Rene Jacobs: Idomeneo Perfection

Mein Gott in Himmel - this recording just blew my entire world apart - in a good way! It's no secret to those who know me, I adore Richard Croft in Mozart (well, in anything!) and while some prefer a beefier tone in this role, I completely love his work here. Croft brings countless "acting with the voice" nuances to every scene, imbues every bit of text in deeply thoughtful manner that make his King believable, heroic and richly human.

Ah, then there is the way he tosses tosses off "Fuor del mar's" coloratura fireworks (in Mozart's own "bravura" version). This reading is insanely fast - shaving almost a full minute off of any other recording I know of the same version (a criticism leveled at the entire set by a number of reviews). While it didn't appear to leave the singer so - it certainly left ME breathless by the end! I've never heard the coloratura in this aria sung with this kind of agility and speed and the result is tremendously thrilling, and tremendously beautiful. Aside from the fireworks, Croft like the very best singers, always knows how to thrill during the recitatives - something Jacobs seems to have worked out in great detail with the entire company, as the recits are here as dramatically exciting (well, almost) as the arias that follow. All of that aside, it is his singing of the opera's closing pages - in a reading that is so full of hope and joy that sells me on his interpretation of Mozart's greatest (to me) tenor role.

As to those recitatives, there has been a lot of complaining in the press that Jacobs has gone out of his mind and turned them into caricatures of how a recit really should go. Not for me (and evidently, not for many who have purchased this set and are similarly loving it). The recitatives are restored (I believe) to almost 100% and the fleshing out of them on the fortepiano almost seems to add another character to the opera itself. Mozart perhaps? Regardless, I think it's a stroke of genius and gives this set - already bursting at the seams with new(ish) ideas, an edge over other sets - at least for me. (I must say, several times I felt as though the foretepiano sounded like it should have a couple mugs of beer sitting atop it!)

Like the singer of the title character, everyone participating in this the set is so fully involved with their characters it's almost impossible to single out any particular singer - but I must, and it is, for me, a singer brand new to these ears: Kenneth Tarver, the tenor singing Arbace is a revelation. Singing with gorgeous tone, solid musicmaking, elegant of line his agility in rapid passagework is absolutely thrilling - and the tone seems to be one of those voices that truly sings "from the heart." I look forward to hearing a lot more from this young singer.

I'm a nut for any singer with the last name of "Fink" as, in my experience, they're always at the top of their game, and Bernarda is no exception. I tend to like her more in lied or baroque opera/oratorio, but she is simply wonderful here as Idamente, fully engaged and her scenes with Ilia are lovely and full of a genuine tenderness.

Though a studio recording, Sunhae Im, took (by my measure) a little while to warm up, her voice sounded just a bit underpowered and wan early on - but by "Zeffiretti lusinghieri" the tone is warmer, fuller - and the gentle, expressive manner in which she takes the aria is exquisitely beautiful, her ornamentations delightful, the ability to swell out and color the tone, most impressive.

Alexandra Pendatchanska became - about a dozen years ago - one of my favorite sopranos in a single hearing of her as Donizetti's Parisina. While I adore her "fierce" singing - there is Elettra's exquisite solo "Soavi Zeffiri" in that choral masterpiece "Placido e il mar," . . . divine would not be too strong a word to describe this moment. Of course, we LIVE for Elettra's final mad scene "D'Oreste, d'Aiace" - where she joins a long line of deliciously delirious predecessors (most notably, Hildegard Behrens who made this such a memorable coup d'theatre).

Previously having mentioned the chorus, the RIAS Kammerchor is here just about as thrilling as it gets in this music and their contribution to this set simply cannot go unmentioned - the chorus is one of the greatest characters in this drama; wringing out every moment of pathos, sounding properly and breathlessly terrified when called for, singing impeccably at every dynamic level, offering a glorious blanket of sound that envelops all.

Jacobs leads the Freiburger Barockorchester in what is, for me, the single most propulsive, action-packed reading of this score I have yet encountered. He's never afraid to let the timpani, brass or wind machines make their effects realizing Mozart himself packed all of this drama into the score. Many moments in this reading are the aural equivalent of "special effects" we'd "see" in movies. Everywhere is there a combination of muscle and grace, intensity and gentility - all coming off in a manner that seems to make the familiar even more alive and new.

There are moments that he gets better than anyone, such as the delicious quartet for Ideomeneo, Ilia, Idamante and Elettra "Andro ramingo e solo." This is one of the greatest ensembles ever set by Mozart, beginning with an almost deceptively simple quasi-fugal beginning that soon turns into a complex, thrill-a-minute drama of its own, all four characters either accepting their fate, declaring their love or cursing the gods and seeking revenge. It's "opera as concerto movement." The quartet simply grows and grows, and Jacobs builds the orchestral contributions to a pulse pounding pace, never coming close to overwhelming his singers, who each, respectively are coloring the text and musical line with an almost unbelievable sense of precision. The complexities of harmonies and textures of sound achieved here is alone worth the purchase of this set.

The box is a fairly lavish affair (particularly these days) with a nice four language libretto, essays by Jacobs, Silke Leopold, plot synopses, and smaller-than-postage stamp photos of the cast (would it KILL anyone to have decent photo sets in these things like the old days?) One silly touch is those teeny-tiny photos show up on three consecutive pages with the singer's characters translated into French, German and (for English speakers) the original Italian names. Why? To make up for this, the package is accompanied by a DVD (as yet unwatched by me) of the recording sessions. Why not?

For sheer thrill of Mozart music drama I don't know that we'll see a better recording of anything this year. It's a magnificent set that I'll look forward to playing often.

Sparkling La Finta Giardiniera

I've never really paid too much attention to La Finta Giardiniera by the 18 year old Mozart, in fact other than a fairly weakly-performed broadcast from Europe some years ago, have never before sat through the entire thing. All that changed the other night as I watched, in entirety for the first time, a DVD of the 1998 Drottningholm Festival performance I've been sitting on for a while now. What a surprise and joy it is to discover something previously only casually known, is actually a work of great depth and genius. I'd always dismissed this piece as a youngish-exercise by the young master, but
paying atention to the details, studying its characters revealed what a mature, sophisticated work this is. While the libretto is highly comical - sometimes hilariously over-the-moon, Mozart plunges into the depths of each character - allowing us to watch them develop into far more than their 18th century dramatic stereotypes: they become real flesh and blood human beings, their motivations and reasons for actions fully believable - even in a fantastically theatrical genre such as comedic opera.

The score is, I believe, one of Mozart's technically most challenging and, at least as played at Drottinghamm, offering great chunks of through-composed music that links one musical idea to another in unbroken chains in an almost Wagnerian style. The young Mozart was clearly a genius, but an untempered one. While he would go on to compose music known for its technical difficulties (think Queen of the Night, Kostanze, et al.) his
later style developed into a more nuanced approach, generally allowing his singers some much needed "breathing room" between difficult numbers. In "Giardineria," however, the teenage wunderkind created a sort of calling card - throwing his entire arsenal of creativity into a work which seemingly had little pre-existing model of such musical difficulty at the time. Mozart delivered the work to Munich on time for a mid December premiere, but the company was unprepared for the sophisticated and difficult score which
showed up and required an additional 3 weeks of rehearsals before finally premiering on January 13th!

The jewel that is the 400 seat Drottningholm Palace Theatre still employs the original 1766 stage machinery - fully intact - (thunder and wave machines, flying chairs, etc.) often used in its productions, the orchestra plays original instruments, wears wigs and dresses in the time period, allowing presentations of as close to a total recreation of 18th century opera as we're likely to see anywhere these days. Sadly, no flying chair is on display here, but with everything going on in this production, it's hardly missed!

Goran Jarvefelt creates a production that feels as if it traveled through time directly from Mozart to us. His use (as well as most of the productions I've seen from here) of the tiny Drottningholm stage is a textbook lesson in the creative use of limited space to its fullest
possibilities. He moves us swiftly through courtyards, bed chambers, workrooms, parlours, a wild forest, and a garden/glade. This is managed by allowing every singer to begin their bravura arias in the proper locale, then dropping the curtain as the character continues on the apron while the carpenters and stagehands quickly strike and reset the stage, sometimes partially visible through a small hole in the curtain! The characters, more often than now, acknowledge the audience, sometimes bow, or as in the case of the Count and Violante, wave an enthusiastic good-bye at the delighted crowd. The ends of Acts I and II find the entire company before the curtain, each bowing in character, adding immeasurably to the charm and sense of good fun.

Though its comedic aspects are never diminished, Mozart takes the darker moments of the characters - and creates scenes that plum the depths of despair and madness as powerfully as if they'd been lifted from a more tragic opera seria. The balancing act between dark and light here is at a level comparable to, say, Don Giovanni. Here, we can find Mozart's passion for taking something that starts out like an aria, then morphs into a duet, then a quartet, then an ensemble employing all 7 roles of the opera. That he achieves this with the skill of someone far greater in years and experience than he, only adds to the "genius" factor. It's remarkable, really.

Jarvefelt was blessed with a troupe of singing actors that are the epitome of each character they represent. While the voices of the generally very young cast are not always of the smoothest import, each inhabits his or her role, making the music sound germane to the complicated goings on.

Richard Croft nut that I am, I was pleased to see the then almost impossibly youthful tenor, garner the lions share of the applause (his bravura scene in Act II elicits the only chorus of bravos), but this, as all of Mozart's great works, is an ensemble piece, every character part of the puzzle and fully integrated into a brilliant whole. Croft looks silly in his foppish, spoiled young count wig and overdone make-up, later more natural, but always a little "girly" or "fey" - which he works to his advantage. Whether hopping from chair-to-chair with ridiculous speed, doing sommersaults, jumping atop tables or crawling under beds, he's lean and lithe and comes across fully inside the head of this young man. His scenes of madness begin comically, but then reach a level of pathos that, while not actually heartbreaking (this is a comedy!) are infinitely touching. He dispatches his difficult music with great elasticity, though sometimes his quick vibrato develops a rapid bleat some will find unattractive, but for me, suits this type of role beautifully.

Britt-Marie Aruhn as the title role - disguised as "the Pretend Gardener" offers sheer delight and, like Croft, goes from silliness to tragic character in seamless fashion. Her final duet with Croft's Count offers some of the most difficult timing changes and both pull it off with style, grace and charm to spare.

Ann Christine Biel as the wily, coldhearted, eye-on-the-prize, saucy servant Serpetta tries at every turn to steal the show, commenting asides to the audience. She pulls off this calculating character with such perfect comic timing and stage business, whether serving coffee, ironing or spying on the goings on, you'll find your eye focusing on her nearly every scene. I cannot imagine this great archetypal character being performed with more
aplomb or better comic timing than Ms. Biel offers here.

Annika Skoglund - at times bearing an uncanny resemblance to actress Julianna Margulies - is the heart-on-sleeve wearing Cavalier Ramiro, desperately pining away for the Count's flightly fiancee, Arminda. She looks "handsome" and sometimes is the most masculine acting character on stage! She has a warm, lovely sound that, with too much pressure, can get a bit of a shrillish edge, but that's not inappropriate given the character,
and those moments are minimal - and I almost feel guilty mentioning them here, so fine is the rest of her performance.

As the Count's intended, Eva Pilat, with pink streaks through her powdered wig, starts like a house on fire and never lets up. Meeting her fiance for the first time on their supposed wedding day, the spoilt, pampered princess makes no bones about who will be running the show and what punishments she will dole to her future husband should he ever fail to live up to her "standards." She makes clear she "uses the stick" (and we see her attempt to do so later), and threatens physical violence often. Pilat soars effortlessly through her music and, as nasty as she can be, still allows the audience to fall in love with her.

Petteri Salomaa's face is priceless. Though painted a bit too white, his mugging looks of surprise, that handsome wide mouth circling into an "O" straight out of silent movies, the man is a comic gem. A resemblance to Ashton Kutcher will not go unnoticed. Like the rest of the cast, he is a fiercely physical comic actor and the colors in his voice at times make it seem like two completely different singers are employed (and as he plays a
role "in disguise" this is a very good thing!).

The master of the house, Don Anchise - known as the "Podesta" tries to run this show - it is HIS house, after all, but all of his attempted machinations at controlling the chaos prove too much and the man who, at the beginning of this romp looked like a aging buffoon, comes to accept his fate - and that of all those he tried to cajole, control and convict, with enlightenment and panache. Stuart Kale, in his lemon-curd colored wig,
simply owns this role - one of the great comic roles every tenor getting beyond the years of romantic hero would be lucky to get. Kale sinks his teeth into each moment, playing it with the abandon and style.

Arnold Ostman conducts the Drottningholm forces in an exciting, rhythmically tour de force that propels the action, lingering only long enough to allow you to catch your breath. In fact, one advantage the viewer has over the live audience is the ability to hit "pause" or rewind a minute to catch something that flew by you visually or aurally. Nonetheless, I would have LOVED to have been part of the house when this was filmed, as it seems few people in the world were having more fun anywhere than were these folk.

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors!

The Tenor Wars: Tenors, Tenors, Tenors.

All one needs to do in circles operatic is utter the word “tenor” and within minutes a more bitter and far bigger argument will arise than any of Callas’s callouses or Battle’s battaglia. One will hear diatribes aplenty: there hasn’t been a decent tenor since Tucker; Giordani is Caruso’s successor; Boccelli is Pavarotti’s heir apparent and even more opinionated and insane squabbles, all argued with conviction, passion and by all manner of lovers of tenorial splendor.

I’m going to mention a few favorites and not so favorites of my own to get the ball rolling, but during the bitter cold arctic blasts I’m certain we’ll generate some heat. Hopefully we won’t start a forest fire! I DO ask that we keep the discussion (at least as much as possible) to the current crop of tenors and not wax reminiscent on our favorites of yesteryear . . . we do enough of that already!

Let me begin by stating how LUCKY we are to have Roberto Alagna singing today. He is, by far, my favorite tenor in (most of) the repertoire he makes his career in. Once again, as example of how differently we all hear, I’ve recently read reports of the same performances I’ve heard where Alagna’s voice is described as “dry . . . tough . . . leathery . . . out-of-tune.” I find his sound, rich, slightly muscular at times, but with a touch of honey. I find him also (ducking here) more consistent in performance than Giordani who, when he’s on is absolutely thrilling but when he’s off – YIKES! Very few times has Alagna disappointed me. I also don’t get the mean spirited comments about his acting or stage presence: I almost always find him to be a compelling actor onstage and think he looks fine, handsome even. His Don Carlos (still a major course of criticism from his detractors) remains one of the finest complete performances I’ve seen – a total, nearly Shakespearean performance that, no matter how many times I watch it, continues to leave me in absolute awe. His Werther does the same thing (and, having heard excerpts, I still anxiously await the DVD release of him and Kate Aldrich in this opera).

It was almost exactly two years ago I got blasted for “sticking up” for Alagna after his unfortunate behavior at La Scala where here, and elsewhere the general consensus seemed almost to be the operatic equivalent of “you’ll never work in this town again.” One lister wrote that just as Callas was, Alagna’s career will forever be defined by his walkout. Another told me that I was, like Mr. Alagna himself, “full of bullshit.” LOL – Oh, c’mon, already! Yes, it WAS an ugly incident, poor judgment on his part – though I remain convinced his health was more of an issue than it was made. We seem to conveniently forget the man had, months before, been hospitalized only months before and in critical condition with highly unusual and severe complications due to hypoglycemia. Typical of some of the nastiness thrown his way I recall someone here writing something like “For Christ’s sake, couldn’t he have just eaten a candy bar?”) He had collapsed onstage, had to cancel a boatload of engagements while he was hospitalized. Angela cancelled her engagements to remain by his side causing further brickbats to be hurled at her. He can be a bit much in his interviews and defenses of his wife (which I understand, even while balking at some of them), but when the man steps onstage: I’m nothing but 100 percent pure fan. I love him.

While Juan Diego Florez gets the lion’s share of tenorial praise these days, I’m one of the few who just doesn’t quite understand his phenomena. To my ears, it’s a pleasant, slightly distinctive, but not particularly beautiful sound, with (again to my ears) very little color or range of dynamics to it. Clearly my ears are out of synch with the rest of the world (and I realize that it is MY problem) but so many of his performances sound the same. When I hear Almaviva, Ramiro, etc., I want a (pardon the expression) ballsier sound. Having heard Richard Croft in Barbiere, Cenerentola, or d’Ory, this is by far the masculine yet “refined” sound I want in this music (likewise Croft’s Handel and Mozart). Of the younger tenors, I find Lawrence Brownlee a far more appealing sound in the similar repertoire as Juan Diego. Trust me, this is no bash of Florez, I’ve enjoyed a number of his performances both live and in recording/DVD, but he’s simply not my favorite type of singer. (I can hear already the thwack of the slings and arrows!)

Speaking of Croft, he remains, probably, my favorite tenor working today, period. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve moved away from the warhorse operas (which I still adore, but generally prefer singers no longer available in many of those roles). With Debussy, Handel, and Mozart high among my favorite operatic composers, it’s only natural Mr. Croft who excels in the music of all three, should keep me plenty happy. Also his recent efforts ranging from Gluck to Glass these past few seasons have been a major cause major celebration in my opinion. His Gandhi in last season’s “Satyagraha” was one of the most beautifully, ethereal and spiritual experiences I’ve ever had in an opera house.

Then there is that Maltese fellow: Mr. Calleja. When I first heard his voice I thought I was listening to a cleaned up recording from a century ago – it’s THAT kind of sound. While I’ve thrilled to his Rigoletto Duke several times now, it is in French music that I want to hear him most. The first time I heard his “Ah ! lève-toi, soleil!” I swear the ghost of Vanzo had entered my home. On its heals was a “Pourquoi me réveiller” that put me into a swoon, so fabulous it was. (I rarely use the word “fabulous” but it is entirely appropriate here.) Everything I hear from this singer is infinitely appealing and sung with an almost unlikely mixt of chutzpah and grace. The sound of this tenor is, in my opinion, among the most beautiful before us today and I cannot wait to see and hear more from him.

We have also a whole crop of young/youngish tenors in an almost endless parade of debuts singing major roles like Romeo, Lensky as well as other appropriate works by Handel and Mozart – and they’re singing all over the place: Joseph Kaiser, Sean Panikkar, Gordon Geitz, Brandon Jovanovich, Brad Cooper, Eric Margiore – all of them have star potential and have shown there is a place for them on the world stage. Then there are the major players who don’t get the recording contracts or press coverage and whose names don’t pop up with great frequency here, yet who have garnered fans the world over – tenors like Tom Randle, Garrett Sorenson, Kurt Streit and a host of others who have thrilled and entertained me as much as anyone has in an opera house.

A number of AYT’s (“aging young tenors”) have risen – rather quickly – to superstar status, but whom we can still see (and hear) developing before our eyes and ears. One of these is fast becoming a favorite of mine, the German Jonas Kauffmann. With matinee idol looks and a dark-tinged voice, he keeps proving himself over and over again in a wide-ranging repertoire that almost always seems not tailored to his voice, but which he tailors his voice to. I like this idea of “serving the music” and Kauffmann seems always to do precisely that. Most recently I have enjoyed his Covent Garden Don Jose to the unexpectedly thrilling Carmen of Antonnacci. Kauffmann seems poised at the ready to move into the lighter-fached Wagnerian roles, such as Lohengrin and I think, with his intense, introspective way of approaching roles, will be a marvelous Parsifal before we know it.

Rolando Villazon had one of the most meteoric rises to fame of any singer in recent times, and while it was not entirely undeserved, it thrust him into a dangerous sphere of too much work, tackling roles that are not 100 percent grateful to his still very lyric voice and, along with several other issues, sidelined him for the better part of a season and had fans concerned about his return which has been (wisely) a cautious reentry. Not cookie-cutter tenor handsome, Villazon has an odd exoticism to his look which he makes work for him meaning no lack of female friends and fans. Still, when he first came onto the scene I noted a seemingly strong musical and work ethic that seemed to lapse a smidge once he began filling his engagement book, jet setting ‘round the world when rest and study might have been better friends to him than adulation and praise (which would have come to him regardless). He is an exciting, likeable and immensely convincing stage personality and seems always to be a passionate actor. I cross my fingers that this one will get it all right and be around to enjoy and admire for a long, long time.

I can’t not mention Matthew Polenzani. A smaller-scaled lyric, there is still some nice weight to his sound, but it is not a big sound and I have worried about him in certain roles. A recent run of Traviata was the cause of concern for a number of opera lovers, but personally, while it will probably never be his greatest role, I found myself far more moved than I imagined – not to mention how much beauty and musicality he infused the young Germont with. His Romeos of the past several seasons for Chicago and later, the Met, were never anything less than breathtaking.

Another tenor in the Richard Croft mold is the British born, Toby Spence. Spence has the same flexibility and warm, eternally youthful sound as Croft, along with that amazing facility for coloratura. I have heard him in a number of roles, and seen him in several and he has that relaxed excitement unique to certain British Isle tenors that always straddles the line between careful thrill and throwing all caution to the wind.

I’m going to call this “Part I” – because there are so many more tenors who keep popping into my head. Let the games begin!

p.

Semele: Still awesome after all these years!

Following the Olympic coverage last night I settled in for the insomniac special: a performance of the David McVicar/Marc Minkowski production of Semele at the Theatre de Theatre des Champs-Elysees. In a word: wow. Deciding to move the story out of antiquity, but not wanting to drop it into the 20th century, McVicar wisely shifts the action to the time of Handel, having it play out on a curved, nearly bare, two tiered stage (with portal windows at the highest level and a sliding panel center stage for entrances and exits) in what appears to be the rotunda of some grand palace, the cast attired in mid 18th century costumes. The only props and set alterations are dozens of white chairs in the first act and an enormous bed for scenes in Acts two and three (though there is a nice deux a machina near the evening’s end). Often, as in the scenes between Iris and Juno, the stage is entirely bare, the floor lit up with tiny lights that appear as stars with the goddess sisters seemingly wandering through the heavens – quite breathtaking. After so many “razzle dazzle” and “in your face” productions, the director’s favoring of simplicity is nearly as revelatory as it is refreshing.

Such a sparseness of setting, of course, places an enormous responsibility of selling the story, on the shoulder’s of the singers. Minkowski’ cast provided some magic there, as well. Initially, I found Annick Massis’s take on the title role a bit too removed and distant, but I noticed something – and clearly it was McVicar’s intent to have her begun thus, and slowly warm up, becoming more open and erotic as the story progresses. In this light, Massis’ Semele becomes an entirely different creature than the oft-portrayed vapid princess that stops the show with a half dozen of Handel’s greatest arias. This was a complex, moving performance that, by Semele’s demise, was a complete journey through a brief, complex life. Vocally, Massis fairly sails through the role, though she is stripped of a couple of arias (including the great “Endless Pleasure,) given here to the nearly ever present, mostly silent character “Cupido.” McVicar’s staging pays homage to the old operatic tradition of bringing down the curtain for certain arias to be sung at the footlights, and we first experience this with Semele’s touching “The morning lark.” While there is no ballet, the director does ask his singers (including the remarkable chorus here) to be in near perpetual movement lending an almost, and not unwelcome, balletic feel to most of the proceedings. The coloratura flights Massis takes during “Myself I shall adore” are almost comically fast and intricate, but she pulls them off earning a huge applause.

Richard Croft has been singing Jupiter for close to 20 years – and, in my opinion, no one sings it better than he. His opening aria doesn’t make quite the impression I was hoping for, but catches fire before the end. Croft dispatches the fiery coloratura in “I must with speed amuse her!” with an almost breathless quality that defies all speed limits – missing not one of the insanely fast notes . . . and puffs on a live cigarette between verses. It’s just crazy! No matter the tempo or dynamic, every syllable uttered is understood, clean and clear, without once becoming fussy. The attention to detail in his recitative work is actorly and equally remarkable, with lüftpauses creating silences that hauntingly point up Congreve's beautiful text.

As good as he is in all of the showiness of Jupiter, his finest moment comes in the opera’s most celebrated air “Where ‘er you walk.” I first heard Croft in this role around 1994. At the conclusion of this aria, my opera-savvy friend, (hearing Croft for the first time), leaned into me and whispered “that was the most beautiful singing I’ve ever heard.” He may not possess exactly the same dewy youthful freshness as he did 14 or 15 seasons ago – but most of it is still there, and with an added depth of character and style. As one French critic noted in this aria Croft is “distilling each note with wonder: within his voice seem to appear the zephyrs, and the wind of which he sings.” O, ‘tis true, ‘tis true, friends.. When he finishes the “B” section on “where ‘er you turn your eyes” – he does so on the most exquisitely shaded pianissimo, gently heralding the da capo, which he renders in the purest mezzo voce imaginable . . . almost whispered. As he sings, Jupiter raises an arm, to invoke a gentle shower of petals which rains down upon the innocent Semele, now looking on in wide-eyed wonder. It is a scene of absolute magic – the type of gentle singing and pastoral action that can take your breath away. It did mine.

As Ino, Charlotte Hellekant very nearly steals the show. Even attired in gray, and as the dejected, “old maid” – her runway model looks come through. Like everyone else in this cast, she is unafraid to modify her voice, to sing, at times, in almost vocal whispers, carefully shading the text and pouring every one of Ino’s outsized emotions into a sound of heartbreaking beauty. Following an exquisite “But hark! the heav'nly sphere turns round, she and Semele attack “Prepare then, ye immortal choir!” with sustained, rhythmically free melissmas recalling the timelessness of renaissance music, their voices uniting beautifully.

The pairing of Sarah Connolly as Juno and Claron McFadden as Iris is tremendous fun. The goddess sisters elegantly move in their own little universe, stunningly lit. McFadden has such a pure, clear soprano with clarion high notes and Connolly, not so elegantly, blasts through her assignment with a quality that is best described as “fierce” and “accurate.” She’s having a grand time here and it shows, nowhere better than her blazing Iris, hence away!”

McVicar introduces the character of Cupido early on, and the diminutive (doll sized, really) coloratura Marion Harousseau appears in scarlet 18th century gentlemen’s dress, blind with dark glasses and an elaborate cane. She dances (literally) through the entire role and is always present in the scenes with Jupiter and Semele. It’s an interesting touch, though at times the persistent send up of cutesiness becomes cloying and ultimately distracting.

McVicar does add some new, well thought out and rather interesting (and amusing) touches. He has Cupido, smoking a large peace pipe, offer the smoke to the earthly sisters, causing, first Ino, then Semele to pass out – and making at least part of what ensues feel part of another realm – not quite dreamt, not quite real. In a brilliant touch , Semele listens to her sister, who is doubled now by Juno . . . Juno and Ino each lip-synching the other’s music from this point on – each on the opposite side of the mirror Semele will soon use in “Myself I shall adore.”

Minkowski leads a spirited, glorious and remarkably involved reading from the chorus and orchestra of the period ensemble “Les Musiciens du Louvre” that is comfortably dazzling. There are, however, several moments where the excitement of a breakneck tempo threatens to derail the proceedings, though nothing ever quite falls apart. Still, there is that not quite tangible feeling of watching a possible train wreck staying on course which can get an operalover’s blood pumping pretty wildly!

When so well thought out, so lovingly performed, Handel’s oratorio stands triumphant, as vibrant and entertaining as anything in the opera house.

p.