watson / Anna Starushkevych / Nicky Spence / James Platt / Navarra Quartet / Lada Valešová FATA MORGANA Song by PAVEL HAAS

It’s good to see commitment to Pavel Haas’ legacy from the rather unlikely environs of a British label and to see the name of, say, tenor Nicky Spence amongst the singers. But look a little closer and you’ll also see the name of the pianist and artistic director the project, Czech-born, London-resident Lada Valešová, whom I have praised here before for her idiomatic performances of her native country’s music where she played, inter alias, Haas’s Suite, Op.13 and the Allegro Moderato of 1938. She also provided the vital language coaching in this new disc.

None of these song cycles are so commonplace on disc that one can easily pass by this latest, focused disc. The Seven Songs in Folk Style are delightful miniature settings irradiated by the deft, often dappled piano writing, well brought out by Valešová. Both Anita Watson and the pianist prefer quite an expansive view of the songs, especially the slower ones. The baritone Petr Matuszek sang them with pianist Aleš Kaňka on Supraphon SU 3334-2 231 and they are altogether bluffer than the Resonus duo; more rustic, faster by far in almost all settings, and digging out the burlesque piano writing of the last setting with graphic wit. Even though he only sings two of the cycle Karel Průša’s old Bonton recording on a mixed recital disc adheres to the Czech tempo norms in this cycle. The Resonus team prefer a more melancholic, expansive view and are less tersely unsettled as a result.
Haas sets two lots of Chinese songs. His 1944 Four Songs on Chinese Poetry is the one that has been investigated more often than the much earlier Op.4 set of three songs. The wartime settings are again slower than the Czech pairing on Supraphon. Possibly this is a question of the naturalness of Matuszek’s singing of his native texts, but it’s also a question of conception. The Resonus team is more clement, preferring a lateral rather than a vertical response. It’s noticeable that the Czech team’s accents and articulation are that much more incisive, the word painting that much more involving – though neither James Platt nor Valešová is undramatic in any way. The difference in tempo in the third of the songs tells its own story: 6:16 for Resonance and 4:55 for Supraphon. To further contextualize this, baritone Christian Gerhaher and pianist Gerold Huber are similarly much faster in their recording on a marvellous DG disc [477 6546] that functions as a homage to composers incarcerated in Terezín.

The Op.4 set was composed in 1921 and is, as yet, not quite characteristic of his more natural settings of over two decades later, but does reveal subtlety in interpretation.

The big news is that we have here a world première recording in the shape of Fata Morgana, Op.6, a two-part, half-hour setting of Tagore composed in 1923. It’s written for voice, here Nicky Spence, string quartet and piano – which is to say the same combination as Vaughan Williams’ earlier On Wenlock Edge. This is a fascinating if somewhat over-extended work, saturated in eroticism – though not the erotic exoticism of Szymanowski, more the eroticism of a conflation between Debussian sensuous languor and Janáčekian urgency. The latter is hardly surprising, obviously, as Haas was one of Janáček’s best-known pupils and the little moments of quartet fluttering inevitably remind one of the Moravian master. This is a work that, despite its relative length, has a lot going for it – nocturnal wind motifs, the way each voice – the literal voice of the singer, as well as the piano and quartet - embody characteristics derived by Haas from Tagore’s hothouse poetry. Then there is tension through repetition, evanescent melancholy and echoes of The Diary of One Who Disappeared. Spence sings highly effectively and the Navarra Quartet really makes the most of its numerous opportunities for sensuality.

Questions of idiomatic textual declamation and tempo decisions aside this is a well selected disc, bringing to the table two of Haas’ most attractive cycles and that première recording. It sits splendidly in the current discography. (Jonathan Woolf)