Armida (review) Roland Graeme

The Opera Quarterly, Volume 18, Number 1, Winter 2002, pp. 110-114 (Review)

Published by Oxford University Press

For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/25470

[ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] 110 recordings burnished, sensual tone of the mature Wunderlich, but it is interesting to hear how gamely it negotiates the rather frequent descents below the staV. E. Thomas Glasow note

1. “Ich baue ganz” is duly performed by Wunderlich on the complete 1965 DG studio Entführung.

Armida. Joseph Haydn

Armida: Cecilia Bartoli Concentus Musicus Wien Rinaldo: Christoph Prégardien Nikolaus Harnoncourt, conductor Zelmira: Patricia Petibon Live recording, Vienna, June 2000 Idreno: Oliver Widmer Teldec (distributed by Atlantic) Ubaldo: Scot Weir 81108-2 (2 CDs) Clotarco: Markus Schäfer

Mezzo-sopranos have always invaded soprano territory, with varying degrees of success. Cecilia Bartoli’s recent forays into the soprano repertory (both in the theater and on records) have been consistently interesting. Bartoli’s Almirena, on the new Decca recording of Handel’s Rinaldo, is a distinguished performance, thoughtfully conceived and executed with the utmost sensitivity and technical command. Coincidentally, Bartoli now portrays Almirena’s arch- enemy, the sorceress Armida, in another opera based upon Tasso’s epic Geru- salemme liberata. Haydn’s Armida (1784), the last of his stage works written for Prince Ester- házy’s household, was a success. Performed a total of fifty-four times at the Eszterháza Court Theater between 1784 and 1788, it was also heard during the composer’s lifetime in Bratislava, Budapest, Vienna, and Turin. Then, after a long period of neglect, the opera received its first modern performances in 1968 (at first in concert form, in Cologne; then staged, in Berne). The libretto is a dramatically clumsy aVair. As Teldec’s introductory essay points out (booklet, p. 17), the Eszterháza opera productions, so extravagant in other respects, did not bother to employ a resident poet; and as a result Haydn was forced to rely on adaptations of older librettos. Most operas based on the story of Armida and Rinaldo incorporate three key episodes taken directly from Tasso’s poem: (1) Armida, about to assassinate the sleeping Rinaldo, realizes that she has fallen in love with him. (2) After Rinaldo has become Armida’s “boy toy” (as we might put it today), his fellow Crusaders infiltrate Armida’s enchanted bower, show Rinaldo his reflection in a magic shield, and thus shame him into agreeing to abandon Armida and return to them. (3) In a confrontation modeled on that between Dido and Aeneas in Vir- gil’s Aeneid, Armida begs Rinaldo not to leave her; she faints; he reluctantly r ecordings 111 tears himself away from her; Armida returns to her senses, sees that Rinaldo has gone, and gives vent to her despair. (Handel’s Rinaldo is the exception that proves the rule, for his librettist includes none of these three episodes!) Haydn’s opera begins in media res, with the following changes: (1) at the start of the action, Rinaldo, besotted by Armida, has already switched sides and agreed to fight with the Saracens against the Crusaders. (2) Instead of building to the climax of the action Rinaldo’s friend Ubaldo shows up with the magic shield in act 1. Haydn’s Rinaldo, like Tasso’s, expresses remorse for having aban- doned his warrior’s ways and allowed Armida to “feminize” him—but, since Haydn’s Rinaldo has exhibited downright bellicose behavior up until this point, his words make no sense in their new context. Ubaldo then makes the mistake of simply leaving the scene, and Armida has little diYculty in ensnaring Rinaldo again (they just don’t make magic shields the way they used to, apparently). (3) This confrontation scene comes in the middle of act 2, where it no longer serves as the opera’s climax (as it does in the Tasso-based works by Lully, Gluck, Dvorák,ˇ et al.). As a result, the plot has to be artificially revived, so that there can be a lengthy third act, in which Armida first tempts Rinaldo (in an enchanted forest), then reproaches him when he resists her, all over again. (Admittedly, this episode occurs in Tasso; but most librettists—recognizing that a stage work has a diVerent rhythm than an epic poem—either eliminate it, or transfer it to an earlier point in the action.) There is an oddly perfunctory ending, in which Rinaldo marches oV with the Crusaders after making a vague promise to return to Armida, and she denounces him as a “monster of cruelty.” (Throughout Haydn’s opera, by the way, Armida’s alleged supernatural pow- ers seem curiously ineVectual: her real weapon is sex, not sorcery.) Haydn’s opera contains a subplot, in which Zelmira, Armida’s accomplice, falls in love with another of the Crusaders, named Clotarco. In acts 1 and 2, Zelmira defies the evil, scheming Saracen king Idreno in order to protect Clotarco from harm. But in act 3, in which Clotarco does not appear at all, Zelmira seems to have changed sides again: she helps Armida to tempt Rinaldo in the enchanted forest. We are not told the final outcome of Zelmira’s infatu- ation with Clotarco: the subplot is simply left hanging at the opera’s close. So we have a rather inept drama, redeemed by some magnificent music. The fact that Ezterhazá was oV the operatic beaten path (to put it mildly) often encouraged Haydn to experiment. The stage directions in Armida call for a fair amount of spectacle, and the first production made use of a stage band and a number of nonsinging extras (who impersonated soldiers and nymphs). But there is no chorus, and no castrato part—although no fewer than three of the characters are sung by tenors. Haydn dutifully includes a few da capo arias, but elsewhere he is quite free with musical forms. There are striking accompanied recitatives; and acts 2 and 3 each contain an extended through-composed sequence with no interruptions by secco recitative. Armida was recorded in 1978 as part of Philips’s pathbreaking series of Haydn operas, all of which were conducted by Antal Dorati. The cast for Armida was 112 recordings particularly impressive: Jessye Norman (Armida), Claes J. Ahnsjö (Rinaldo), Norma Burrowes (Zelmira), Samuel Ramey (Idreno), Robin Leggate (Ubaldo), and Anthony Rolfe Johnson (Clotarco). Nevertheless, at the time of the record- ing’s original release (as Philips 6769 021; 3 LPs), I found it disappointing: the opera itself struck me as a bit of a bore. I dutifully took the set down from the shelf for the purposes of this review and found that my initial impression has not changed. The Philips performance oVers good singing (and rather more than that, whenever Norman is in front of the mikes), but it does not make a com- pelling case for the opera as a dramatic work. I suspect that there may have been insuYcient preparation time to master a score that is, after all, as challenging as any of the major Mozart operas. Dorati’s reading of the score is warm, steady, and balanced—and it is hand- somely executed by the Orchestre de Chambre de Lausanne (playing on mod- ern instruments). Harnoncourt is, predictably, edgier and more intense. Under his direction, the opera’s many martial episodes fairly crackle with excitement. A brief passage of “storm music” in act 3 makes a rousing eVect. Interestingly, though, Harnoncourt also responds to the score’s lyricism—there is an elegance not always characteristic of his work on records. Harnoncourt’s orchestra, of course, employs period instruments. His nat- ural horns cultivate a timbre that might charitably be described as “rustic” at best. Under duress, they emit some frightful belches. His strings and winds, however, play beautifully. (A page in the booklet lists all of the players and identifies their instruments. Most of the string players use instruments that are older than the opera itself; the violin section includes no fewer than three Jacobus Stainers.) Armida is not a long opera, by eighteenth-century standards. Both Dorati and Harnoncourt make cuts in the recitatives. Most of these excisions are harm- less enough, but at least one of Harnoncourt’s editorial decisions seems odd. Act 1, scene 2 (disc 1, track 13 on the recording) begins with a conversation between Rinaldo and Armida: he draws her attention to some (Saracen) sol- diers who are passing by, and she replies, “You alone taught me what love is; and now that same love teaches me to fear for you”—that is, she is afraid that Rinaldo may come to harm in the upcoming battle. Rinaldo asks her whether what is really preying upon her mind is doubt about his loyalty to her. Harnon- court omits all of this, and begins the scene with Rinaldo’s next line: “What greater proof of my loyalty could I ever give?”—that is, than being willing to fight for her. The listener unfamiliar with the opera could be forgiven for won- dering exactly what Rinaldo is talking about. Teldec has assembled a strong cast—with one conspicuous exception. Oliver Widmer, perhaps at Harnoncourt’s instigation, seems to have decided that Idreno is a “character” role. Much of his recitative is whispered rather than sung, with a variety of exaggerated inflections: this Idreno sounds like a rather dotty conspirator. Perhaps, after all, Widmer knows best: when he must sing out, in his arias and in the ensembles, his modest baritone sounds underpowered, and r ecordings 113 it turns blustery in the climaxes. Widmer oVers no competition at all to the splendidly secure performance of Ramey, on the Philips set. The comparison between Norman and Bartoli, in the title role, is intriguing. The young Norman unquestionably has the larger, richer voice, throughout its wide range. Her majestic, larger-than-life vocal personality (so reminiscent of Kirsten Flagstad’s) can be thrilling to hear applied to this music. When Nor- man’s Armida threatens to evoke supernatural powers to punish her wayward lover, it is no idle threat. Bartoli’s instrument is noticeably narrower in timbre and more tightly focused. Her approach to the music is much more intimate and personal: her Armida is a rather needy, indeed even neurotic, woman, des- perate to retain Rinaldo’s love. It may be perverse to criticize a singer for enunciating too clearly. Sometimes, though, Bartoli’s determination to give the text its due results in an odd eVect: we seem to hear nothing but consonants, with no real singing tone connecting them. The repeated phrase “Ho cento smanie al cor” in her impassioned act 2 aria “Odio, furor, dispetto” is a typical example. (It is interesting to note that Bartoli celebrated her thirty-fourth birthday while making this recording. At that age, some of the great singers of the past had still not discovered their true vocal capabilities, or were still waiting for their first big break. Others, of course, were prematurely burned out. Festina lente ought to be Bartoli’s motto, if she has not already adopted it: with luck, we can look forward to a couple of decades of good singing from her.) Armida may be the title role, but Rinaldo has equally fine music: a good Rinaldo could probably steal the show in Haydn’s setting of the story—and Christoph Prégardien is very good indeed. His voice is fresh and beautiful, and he involves himself in the character’s plight. It is diYcult to think of another tenor currently before the public who could handle the part with such con- fidence. Patricia Petibon is a charming Zelmira. Burrowes, on the Philips set, may have the warmer, fuller voice; but Petibon uses her brighter, more forwardly placed instrument to great advantage. Ubaldo and Clotarco are really a pair of nonpersons—they are essentially excuses for tenor arias—and Scot Weir and Markus Schäfer sing well (as do their counterparts on the Philips recording), which is the basic requirement. Although billed as a live recording, this Armida almost certainly contains “takes” made during rehearsals, and possibly during patch-up sessions, as well. The booklet is filled with color photographs, not only of the actual concert per- formance(s), but of the singers in street clothes, standing in front of micro- phones. The sound is excellent. There is no applause, and almost nothing in the way of extraneous noise. Teldec fits act 1 onto the first CD, acts 2 and 3 onto the second. Teldec’s packaging is unusual: it’s basically a small hard-covered book, approximately the size of a CD jewel case. The two CDs are inserted into paper sleeves glued to the insides of the covers. Unfortunately, I found that the discs 114 recordings

fit the sleeves so tightly (at least on my copy), that it is almost impossible to extract the discs, without getting fingerprints on their playing surfaces (or inad- vertently tearing the sleeves). Do the people who work for the record compa- nies and who make such decisions ever actually use the finished product? I decided to play it safe and store the discs in the kind of generic CD jewel cases that one can readily buy; as a result, this recording takes up twice as much shelf space as its producers intended it to. In any event, the booklet (or rather, the book) is attractively designed. In addition to the numerous photos, it contains an introductory essay on the opera (not quite as thorough as the one that accompanied the Philips LP set, but cer- tainly adequate), a plot synopsis, and the libretto. The English translation of the libretto, by Lionel Salter, is the same one originally commissioned by Philips back in 1978. It strikes a nice balance between reproducing the literal sense of the Italian and reading well in English. With a respectful nod to Norman’s Armida, I would suggest that this new recording of the opera is now the one to own. It makes one curious to know how Armida might work on the stage. Roland Graeme

Don Giovanni. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Don Giovanni: Garry Magee Zerlina: Mary Plazas The Commendatore: Clive Bayley Philharmonia Orchestra Donna Anna: Majella Cullagh Geoffrey Mitchell Choir Don Ottavio: Barry Banks David Parry, conductor Donna Elvira: Vivian Tierney Chandos Opera in English (distributed by Koch Leporello: Andrew Shore International) CHAN 3057(3) (3 CDs) Masetto: Dean Robinson

Chandos describes this recording, on the front of the box, as “The Original Don Giovanni.” This means we hear the Prague version of the score—and nothing but the Prague version: we are not given any of the Vienna additions, either in appendices or on separate CD tracks. An admirably succinct booklet note explains the textual issues and points out that what we usually hear (in the opera house and on records) is neither pure Prague nor pure Vienna, but a “hybrid version [italics in the original] which Mozart never intended to be given” (book- let, p. 13). Furthermore, “Mozart’s original version has three major advantages. Without the additional high-lying aria (i.e., “Mi tradì”), the role of Elvira can be correctly and eVectively cast with a dramatic rather than a lyric soprano. The version has exceptional structural integrity and musical cohesion, and a dis- tinctive orchestral sound-world, all of which are compromised by the inclusion of the additional arias. Above all, it is dramatically concise and powerful to a greater extent, perhaps, than any other of Mozart’s operas” (booklet, p. 13).