Recordings > Opera and Oratorio
HANDEL:
Giulio Cesare in Egitto
Hammarström, Galli, Nesi, Karaianni, Basso; Christoyannis, Magoulas, Spanatis. Orchestra of Patras, Petrou. Texts and translations. MDG SCENE MDG 609 1604-2
With three other Handel opera releases behind them, George Petrou and his Baroque orchestra and group of singers have an established and decorated track record in the genre (Le Monde de Musique's "Choc de Musique," Gramophone's "Choice," among others). My reactions to their work must be regarded as stemming from personal taste: other Handel fans seem to like what I clearly do not. Though there are many wonderful and exciting things on this set and the dramatic involvement of the singers is palpable, there are aggravating and misleading stylistic points to this reading of one of Handel's greatest scores.
Most irritating is the continuo style. Petrou leads the group of two harpsichordists (of which he is one), one theorbo and cello to strum and bang in whatever he perceives to be an aggressive aria, whether rage aria or action aria. This means the harpsichords and theorbo thwack away at virtually every sixteenth note (every eighth in "Va tacito"), clouding a sense of line and turning the accompaniments in many cases into percussion arias. I was reminded more than once of Thomas Beecham's bon mot about the harpsichord: "like two skeletons copulating on a tin roof." During significant stretches of recitative, the diarrhetic right hands of the harpsichordists obfuscate the words and lines of the singers, who really do seem to have a handle on what they are doing. Another irritant is a tendency throughout the opera to slow down, often to a dead halt, in the A sections of most of the arias at or near the final statement of text, though before arriving at the written cadential adagio. A time or two this is interesting, but it wears out its welcome as a stylistic element, stopping virtually every aria's dramatic momentum dead in its tracks.
But on to the good stuff! Two fabulous mezzos in trouser roles portray the head-to-head rivals Cesare and Tolomeo. Kristina Hammarström's Cesare has everything one could want in the character — a distinct nobility of timbre; coloratura facility that I suspect would have been the envy of the role's creator, the castrato Senesino; commanding and inventive ornamentation in the da capo arias; and last but not least, superb rhythm, the hallmark of any great baroque singer. Her sense of rubato is subtle, her messa di voce entirely sovereign. She is the highlight for me, possibly the best Caesar I've heard. Meanwhile, Caesar's rival meanie Tolomeo is sung with great gusto by Romina Basso. She negotiates the low role fearlessly, literally singing her "divisions from the chest," as Charles Burney observed castratos to do. Her recitatives thunder, and her arias, despite the trap-set continuo accompaniments, come off with brilliance. Her arias, like many of the allegro arias in this interpretation, are too presto to have a sense of line. That's a pity, since Basso clearly has that capability. It's a vivid interpretation, in any event.
The rest of the soloists failed to grab me in any consistent way. Emanuela Galli's Cleopatra is cloyingly kittenish; I wished she would act more through the music and less through imposing vocal affectations upon the music. She has a good trill, but her great seduction scene, "V'adoro pupille," is virtually devoid of this most alluring device. As the widow Cornelia, Irini Karaianni is often affecting, and her da capos not only are musically interesting but give a clear understanding of the dramatic moments. One is aware of the huskiness of her voice and the loudness of her breaths, however, and these undermine the movement of her line. Her breathiness makes the pitch simply indiscernible in places. As her son Sesto, Mary-Ellen Nesi suffers at times from a similar breathiness, but her delivery is ardent, as any Sesto's should be. Nesi has particular ability in the top, which gleams forth in her arias. Sesto was written for Margherita Durastanti late in her singing life. Handel had first written two roles for her in Rome and Venice in 1712, when she was a lyric soprano — the title role of Agrippina and Mary Magdalene in La Resurrezione. It's clear that by the time of Giulio Cesare,twelve years later, Durastanti's voice had taken on more heft, but the tessitura is often soprano. The casting of mezzos and countertenors in this pants role can be perilous (I think of it on a par with Strauss's Octavian or Composer), but Nesi chows down on it with no holds barred.
The other substantial role is Achilla, taken here by Tassis Christoyannis. The combative, détaché style of both his singing and the playing in his first two arias, in opposition to their amorous texts, utterly undermines the character. Achilla is certainly a bully, but Handel was a genius at making his bullies more than one-sided. Achilla is also a desperate, doe-eyed romantic, and his utter devastation when it is clear that he will never see his reward (Cornelia's love) in Act III, a fact made clear by Tolomeo in an aside earlier in the opera, is a dramatic pulse that has implications for Cornelia, Tolomeo, Sesto and Cleopatra. These are subtle undercurrents, but important ones: there are no small roles in Handel. But there is a lot of seemingly small stuff one needs to get right for opera seria to have its full effect.
DREW MINTER
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