Favorites of 2024: Recorded music
Favorite recorded music of 2024
Opera
This was an especially rich year for new discoveries in opera. I limited myself to five choices, but my list could easily have been twice as long. In alphabetical order by composer:
Ludwig van Beethoven: Fidelio (1814), libretto by Joseph Sonnleithner (1805), Stephan von Breuning (1806 revisions) and Georg Friedrich Treitschke (1814 revisions).
Performers: Gundula Janowitz (Leonore), René Kollo (Florestan), Lucia Popp (Marzellina), Manfred Jungwirth (Rocco), Hans Sotin (Don Pizarro), Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (Don Fernando), accompanied by Wiener Staatsopernchor and Wiener Philharmoniker conducted by Leonard Bernstein.
Recording: Deutsche Grammophon 474 420-2 (2 CDs); recorded 1978.
For regular readers of E&I this choice may cause some puzzlement. I'm on record as being ambivalent about Beethoven, about much 19th-century opera, and about the singspiel—with its spoken German dialogue—as a form. Also: it has a tenor hero, on this recording sung by René Kollo, whose voice sounds to my ears somewhat strained and constricted at the higher end of his range.
I would in no way claim that this is the best version of Fidelio available; I don't have a sufficient basis for comparison. But this version features two of my favorite singers: Gundula Janowitz (who gave definitive performances of Mozart's Pamina, Strauss's Four Last Songs, and his Orchestral Lieder) and Lucia Popp (a great Queen of Night, Susanna and Sophie).
Florestan (Kollo) has been condemned as a political prisoner by Don Pizarro (Hans Sotin), who spreads the rumor that Florestan has died. But Florestan's wife Leonore (Janowitz), disguised as a young man, "Fidelio" (the faithful one), goes to work in the prison to search for him. The warden Rocco (Manfred Jungwirth) is cheerfully corrupt but has occasional twinges of conscience. His good-hearted daughter Marzelline (Popp) falls in love with Fidelio, to the dismay of her would-be lover Jaquino (Adolf Dallapozza). But even if Fidelio can deflect Marzelline's impassioned attentions and locate Florestan in the dungeons of Don Pizarro, how can she win his freedom?
Fidelio is based on a French opera, Pierre Gaveaux's Léonore (1798), with a libretto by Jean Nicholas Bouilly. Winton Dean wrote of Léonore,
The compound of realism, low life and earthy humour on the one hand. . .and heroic endeavour, a last-minute rescue and an elevating moral on the other is typical of French opera in the revolutionary decade. [1]
It's also characteristic of two German operas well-known to Beethoven, Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Rescue from the Harem, 1783) and Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute, 1791); the sound-world of Fidelio is at times especially similar to the latter. As with Mozart, in Beethoven's opera the music of love and joy is supremely lovely, but not always unmixed with other emotions. In "Mir ist so wunderbar" (To me it is so wonderful), an ensemble from Act I, Marzelline sings of her love for Fidelio and her hope that he will love her in return, while Fidelio is fearful of exposure, Rocco looks on as the indulgent father, and Jaquino is wracked with jealousy:
In music writer Ralph Moore's survey of Fidelio recordings he says of Janowitz's Leonore that it is "a role not entirely suited to her lovely voice"; he thinks she sings too beautifully to be convincing as someone trying to pass as a young man. I think that on this recording she is a superb exponent of some of Beethoven's most lyrical music. Opera already requires a suspension of disbelief, and I can't be sorry that Janowitz does not have a more convincingly masculine sound. Instead I'm glad to be able to experience such beauty, most especially at this moment.
Marc-Antoine Charpentier: David et Jonathas (1688), libretto by François Bretonneau.
Performers: Reinoud Van Mechelen (David), Caroline Arnaud (Jonathas), David Witczal (Saul), Francois-Olivier Jean (La Pythonisse/Witch of Endor), Antonin Rondepierre (Joabel), Geoffroy Bufiere (Ghost of Samuel), accompanied by Ensemble Marguerite Louise conducted by Gaétan Jarry.
Recording: Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS102 (2 CDs + DVD/Blu-Ray); recorded 2022.
Marc-Antoine Charpentier had the bad luck to be a contemporary of Jean-Baptiste Lully. In 1672 Lully bought the privilege of the Opéra, essentially a lifetime monopoly on opera production in Paris and environs. Charpentier had to look elsewhere for employment.
In the early 1680s he was appointed as music director at the Jesuit Collège de Louis-le-Grand and church of St. Louis. He composed sacred music dramas for the Jesuits that were performed between the acts of tragic plays on Biblical subjects. David et Jonathas (David and Jonathan) was written for the Collège and performed in conjunction with Pierre Chaillmart's Latin play Saül. Like the other plays and the music-dramas for the Jesuits, these were performed by all-male casts.
Not so this production, captured both on CD and in an excellent staged production on the included DVD/Blu-Ray, where the soprano role of Jonathas is sung by Caroline Arnaud (there are also women among the dancers and chorus). Apart from a moment's disorientation when watching the DVD at Jonathas' first entrance (Arnaud does not look very boyish, and for a few seconds we were unsure of who this new character was), this caused us no difficulties, and follows a common modern practice when performing this opera. The singers are all very fine and the production is well staged in the Royal Chapel of Versailles. Of particular note are the costumes by fashion designer Christian Lacroix; the bejeweled La Pythonisse (The Witch of Endor) is especially spectacular:
Be forewarned: as those of you familiar with the Old Testament may remember, it doesn't end well for Saul or Jonathas (or pretty much anyone else around David; he left quite the swath of destruction in his wake). But despite the horrors depicted onstage, the music of this dual tragedy is exquisite.
Élisabeth Jacquet de La Guerre, Céphale et Procris (1693), libretto by Joseph-François Duché de Vancy.
Performers: Reinoud van Mechelen (Céphale), Déborah Cachet (Procris), Ema Nikolovska (L'Aurore), Samuel Namotte (Arcas), Lore Binon (Dorine), accompanied by a nocte temporis and the Choeur de Chambre de Namur conducted by van Mechelen.
Recording: Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS119; recorded 2023.
Céphale et Procris was Élisabeth Jacquet de La Guerre's first and only opera. As listeners of this recording can attest, it is filled with striking and beautiful music. Her contemporary Hilaire Rouillé du Coudray wrote, "I have great hopes for the new opera by la petite La Guerre. I have seen two rehearsals; it will be very good." However, the work was not well received and was only given a few performances. It's not clear why it failed, but it can't be ruled out that it was rejected by the public because its composer was a woman. It may not have helped that it was also the first opera written by its librettist, Joseph-François Duché de Vancy. Whatever the reason(s), Jacquet de La Guerre never attempted another drama for the stage.
Based on Ovid's Metamorphoses, Céphale et Procris tells a story of humans as the playthings of the gods. Céphale and Procris are about to celebrate their wedding, but the goddess Aurora desires Céphale for herself and sends a priestess to interrupt the festivities with the message that their union is forbidden by the gods. Instead, Procris is commanded to marry Prince Borée; later, Aurora will abduct Céphale and sow doubts in Procris' mind about his faithfulness.
From Act II, the farewell of Procris (Déborah Cachet) and Céphale (Reinould van Mechelen) after they have learned of the goddess's decree, "Le Ciel m'avait flatté de la vaine espérance" (The heavens have flattered me with a vain hope):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xet4wLiaPA4
Although in this opera Jacquet de La Guerre generally followed the conventions of Lullian tragedy, she departed from them in the stunning final scene. Aurora repents, assuages Procris' doubts and jealousies, and tells her that her marriage to Céphale can proceed. Overjoyed, Procris rushes to reunite with Céphale. However, Borée, enraged by the sudden reversal of his plans, attacks Céphale. In the melée Céphale shoots an arrow that strikes Procris, mortally wounding her. As her life ebbs, the music grows slower and quieter, and the phrases are separated by lengthening pauses; with Céphale we listen to her last breaths. In despair he vows to join her in the Underworld; at his final words marking his own death, the opera simply ends, without any final chorus or instrumental passage. [2]
Contemporary audiences may have been shocked by this innovation; perhaps it is another reason the opera was not accepted. Fortunately in this recording it has now received a performance that enables us to appreciate its many remarkable qualities.
Jean-Philippe Rameau: Les Boréades (1763), libretto attributed to Louis de Cahusac.
Performers: Mathias Vidal (Abaris), Nicolas Brooymans (Borée), Déborah Cachet (Alphise), Caroline Weynants (Sémir), accompanied by Collegium 1704 conducted by Václav Luks.
Recording: Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS026; recorded 2020.
Les Boréades is a story of the defiance of the gods: Alphise (Déborah Cachet), queen of Bactria, loves Abaris (Mathias Vidal), a handsome stranger whose parentage is unknown (he has been raised by Adamas (Benoît Arnould), the High Priest of Apollo—perhaps that's a clue?). By time-honored custom, the Queen of Bactria must marry one of the descendants of Boréas (Nicolas Brooymans), the God of the North Wind. Queen Alphise decides instead to abdicate and marry Abaris, giving him a golden arrow bestowed on her by Amour (Helena Hozová). But before the rites can be concluded the angry Boréas sweeps in and abducts Alphise. He takes her to his realm, where his two sons vie for her hand. Brandishing the golden arrow, Abaris follows to attempt a rescue. A mortal cannot successfully oppose the will of the gods—but is Abaris truly a mere mortal, or does he have a certain powerful god on his side?
Rameau's final opera, written when he was 80 years old, Les Boréades was never publicly performed during his lifetime. Its first full staging actually didn't take place until 1982 at the Aix-en-Provence Festival with a largely British cast conducted by John Eliot Gardiner. After Gardiner's landmark first full recording came out in 1984 it was another 20 years until the staging of the opera directed by Robert Carsen and conducted by William Christie was released (to mixed reviews for the staging) on DVD. Since then Les Boréades has remained a rarity—at least until recently.
Like the proverbial buses, recordings of Les Boréades can take forever to arrive, but when they do there are three all at once. Sixteen years after Christie, Václav Luks' concert version was issued by Château de Versailles Spectacles. Just one year later the Komische Oper/Opéra de Dijon coproduction directed by Barrie Kosky and conducted by Emmanuelle Haïm came out on DVD. This year another recording of the complete opera has just been released, conducted by György Vashegyi, with the vocally stunning Sabine Devielhe as Alphise. We're spoiled for choice, and with its excellent cast Vashegyi's version is self-recommending.
Luks' version has not been put entirely into the shade, however. Luks' pacing of the opera is less frenzied than Vashegyi's, but still generates plenty of excitement, and his French and Belgian cast sing superbly.
One of the things about Les Boréades that has attracted conductors is the richness of its orchestration. As you might expect of an opera about the God of the North Wind, flutes, oboes, clarinets and bassoons are prominent. And when the rising of the wind is musically represented, the orchestra and chorus can whip up quite a storm (ends at 1:14:20). Rameau was also structurally innovative; the scenes linked in the previous sentence bridge Act III and Act IV without pause or the need for a change of scenery, sweeping the drama forward. Even at the very end of his long life, Rameau continued to perfect his art.
Antonio Sartorio: L'Orfeo (1672), libretto by by Aurelio Aureli.
Performers: Ellen Hargis (Orfeo), Suzie Le Blanc (Euridice), Ann Hallenberg (Aristeo), Anne Grimm (Autonoe), Josep Cabré (Chirone, Bacco), Harry van der Kamp (Esculapio, Pluto), accompanied by Teatro Lirico conducted by Stephen Stubbs.
Recording: Vanguard Classics 99194/Challenge Classics CC72020; recorded 1998.
This choice is a bit of a ringer, as this year is not the first time I've heard this recording. I've owned it for probably 20 years, but it had been more than a decade since I'd last listened to it. I was inspired to do so by Ars Minerva's production of Sartorio's La Flora (see Favorites of 2024: Live and streamed performances). And within moments of putting it on again, I discovered anew how wonderful this recording is. It was recorded live at the Early Music Festival Utrecht, but it sounds like a well-recorded studio version (applause has thankfully been edited out and there is no stage noise).
The opera is a highly elaborated retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice story. In this version Orfeo's brother Aristeo is a rival for Euridice's affections, and neglects his own lover Autonoe. Orfeo becomes so jealous that he sends a shepherd boy, Orillo, to murder Euridice (!). So the story is changed almost beyond recognition, including cameo appearances by the centaur Chiron, Achilles, and Hercules.
The libretto may be a mashup of mid-17th century opera conventions—a quartet of ill-matched lovers, a comically lustful nurse (Erinda) played by a male tenor in drag, a sage advisor (Esculapio) whose wisdom is ignored—but the music is absolutely gorgeous. When Orfeo (Ellen Hargis) learns of Euridice's death by snakebite, he sings a sorrowful lament—even though he'd sent Orillo to murder her!—and then sinks into sleep (sleep scenes being, of course, another Baroque opera convention). While unconscious he is visited by the spirit of Euridice (Suzie Le Blanc), who chastises him for not rescuing her from the Underworld in "Orfeo, tu dormi?" (Orfeo, are you sleeping?):
So many thanks once again to Ars Minerva for enabling me to rediscover this musical gem.
You will have noticed that three of my five favorite opera recordings this year were produced by Château de Versailles Spectacles. At a time when many labels are retreating from opera and, indeed, from physical media entirely, CVS continues to issue a stream of beautifully packaged recordings of superb performances of both acknowledged and underappreciated French Baroque masterpieces. It's no wonder it received 2022 Label of the Year from the International Classical Music Awards. In making the award the judges commended the label for "the attractiveness of the works (many of them world premiere recordings, and practically all of them recorded in the Palace of Versailles), the quality of the ensembles and artists, the excellent quality of the sound recordings and a presentation so luxurious that it can only be described as Versaillesque." Let us hope that they are able to continue long into the future.
Vocal music
Franz Schubert: An Die Musik and A Bouquet of Schubert
Performers: Elly Ameling, soprano; Dalton Baldwin, piano.
Recordings: Philips 410 037-2, Etcetera 1009; recorded 1983 and 1984.
I was first alerted to the wonderful Dutch soprano Elly Ameling by the Bollywood blogger Memsaab, who, in the comments of my post on The songs of Erich Korngold and Reynaldo Hahn, recommended Ameling's album of Schubert and Schumann lieder with Jorg Demus (piano) and Hans Deinzer (clarinet) as a place to continue my exploration of art song. Not for the first time, I regret not following up sooner on one of her recommendations.
During Ameling's active career (she retired in 1995), she was primarily a recitalist, and she approaches these songs with refinement and elegance—I might almost say delicacy. She does not over-emote, and she and Baldwin choose tempi that seem just right. Her voice has a beauty and warmth that makes for highly pleasurable listening, as in the title song of An Die Musik (words by Franz Adolph Friedrich von Schober):
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An die Musik Du holde Kunst, in wie viel grauen Stunden, Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt, Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb entzunden, Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt. Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf entflossen, Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir, Den Himmel bessrer Zeiten mir erschlossen, Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür. |
To music Oh beautiful art, in so many dark hours, When the wild circle of life has entangled me, You have kindled my heart to a glowing love, And have carried me away into a better world. Often a sigh has flowed from your harp, A sweet and sacred chord of yours, Which opened up to me the heaven of better times. Oh beautiful art, I thank you for that. |
Alessandro Grandi: Venetian Christmas Vespers 1630
Performers: Laura Heimes, soprano; Jennifer Ellis Kampani, soprano; John Taylor Ward, bass-baritone; accompanied by Voices of Music, directed by Hanneke van Proosdij and David Tayler.
Recording: Voices of Music CD; recorded 2013, issued 2017.
This recording is a reconstruction of the First Vespers on Christmas Eve as it might have been performed in 17th-century Venice. But despite the title, it's not a service that someone could have heard in 1630—it includes antiphons and additional music by other composers, such as Monteverdi, Frescobaldi, Merula and Marini, written both before and after that year. However, the lack of historical specificity makes no difference, because without exception the music in this performance is wonderful, and wonderfully performed. The opening Versicle & Response: "Deus in adjutorium meum intende" by Claudio Monteverdi, arranged by David Tayler:
https://youtu.be/ic8WFqApNP8 [ends at 1:56]
Alas, this disc is not available on the Voices of Music website. However, the recording is taken from the audio of the YouTube video of this program embedded above. The entire program has been made freely available by Voices of Music—I recommend watching the whole thing.
Next time: Favorites of 2024: Live and streamed performances
- Winton Dean, "Beethoven and Opera," in Denis Arnold and Nigel Fortune, eds. The Beethoven Companion. London: Faber and Faber, 1971, p. 342.
- In the usual version of the myth, Cephalus is out hunting and, hearing a rustling in the undergrowth as Procris approaches, shoots an arrow or hurls a javelin that mortally wounds her.
