Concerto Vocale, René Jacobs - Francesco Cavalli: Xerse (1987)

Written on the libretto that Handel also used 84 years afterwards, Xerse is a later work of Cavalli's than any of his other operas recorded complete and issued in this country, except for Ercole amante (his only one not composed for an Italian audience). The text adopted here is that of its premiere in Venice in 1654 (or its revival three years later in Bologna), but two numbers have been included from the Paris version of 1660, which failed because of Lully's malicious intrigues and the French courtiers' inability to understand the Italian libretto, which is unusually colloquial and often amusing. The present performance is a spin-off from the presentation at the Bordeaux Festival in May 1985, for which Rene Jacobs felt it necessary to incorporate a few sinfonie from other works and slightly to augment the instrumentation (all scrupulously documented in the notes): this, however, one is relieved to find, is very discreet (only five strings, two recorders and, once or twice, two trumpets are employed, plus a continuo of two harpsichords, theorbo, guitar and organ) and is a world removed from the inflated Leppardizations which have been responsible for giving a false idea of Cavalli. In the absence of the original prologue, Jacobs has also added the delightful and entertaining prologue from Ciro (which was first produced only a fortnight after the premiere of Xerse).
A colleague on this magazine who no longer lives in this country once referred to Cavalli as a ''good second-rate composer''. I regret not being able to see him eat his words (I hope, since he is an honest critic), for Xerse is an astonishingly fine work, on a par with, but more 'advanced' than, the operas of his master Monteverdi. It is brimful of melodic invention, harmonic piquancy, stylistic diversity and vitality in the recitatives (which frequently merge into ariosie, and vocal ensembles are unusually numerous. Dramatically it is a most effective high comedy. The plot concerns the distinctly un-regal behaviour of Xerxes, king of Persia, who forsakes his betrothed (Amastre) and becomes enamoured of Romilda, one of the Prince of Abydos's daughters—who however loves, and is loved by, his brother Arsamene, who in turn is loved by Romilda's sister Adelanta. A complicated mix-up ensues, owing to a stupid servant letting a love-letter fall into wrong hands and to misunderstandings arising on all sides. This kind of action demands two qualities above all—absolutely clear enunciation, and intelligent and varied pacing of recitatives: on both counts Jacobs's stylish direction (which extends to the excellent instrumental playing) is most successful. Literally every word comes through (and for those without Italian there is an English translation, though this is not always quite accurate), and such scenes as the lovers' quarrel in the last arc are admirably shaped. (Asides, however, are not always sufficiently differentiated from overt speech.) One problem posed by the work was that there were originally no fewer than six male castrato roles (here allotted to four altos, a high tenor and a soprano); but oddly enough these emerge as the most successful pieces of casting. Outstanding is Jeffrey Gall, who as Arsamene has at least four splendid solos— ''Caro tetto felice'' and the beautiful ''Innamorato cor'' in Act 1, and two arias, one of fury and one of indignation, in Act 2. The tenor Guy de Mey (whose verbal rhythms in recitatives sound admirably natural) exhibits spectacular virtuosity, not only in the Prologue but in two Act 2 arias that call for rapid staccato gorgheggi: he also has a nice light-hearted song in Act 3. Dominique Visse throws himself wholeheartedly into his buffo scenes as a sleepy servant, a sham-foreign flower-seller, and when nearly drowning after a bridge collapses. As the antiheroic Xerxes, Rene Jacobs is somewhat monochrome, but he makes the most of his long and intensely expressive ''Lasciatemi morire'' in the penultimate scene. Like several of the others, John Elwes ornaments his solos with taste and style: he is particularly good in his first entry aria (though I am not convinced of the authenticity of the guitar twangings). Of the ladies, Agnes Mellon as a bright-toned page is the most pleasing: she produces brilliant fioriture in the Prologue and obviously enjoys her laughing song at the end of Act 1. Judith Nelson as the wronged betrothed is heard at her best in her first Act 2 aria: Jill Feldman, adopting a harsh tone as the villainess of the piece, has an affecting ''Voi mi dite'' in Act 2 and shines in her last Act 3 aria, but mars the lovely ''Luci miei'' with some uneasy higher notes. The one real weakness in the cast is, unfortunately, the Romilda (whose lament in Act 3, here with added string parts, is a highlight of the score); her suspect intonation, often white tone and insecure upper register are a great disappointment.
To sum up, however, this is an undoubted success: a hitherto unheard opera of striking quality, playing and singing that are extremely musicianly and musical (by no means always synonymous!); and impeccably clean recording).'