A season of Handel operas, part 4: Ariodante

Lurcanio prevents his brother Ariodante from throwing himself on his sword when he sees Polinesso entering Ginevra's apartments. Illustration by an unknown engraver after Thomas Coxon (1591) after Girolamo Porro (1584), for Canto V of Orlando Furioso by Ludovico Ariosto, translated by Sir John Harington, 1634 edition. Image source: Internet Archive

Ariodante (1735). Megan Moore (Ariodante), Amanda Forsythe (Ginevra), Ann McMahon Quintero (Polinesso), Richard Pittsinger (Lurcanio), Robin Johannsen (Dalinda), Brandon Cedel (King of Scotland), Jason Mcstoots (Odoardo). Boston Baroque conducted by Martin Pearlman. Streamed performance of 27 April 2025, available on demand at https://baroque.boston/ariodante

In this final post in the series on Handel opera performances marking the 340th anniversary of his birth, we'll see how he responded artistically to facing perhaps the greatest crisis of his career: at the end of the 1732–33 season, all but one of the singers in his company and several members of his orchestra deserted him for the rival Opera of the Nobility.

The one singer who remained loyal to Handel was his prima donna, Anna Maria Strada del Pò.

Anna Maria Strada del Pò by Johann Verelst, 1732. Gerald Coke Handel Collection, Foundling Museum, London. Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Mrs. Mary Pendarves wrote of Strada that "her voice is without exception fine, her manner perfection, but her person very bad." [1] The music historian Charles Burney wrote that "Strada's personal charms did not assist her much in conciliating parties, or disposing the eye to augment the pleasures of the ear." Portraits tend to flatter the sitter, but it's difficult from the Verelst painting above to understand why she was not thought to be a handsome woman. However, all accounts mention her excellent singing; Burney continued, "by degrees she subdued all their prejudices, and sung herself into favour. . .[B]y the care [Handel] took in composing for her, and his instructions, from a coarse singer with a fine voice, he rendered her equal at least to the first performer in Europe." [2]

Handel managed to build a company around her by recruiting a new primo uomo, Carestini, to replace his departed castrato star Senesino. Burney wrote of the castrato,

Carestini's person was tall, beautiful, and majestic. He was a very animated and intelligent actor, and having a considerable portion of enthusiasm in his composition, with a lively and inventive imagination, he rendered every thing he sung interesting by good taste, energy, and judicious embellishments. He manifested great agility in the execution of difficult divisions from the chest in a most articulate and admirable manner. It was the opinion of [the composer Johann] Hasse, as well as of many other eminent professors, that whoever had not heard Carestini was unacquainted with the most perfect style of singing. [3]

Joannes [Giovanni] Carestini, engraved by John Faber Jr. after George Knapton, 1735. Image source: National Portrait Gallery, London

Through his Italian agents Handel also contracted with Carlo Scalzi as second castrato, the Negri sisters Maria Caterina (contralto) and Maria Rosa (mezzo-soprano), and his old friend Margherita Durastanti, whom he had known and worked with for 25 years. Although Durastanti was now probably 50 years old, Lady Bristol reported after seeing the second opera of Handel's 1733–34 season, a revival of Ottone, that "old Durastanti. . .sings as well as she ever did." [4] (She had appeared in the same role, Gismonda, in the orginal production of Ottone in 1723.) A German bass living in London, Gustavus Waltz, rounded out the company.

For his fall and early winter season Handel cobbled together three pasticci, two based on the music of Leonardo Vinci and one on the music of Hasse. In January 1734 Handel presented a new opera, Arianna, a retelling of the Ariadne/Theseus myth, which ran for an impressive 16 performances. This is especially remarkable because the Opera of the Nobility had opened its season at the end of December with Nicola Porpora's opera on the same subject, Arianna in Nasso. The season ended with a variety of works including a revival of the oratorio Deborah (1733); a celebratory serenata, Parnassus in festa, for the wedding festivities of Princess Anne, the daughter of George II to whom Handel had given music lessons; and a revival of Il pastor fido (The faithful shepherd, 1712) in an expanded version.

Handel had shown that his company could survive almost total replacement. But at the end of the season came another blow: Handel's lease on the King's Theatre in the Haymarket expired, and the Opera of the Nobility took it over. Fortunately John Rich had just opened his new Theatre Royal Covent Garden the previous year, and Handel was able to move his productions there. However, Handel also knew that the Opera of the Nobility had secured the services of the most sought-after singer in the world, the castrato Farinelli, who would join a company that included Senesino and Handel's Royal Academy soprano Francesca Cuzzoni. Handel realized that for his 1734–35 season he would need to provide something new and different if he wished to retain his audience.

The first of those innovations was the addition of the dance company of Marie Sallé, a former soloist with the Paris Opéra, who was renowned for her fluid and expressive style of dancing. To showcase Sallé and her dancers, Handel opened the season by adding dance numbers and a danced prologue with vocal accompaniment, Terpsichore, to Il pastor fido.

Portrait of a Dancer (Mademoiselle Marie Sallé?) by Nicolas Lancret, c. 1735. Image source: Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

After a revival of Arianna and a pasticcio, Oreste, based on his own music, in January 1735 Handel presented a new opera, Ariodante.

Despite the pressured circumstances under which it was produced, Ariodante is among Handel's most dramatically effective operas; Burney wrote that "it abounds with beauties and strokes of a great master." [5] In this work Handel returned to the source of his 1733 opera Orlando: the 16th-century epic poem Orlando Furioso by Ludovico Ariosto. The libretto Handel chose, by Antonio Salvi, is set in the court of the King of Scotland. The knight Ariodante loves the king's daughter Ginevra, and she returns his love.

The Act I music for a dance for "Nymphs, Shepherds and Shepherdesses" (enacted by Marie Sallé and her company) celebrating the impending union of Ariodante and Ginevra, here performed by the Freiburger Barockorchester conducted by Nicholas McGegan—in my opinion, unsurpassed in capturing the dance character of Handel's music:

https://youtu.be/-8HJE0bftkc

But Ginevra is also the object of the ambitions of Ariodante's rival for her favors and the throne, Polinesso. To add to the romantic complications, Ginevra's lady-in-waiting Dalinda loves Polinesso, while Ariodante's brother Lurcanio loves Dalinda. Dalinda was sung by another new addition to Handel's company, the 23-year-old English soprano Cecilia Young. Burney wrote that "her style of singing was infinitely superior to that of any other Englishwoman of her time." [6]

The plot of Ariodante is set in motion when Dalinda unwisely reveals her feelings to Polinesso. Exploiting her willingness to please him, the conniving and unscrupulous courtier convinces Dalinda to dress in Ginevra's clothes and allow him to enter her chambers at night from the garden, where he has arranged for Ariodante to be watching.

An example of Handel's economy of scene setting: the opening of Act II, the "short, but beautiful symphony" depicting moonrise in the garden, which probably accompanied a stage effect [7]:

https://youtu.be/FKCtRym0aEI

For Ariodante, of course, the beauty of the evening is shortly to be shattered by his witnessing of Ginevra's apparent unfaithfulness. The devastated Ariodante leaves the court that night, and later his suicide is reported. Lurcanio denounces Ginevra's infidelity as the cause, and demands that the King uphold his own law. Under that law the King must condemn his daughter to death unless a champion can successfully defend her honor against her accuser.

The action of Ariodante moves swiftly, and the second act features one moving aria of grief and loss after another. First is Ariodante's great Act II aria "Scherza infida" (Play, faithless one) in which he despairs over what he believes is Ginevra's unfaithfulness.

"Scherza infida" performed by Anne Sofie von Otter accompanied by Les Musiciens du Louvre conducted by Marc Minkowski:

https://youtu.be/xy7QsSWdHYQ

Scherza, infida, in grembo al drudo, io tradito a morte in braccio per tua colpa ora men vo. Ma a spezzar l’indegno laccio, ombra mesta, e spirto ignudo, per tua pena io tornerò.

Play, faithless one, in your wanton lover's arms. For your crime I now go to embrace death. But to torment your perjured love As a shadow, a wraith, I will return to haunt you.

Von Otter and Minkowski treat this aria as an anguished cry of loss, pain, and suicidal despair. It begins at a daringly slow tempo and slows even further in the da capo; it is as though we can hear the ebbing of Ariodante's will to live. The great Lorraine Hunt with Nicholas McGegan and the Freiburger Barockorchester, as well as Joyce DiDonato with Alan Curtis and Il Complesso Barocco, treat "Scherza infida" almost as a rage aria; their versions are two minutes shorter than von Otter and Minkowski's. While I think it's valid to emphasize either Ariodante's anger or sorrow, I find von Otter's heart-wrenching lament to be the more moving approach, and it is the reason I turn to Minkowski's version almost exclusively when I want to hear this opera.

In the second Act II aria of sorrow, the King mourns Ariodante's apparent suicide; he does not yet recognize that his daughter Ginevra is implicated. "Invide sorte avara" (Envious, grudging Fate), performed by Denis Sedov with Minkowski:

https://youtu.be/fCxeNwlOUv0

Invida sorte avara, misero! in questo dì nel prence mi rapì parte del core. Or nella figlia cara del cor l'altra metà, oh Dei! mi rapirà forse il dolore.

Envious, grudging Fate, I am wretched! In that Prince you have taken from me Lies part of my heart. Now perhaps my dear daughter, The other half of my heart, Of God! will be taken from me By her deep sorrow.

Finally, Ginevra, disgraced, alone and bereft, repudiated by her father, yearns for her own death. "Il mio crudel martoro" (My cruel suffering), performed by Lynne Dawson with Minkowski:

https://youtu.be/BsEDGj3BDu4

Il mio crudel martoro crescer non può di più; morte, dove sei tu, che ancor non moro? Vieni; de’ mali miei, no, che il peggior non sei, ma sei ristoro.

My cruel suffering Surely can become no greater; Death, why do you tarry, Why am I still alive? Come, Death; you are not The worst of my evils But will be my relief.

Boston Baroque's cast for Ariodante is a good one, although it does not equal the singers on any of the three recordings mentioned. As Ariodante, Megan Moore does not quite have the tonal beauty and security of von Otter, or the compelling dramatic presence of Hunt or DiDonato. But she gives a sensitive performance of "Scherza infida," the acid test of any Ariodante, in a reading that is more closely aligned with von Otter's than with Hunt's or DiDonato's. And she and her excellent Ginevra, Amanda Forsythe, have convincing chemistry.

Amanda Forsythe (Ginevra) and Megan Moore (Ariodante) in the 2025 Boston Baroque production conducted by Martin Pearlman.

Robin Johannsen's bright soprano is well-deployed as Dalinda, particularly in her Act I aria "Apri le luci, e mira" (Open your eyes, and look), in which she declares her feelings for Polinesso. Unfortunately she is costumed by designer Neil Fortin more as a lady's maid than as a lady-in-waiting. In the libretto she is described as "attendant on Ginevra," and in Harington's translation of Ariosto, Dalinda says of herself that at court she "kept a place of honor." The knight Lurcanio (the excellent Richard Pittsinger) would be unlikely to ardently declare his love to a servant, as he does in "Del mio sol vezzosi rai" (My bewitching sun). Dalinda is from an aristocratic family; she is not a chambermaid.

Polinesso is one of Handel's most effectively characterized villains; his insinuating music makes both Ginevra's and the audience's flesh crawl. Here is Polinesso's entrance, in which he accosts Ginevra and declares his love, and her indignant response: "Duke, if ever your presence was unwelcome to me, it is more so now." From the Minkowski-conducted recording, Ewa Podles as Polinesso and Lynne Dawson as Ginevra:

https://youtu.be/X9rOzyfaHq8?t=18

If as Polinesso Boston Baroque's Ann McMahon Quintero does not quite have the spine-shivering low notes of Ewa Podles for Minkowski, she acquits herself well and has a suitably menacing stage presence.

And as the King, Brandon Cedel convincingly portrays a man suddenly torn between his roles as Ginevra's doting father and her implacable sovereign. The moment in Act I when the King surprises his daughter and Ariodante in the garden, interrupting their tender love duet, is still, for both the characters and the audience, a moment of both dramatic and musical surprise—and then of relief, when it quickly becomes apparent that he has come not to forcibly part the lovers, but to bless their union. All too soon, however, he must carry out the law's decree.

Ariodante is now available on demand at the Boston Baroque website. As with other Boston Baroque opera productions, it is presented with full costumes (by Fortin, evoking the 18th century of the opera's creation) and stage action (by Eve Summer), while the setting is evoked through projections (by Camilla Tassi). Handel included dance sequences for Marie Sallé and her company, but the Boston Baroque production does not include dancers and the dance music is cut. 

In its first run in 1735, Ariodante was performed a respectable 11 times. But the rivalry between the two companies took its toll; in future years eventually both would go bankrupt. Perhaps spurred by the fierce competition, while Ariodante was in production Handel was busy composing another opera based on Orlando Furioso: Alcina, perhaps his greatest opera. Strada sang the role of the alluring sorceress, while Cecilia Young sang the role of her sister Morgana, Carestini the besotted knight Ruggiero, and Caterina Negri his abandoned fiancée Bradamante. When it was put on in April after his Easter-season oratorios, it ran for a remarkable 18 performances, ending only in early July as the London Season was drawing to a close and many of his audience members were leaving for their country estates or the continent.

It is striking that after the loss of almost his entire company, having to relocate to a new theater, and facing the direct competition of a rival company comprising some of the greatest singers in the world, Handel was able, within a matter of months, to compose and stage two of his best operas. Although he would go on to compose another ten operas, none would be as successful commercially or artistically as Ariodante and Alcina. These two works represent a second peak of his creativity after the miracle year that produced Giulio Cesare (February 1724), Tamerlano (October 1724), and Rodelinda (February 1725). Donald Burrows writes, "In terms of musical variety and quality, the 56 performances of Handel's 1734–35 Covent Garden season constitute one of the most attractive seasons he ever mounted in London." [8]

Other posts in this series:

• A season of Handel operas, part 3: Giulio Cesare
• A season of Handel operas, part 2: Alceste
• A season of Handel operas, part 1: Acis and Galatea

And a bonus post:

• Every Valley: Handel's Messiah

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1. Quoted in Donald Burrows: Handel, Master Musicians, Oxford University Press, 1994, p. 130.
2. Charles Burney, A General History of Music, from the Earliest Ages to the Present Period, Vol. 4, London, 1789, p. 342. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_a-general-history-of-mus_burney-charles_1776_4/page/342/mode/1up
3. Burney, p. 370. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_a-general-history-of-mus_burney-charles_1776_4/page/370/mode/1up
4. Quoted in Burrows, p. 178.
5. Burney, p. 388. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_a-general-history-of-mus_burney-charles_1776_4/page/388/mode/1up
6. Burney, p. 653. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_a-general-history-of-mus_burney-charles_1776_4/page/653/mode/1up. Over the next decade Cecilia Young continued to appear in Handel's English-language oratorios. In 1737 she married the composer Thomas Arne, making her the sister-in-law of Susannah Cibber, who sang in the first performance of Messiah. In the 1740s Thomas Arne became the house composer of the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, and Cecilia Arne frequently performed there.
7. Burney, p. 386. https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_a-general-history-of-mus_burney-charles_1776_4/page/386/mode/1up
8. Burrows, p. 186.

A season of Handel operas, part 3: Giulio Cesare

César remet Cléopâtre sur le trône d'Egypte [Caesar offers Cleopatra the throne of Egypt], by Pierre de Cortone (Pietro da Cortona), ca. 1637. Image source: Musée des Beaux-Arts de Lyon

Giulio Cesare (1724). Christophe Dumaux (Giulio Cesare), Louise Alder (Cleopatra), Beth Taylor (Cornelia), Paula Murrihy (Sesto), John Holiday (Tolomeo), Morgan Pearse (Achilla). The English Concert, Harry Bicket, conductor. Produced by Cal Performances, Zellerbach Hall, Berkeley, CA, 27 April 2025.

In recent posts on Handel, the music I've focused on was produced at moments of crisis—or at least significant upheaval—in his musical life: Acis and Galatea (1718) was composed at a time when feuding royals almost ended the viability of Italian opera in London; Messiah (1742) after the failure of his final opera, when he made a season-long relocation to Dublin to regroup; and Alceste (1750) for a masque whose production was abruptly cancelled, leaving the music in limbo.

But in 1724 when the 38-year-old Handel composed Giulio Cesare (Julius Caesar), he was at a peak of his artistic resources and musical inspiration. He had gathered superb artists into the Royal Academy of Music, his five-year-old opera company.

Francesco Bernardi, detto il Senesino, engraved by Elisha Kirkall after Joseph Goupy, 1727. Image source: National Portrait Gallery, London

The alto castrato Francesco Bernardi ("Senesino") joined the Academy in 1720. One of the greatest singers in the world, he would be surpassed only by Farinelli. He would create 17 roles in Handel operas, including the title roles in Floridante (1721), Ottone (1723),and Orlando (1733), as well as Andronico in Tamerlano (1724) and Bertarido in Rodelinda (1725). Of course, he sang the title role in Giulio Cesare.

In Cesare's Act I aria "Va tacito e nascosto" (Silently and stealthily), he recognizes that despite the Egyptian ruler Tolomeo's wish to appear as his ally, he is plotting to kill him; the aria compares Tolomeo to a hunter quietly stalking his prey. The aria as performed by Sarah Connolly (with Christophe Dumaux as Tolomeo and Christopher Maltman as Achilla) in the David McVicar production at Glyndebourne in 2005, accompanied by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment conducted by William Christie:

https://youtu.be/fieBT98DCLc

Va tacito e nascosto, Quand' avido è di preda, L'asuto Cacciator. Così chi è al mal disposto, Non brama, ch' alcun veda L'inganno del suo Cor.

As crafty Huntsmen In Pursuit of Prey, Unseen, and hushed in silence, stalk along: So those whom Malice prompts to base Designs, Conceal from every Eye, Their dark Intent. [1]

Francesca Cuzzoni onstage in Handel's Ottone, Flavio, or Giulio Cesare (1723-24). Image source: National Portrait Gallery, London.

The soprano Francesca Cuzzoni made her debut with the Royal Academy in 1723 and stayed for six seasons. She sang in every opera produced by the Academy during that time, creating the roles of Teofane (Ottone), Asteria (Tamerlano), and the title role in Rodelinda. She sang the role of Cleopatra in Giulio Cesare.

In Cleopatra's Act II aria "V'adoro, pupille" (Your charming eyes), she daringly declares her love for Cesare—but in disguise as the handmaiden "Lydia," so that she can protect herself in case Cesare doesn't return her feelings. (Whether at this stage those feelings are "love, lust, or just mutual ambition," as the Glyndebourne Encore website has it, remains to be seen.) The aria as performed by Magdalena Kožená (with Marijana Mijanovic as Cesare) accompanied by Les Musiciens du Louvre conducted by Marc Minkowski:

https://youtu.be/m-U92nkrEzM

V’adoro, pupille, saette d’amore, le vostre faville son grate nel sen. Pietose vi brama il mesto mio core, ch'ognora vi chiama l’amato suo ben.

Your charming Eyes My ravish'd Soul adores, The thrilling Pain My Heart with Pleasure bears. When you with Pity look, My Sorrows cease; For you alone Can heal the Wounds you gave.

Caricature of Margherita Durastanti by Antonio Zanetti, date unknown (possibly ca. 1709). Image source: Fondazione Giorgio Cini, Venezia

The mezzo-soprano Margherita Durastanti was recruited by Handel for the Academy in 1720. She had known Handel in Italy, where he had traveled as a 21-year-old in 1706 (she was perhaps two or three years older than the composer). In Rome, Durastanti created the role of Mary Magdalene in La resurrezione (The Resurrection, 1708), and, in Venice, the title role in Agrippina (1709). She made her London debut in the male title role of Radamisto (1720), the first opera produced by the Academy. In Giulio Cesare she appeared as Sesto, the son of the murdered Roman general (and Cesare's opponent) Pompey.

In the Act I aria "Cara speme" (Dearest hope), Sesto begins to hope that he may be able to revenge the murder of his father. The aria as performed by Lorraine Hunt, accompanied by the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra conducted by Nicholas McGegan:

https://youtu.be/ldEsBUzHZhE

Cara speme, questo core Tu cominci a lusingar; Par ch'il Ciel presti favore I miei torti a vendicar.

Dearest Hope, you now begin To soothe my troubled Breast; And Heaven at length propitious seems, The injured to retrieve.

Anastasia Robinson, engraved by John Faber Jr. after John Vanderbank, 1723. Image source: National Portrait Gallery, London

The contralto Anastasia Robinson had sung with Handel's opera company from 1714 to 1717. Her voice, originally a soprano judging by the music written for her, had deepened over the years. As I wrote in a previous post, "she created the role of Oriana, the heroine held captive by the sorceress Melissa, in Amadigi di Gaula (1715), and also appeared as Almirena, the heroine held captive by the sorceress Armida, in revivals of Rinaldo. She would sing with the Royal Academy from its first production, Radamisto, in which she created the role of Radamisto's wife Zenobia, the heroine held captive by the tyrant Tiridate, through Giulio Cesare, in which she created the role of Pompey's widow Cornelia, the heroine held captive by the tyrant Tolomeo." After the 1724 season, she retired from the stage to become Lady Peterborough.

In the Act I aria "Priva son d'ogni conforto" (Deprived of all comfort), Cornelia sings the first of several laments for the loss of her husband, murdered on the orders of Tolomeo. She is also sorrowing at her own situation: Tolomeo's prisoner, she is subject to his plans to forcibly marry her. Refusing to marry her husband's murderer would endanger her son, Sesto. The aria as performed by Beth Taylor in the David McVicar Glyndebourne production in 2024, accompanied by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment conducted by Lawrence Cummings:

https://youtu.be/t2le5Y2N_58?t=6

Priva son d'ogni conforto, e pur speme di morire per me misera non v'è. Il mio cor, da pene assorto, è già stanco di soffrir e morir si niega a me.

In vain, alas! depriv'd of Comfort, I hope Relief from Death. My Heart, oppress'd with Sorrow, pants with painful Weight, yet I am deny'd the Quiet of the Grave.

Three members of the cast in the semi-staged, concert-dress performance of Giulio Cesare brought to Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley on Sunday 27 April had appeared in McVicar's production at Glyndebourne: Louise Alder (Cleopatra, 2024), Beth Taylor (Cornelia, 2024), and Christophe Dumaux (here, Cesare; at Glyndebourne, Tolomeo in 2005, 2009, and 2018). As this cast suggests, the singing was at a high level, as was the playing of The English Concert under the experienced direction of conductor Harry Bicket.

Dumaux's countertenor has a bit of an edge. As Tolomeo at Glyndebourne, it suggested petulance and volatility; as Cesare in Berkeley, he deployed it to signal the character's martial command and firmness of purpose. Alder has a bright soprano; as Cleopatra she convincingly handled both the role's kittenish coloratura in the early scenes, and the emergence of deep emotion as the tide seems to turn against her and Cesare later in the opera. Beth Taylor's contralto, impressive as it is in the Glyndebourne clip above, is even richer in person.

In addition to the Glyndebourne veterans, in the remaining major roles the cast included Paula Murrihy as Sesto, countertenor John Holiday as Tolomeo, and baritone Morgan Pearse as Tolomeo's general Achilla. Murrihy's duet with Taylor at the close of the first act, "Son nata a lagrimar" (I was born to weep), was both ravishing and heart-wrenching.

Unfortunately the uncredited stage direction (perhaps by artistic director Bicket?) undermined the characters at almost every turn. Murrihy's Sesto is a case in point; for the first time I found the character's teenaged vacillation ultimately to induce eye rolls rather than emotional engagement. Holiday's Tolomeo lacked a sense of menace, and did not seem a credible threat to the imposing Cesare of Dumaux. The impact of Cleopatra's "V'adoro, pupille" was lessened by having Alder begin it from behind the orchestra, while Cesare sat in the front row of the audience; it was difficult to imagine him being overwhelmed by "Lydia's" beauty and sensuality at such a distance. When Pearse's Achilla threatened Cornelia, Taylor was directed to cower and grimace in fear, which diminished our sense of her character's nobility and regal dignity. And when Cesare is trapped by Tolomeo's henchmen in the palace, all of the other singers lined up at the back of the stage to sing the chorus "Mora, mora, Cesare mora!" (Death to Caesar!). While having named characters sing as a chorus in his operas was Handel's practice, in this scene the composer clearly expected them to sing unseen from the wings. Having all the singers troop out onstage made it seem as though each of their characters was calling for Cesare's death, which in the case of his allies such as Nireno (Meili Li), Cornelia and Sesto, made no sense at all.

Finally, deaths of characters in Baroque opera generally occur between scenes and offstage, and are reported afterwards to the other characters by a witness. In Giulio Cesare, Handel defied that convention by including not just one, but two onstage death scenes. In the Berkeley performance, in both cases the deaths took place downstage center, leaving the singers no alternative when the scene concluded but to sheepishly stand back up and walk offstage (and on Zellerbach's broad stage, that's a long walk). They returned, of course, for the final chorus, a moment that McVicar's Glyndebourne production handles much more cleverly.

Handel's superb music and the excellent vocal and instrumental performances overcame the distractions of the poor direction. However, for their next semi-staged opera production I hope that The English Concert hires a dedicated director to ensure that the singers' actions support, rather than undercut, their characters and the story.

Other posts in this series:

• A season of Handel operas, part 4: Ariodante
• A season of Handel operas, part 2: Alceste
• A season of Handel operas, part 1: Acis and Galatea

And a bonus post:

• Every Valley: Handel's Messiah

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1. Aria translations in this post are from the 1724 libretto by Nicola Haym.

A season of Handel operas, part 2: Alceste

La mort d'Alceste, ou l'Héroïsme de l'amour conjugal [The death of Alcestis] (detail) by Jean-François Pierre Peyron, 1785. Image credit: Louvre, Paris. Image source: Speakerty

Alceste (1750). Lauren Snouffer (Calliope), Aaron Sheehan (Apollo), with Leandra Ramm (soloist) and Jeffrey Fields (Charon). Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra & Chorale, Peter Whelan, conductor. Herbst Theater, San Francisco, 7 March 2025.

When Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra announced that Handel's Alceste would be performed this spring, I was a little puzzled. I was familiar with two other operas based on Euripides' tragedy: Lully's of 1694, with a libretto by Philippe Quinault, and Gluck's of 1767, with a libretto by Ranieri de' Calzabigi. But what was this mystery work by Handel, and why had I never heard of it?

The work did not appear in any of the opera reference works on my shelves, nor in the table of contents of Winton Dean's definitive Handel's Dramatic Oratorios and Masques (Oxford, 1959). Checking Dean's chapter on The Choice of Hercules (1751), though, I soon learned the reason that Alceste is not better known: it had never been performed in Handel's lifetime, and most of the music had been repurposed for The Choice of Hercules.

George Frideric Handel by Thomas Hudson, 1749–1750. Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Handel had composed the music as interludes for a play by the poet and novelist Tobias Smollett based on Euripides' Alcestis. Following the conventions of masques such as Henry Purcell's King Arthur (1691) and The Fairy Queen (1692), none of the main characters of Smollett's play—King Admetus, who has been summoned by Death; Alcestis, his devoted wife who chooses to die in his place; and Hercules, the hero who rescues her from the underworld and restores her to life and to her husband—have singing roles in Handel's work. Instead, Alceste features the muse Calliope, the god Apollo, and the Stygian ferryman Charon, who comment on the play's action. The word book for Handel's interludes was not written by Smollett, but most likely by Thomas Morell, the librettist for several of Handel's earlier and later oratorios.

The masque was commissioned by John Rich, who had produced The Beggar's Opera (1728), John Gay's ballad opera satirizing his former collaborator Handel (see Part 1 on Acis and Galatea). However, shortly after the wildly successful run of The Beggar's Opera, Rich built the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, where Handel's later operas and many of his oratorios were first publicly performed; Handel apparently bore no grudge.

John Rich, attributed to William Hogarth, ca. 1755–1761. Image source: Wikimedia Commons

The play and music were ready by early January 1750, but the masque was never performed: Rich cancelled the production. According to notes made by Morell, Rich made this decision because the music was "too good [i.e., difficult] for [his] Performers." This is unlikely to be the true explanation. The singers included the soprano Cecilia Young (Mrs. Thomas Arne), her sister, the contralto Esther Young, tenor Thomas Lowe and bass Gustavus Waltz, all experienced singers who performed in other Handel works. More likely, the expense of mounting a full-length play together with musical interludes and dances proved too great, and Rich decided to cut his losses.

As a result, Alceste is little known and rarely performed or recorded. Which is a shame, because it contains some very appealing music. Here is Calliope's "Gentle Morpheus, son of night," performed by soprano Lucy Crowe with the Early Opera Company conducted by Christian Curnyn:

https://youtu.be/NYZCPr9bM-A

Gentle Morpheus, son of night, Hither speed thy airy flight! And his weary senses steep In the balmy dew of sleep. That when bright Aurora's beams Glad the world with golden streams, He, like Phoebus, blithe and gay, May re-taste the healthful day.

The Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra performance made a strong case for the viability of Alceste in concert. It has some rousing choral numbers and virtuoso showcases for the soloists. Lauren Snouffer brought a bright soprano and fluency in coloratura to the role of Calliope, and the ever-reliable Aaron Sheehan his flexible and pleasing tenor to the role of Apollo. 

The Philharmonia Chorale directed by Valérie Sainte-Agathe made a substantial contribution to the success of the performance, not only with its usual superb unison and intonation, but also by supplying two soloists: the mezzo-soprano Leandra Ramm for the air "Triumph, Hymen, in the pair," and the baritone Jeffrey Fields in Charon's "Ye fleeting shades, I come / To fix your final doom" (which, although lyrically very different, bears a passing musical resemblance to Polyphemus' "Ruddier than the cherry" from Acis and Galatea). 

Guest conductor Peter Whelan led an energetic and cohesive performance of Alceste and the opening Concerto Grosso in G major Op. 6 No. 1. On top of flawlessly coordinating soloists, orchestra and chorus, he was a charming host for the evening. The PBO is currently searching for a music director to replace Richard Egarr, who resigned last June after just four seasons (his predecessor, Nicholas McGegan, spent 35 years in the role). On the evidence of Whelan's audition, he made a strong case not only for Alceste but for his candidacy.

Update 9 July 2025: On 3 July the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra announced that Peter Whelan has been appointed to a three-year contract as its new music director, only the fourth one in its 45-year history. PBO Executive Director and CEO Emma Moon said of the appointment, "Peter brings a rare combination of historical insight and creative energy that resonates deeply with our mission. His work with us on Alceste was both masterful and inspiring. We're excited to embark on this new chapter with him at the artistic helm."

Next time: Giulio Cesare performed by The English Concert

Last time: Acis and Galatea performed by American Bach Soloists

A season of Handel operas, part 1: Acis and Galatea

Polyphème surprenant Acis et Galatée (Polyphemus surprising Acis and Galatea) [detail] by Auguste Ottin, 1863. Fontaine Médicis, Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris. Image credit: Daniel Stockman, CC BY-SA 2.0. Image source: Wikimedia Commons.

This year marks the 340th anniversary of Handel's birth. Either by plan or coincidence, in addition to the annual Messiah concerts, welcome as they are, this season has featured some non-perennial Handel vocal works. Over the next several posts I will be covering recent concert performances of three Handel operas, starting with:

Acis and Galatea (1718/1739). Nola Richardson (Galatea), James Reese (Acis), Douglas Ray Williams (Polyphemus), Michael Jankosky (Damon), Agnes Vojtkó (Corydon). American Bach Soloists, Jeffrey Thomas, artistic director and conductor. St Mark's Lutheran Church, San Francisco, 23 February 2025.

In Every Valley: Handel's Messiah, I wrote about how Handel's career composing and staging Italian operas in London came to an end after 30 years. It had begun in 1711 with Rinaldo and had reached several artistic peaks between the mid-1720s and the mid-1730s. But by the end of the 1730s audiences and financial support were dwindling, and with the failure of Deidamia in 1741, Handel finally had to accept that he could no longer continue to produce opera seria.

George Frideric Handel, attributed to Balthasar Denner, 1726–1728. Image source: National Portrait Gallery NPG 1976

But his career writing Italian opera had almost ended 25 years earlier, in 1717, thanks to an argument within the royal family. Had Handel stopped writing Italian opera then, today we would not have many of his greatest masterpieces; I'll be discussing one of them, Giulio Cesare (1724), as the third performance covered in this post series.

Opera was (and is) extraordinarily expensive, and between 1714 and 1717 the Italian opera company in London flourished under the joint patronage of King George I and his son George Augustus, the Prince of Wales. But in 1717, tensions mounted between father and son. An opposition faction began to form around the Prince of Wales, who, in comparison to his father, was relatively popular. Joint patronage of the opera ceased.

Handel was placed in a delicate position. He relied on George I's patronage and supplied music for court and state occasions; that summer he had written the Water Music for a river excursion by the king. At the same time, he could not afford to alienate the Prince of Wales, who was roughly Handel's age and would one day be king. Rather than attending either the king's or the prince's court, by early August 1717 Handel was staying at Cannons, an estate outside London owned by James Brydges, Baron (later Duke of) Chandos.

The Right Hon[oura]ble. James, Earl of Carnarvon, Viscount Chandos of Wilton in Herefordshire, Lord Chandos of Sudley in Glocestershire & Governor of ye Turky Company [i.e., the Levant Company]. Mezzotint by John Simon, published by John Smith, after a Michael Dahl portrait of 1719. National Portrait Gallery NPG D19048

Brydges had three major advantages: he was not active politically, and so associating with him would not offend either king or prince; he was an enthusiastic arts patron, not only of Handel but of the writers John Arbuthnot, John Gay, John Hughes and Alexander Pope; and he had a household musical establishment consisting of about a dozen musicians and four to six male singers (augmented with additional performers for special occasions).

No payments are recorded to Handel in the existing household accounts, and Brydges already had a Master of Music, Johann Pepusch. In his biography of Handel, Donald Burrows suggests that he stayed at Cannons "possibly. . .as an honoured guest rather than as a 'serving musician.'" [1] Even though Handel was a guest, composing and performing were undoubtedly a part of the reciprocal guest-host relationship: more than a dozen new works were first performed at Cannons while he was in residence.

Unknown man, formerly identified as John Gay, attributed to Sir Godfrey Kneller, Baronet, before 1723(?). Image source: National Portrait Gallery NPG 622

The poets sharing Brydges' patronage were strong opponents of Italian opera, the genre that had brought Handel to London. (Gay and Pepusch would go on a decade later to savagely satirize Italian opera in The Beggar's Opera (1728), for which some of Handel's music was borrowed.) Ever adaptable, all the vocal works Handel composed at Cannons had English words: eleven sacred anthems drawn from the Book of Common Prayer (1662) and Nicholas Brady and Nahum Tate's New Version of the Psalms (1696); the oratorio Esther (1718) to a libretto likely by Arbuthnot and Pope; and the pastoral opera Acis and Galatea (1718) to a libretto primarily by Gay with additions by Pope and Hughes, adapted from the text of John Dryden's The Story of Acis, Polyphemus and Galatea (1717).

Gay's text for Acis and Galatea draws on Ovid's Metamorphoses for its swiftly-moving tragedy: the shepherd Acis and the nymph Galatea love one another, but the jealous Cyclops Polyphemus kills Acis by crushing him with a boulder.

"Help, Galatea, help, ye parent gods, / And take me dying to your deep abodes." Acis and Galatea, etching and engraving by William Dean Taylor after Richard Cook, c. 1814–1822. Image source: Sanders of Oxford Antique Prints & Maps

The sorrowing Galatea turns Acis' blood into a "gentle murm'ring stream," and Acis himself into its god.

Handel filled the work with beautiful pastoral melodies, and the words "pleasure," "delight," "desire," and "love" recur throughout—as in Acis' Act I air "Love in her eyes sits playing," performed by Paul Agnew accompanied by Les Arts Florissants conducted by William Christie:

https://youtu.be/pF615Bo5I0I

But Handel also effectively dramatized the moments of conflict. In an extraordinary trio in Act II, Polyphemus violently interrupts Acis and Galatea's love duet "The flocks shall leave the mountains" with interjections of his jealousy and anger: "Torture! Fury! Rage! Despair! I cannot, cannot bear!" The excerpt below is from the brilliant Boston Early Music Festival production with Aaron Sheehan as Acis/Lord Chandos, Teresa Wakim as Galatea/Lady Chandos, and Douglas Williams as Polyphemus/Alexander Pope:

https://youtu.be/uFID8HjhQw4

The cast of the 1718 version requires only five soloists (in 1739 Handel revised the work to reduce the number of soloists to four). The part of Galatea was sung by a soprano hired for the occasion, since Brydges' regular group of singers included no women. Burrows makes the case that the soprano who sang in the first performance was probably Margherita de l'Epine, who had performed in three of Handel's London operas and who married Pepusch, Brydges' Master of Music, around 1718.

Galatea is given some of Handel's loveliest music, as in the air "Heart, the seat of soft delight," here performed by Teresa Wakim accompanied by the Boston Early Music Festival Vocal & Chamber Ensembles directed by Paul O'Dette and Stephen Stubbs:

https://youtu.be/sATWpLlyxvw

The modest forces required to perform Acis and Galatea, its compact story (about 90 minutes from start to finish), and the beauty of its music ensured the work's continued popularity. It became the most-performed of Handel's works during his lifetime, and it is still regularly staged (we've seen it four times in the past two decades).

Polyphème surprenant Acis et Galatée (Polyphemus surprising Acis and Galatea) by Auguste Ottin, 1863. Fontaine Médicis, Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris. Image source: Pinterest

The concert performance of Acis and Galatea that we attended in San Francisco fully brought out the delightful qualities of its music. As is common practice, the version Jeffrey Thomas presented with American Bach Soloists was a combination of elements from the 1718 version and Handel's 1739 and 1742 revisions. Although the version we heard did not exactly correspond to what any 18th-century audience would have heard—it probably came closest to the version heard in 1742 as a part of Handel's Dublin season—Handel himself frequently altered his works to match the forces at his disposal and, no doubt, his artistic preferences.

As in 1739, the work was divided into two acts, rather than being presented in six continuous scenes as it was originally. As in 1739, Acis' fellow shepherd Damon (Michael Jankosky) also sang the air originally given to the shepherd Corydon, "Would you gain the tender creature," though fortunately Damon remained a tenor (1718) instead of becoming a boy soprano (1739).

"Would you gain the tender creature" performed by Zachary Wilder, accompanied by the Boston Early Music Festival players:

https://youtu.be/zhBygMHmWic

As in 1739, the part of Corydon was cast with a female alto (Agnes Vojtkó) who, alas, only sings in the choruses. And as in 1739, a chorus was appended to Acis and Galatea's duet "Happy we" at the end of the first part.

However, elements of the original 1718 version were also retained. In Act II the air "Cease, beauty, to be suing" by Polyphemus, and the choral part of Galatea's "Must I my Acis still bemoan," were performed (they were cut in 1739). And the ABS orchestra did not include violas, which were only added to the score in 1739. [2]

Acis was ardently sung by tenor James Reese, while his love-rival Polyphemus was commandingly performed by bass-baritone Douglas Ray Williams. Williams is a veteran in the role: he sang it in the Acis and Galatea we saw at the Boston Early Music Festival in 2011, and in the danced Mark Morris version in 2014.

The great revelation for us was soprano Nola Richardson, who sang Galatea with a gorgeous timbre, accuracy of intonation, and in her bird-imitation airs "Hush, ye pretty warbling quire" and "As when the dove laments her love," fleetness of coloratura. Jeffrey Thomas, a former singer himself, always finds excellent vocalists, and we will be watching for Richardson's future appearances in the Bay Area and elsewhere.

Nola Richardson, soprano. Image credit: Suzanne Vinnik. Image source: Schwalbe and Partners

The scholar and critic Stanley Sadie wrote that "Acis and Galatea represents the high point of pastoral opera in England, indeed anywhere," and praised "the elegance and the sensual force of Handel's music in the first act and the elegiac power of that in the second." [3] The ABS concert performance fully confirmed those views.

Next time: Alceste (1750)

---

1. Donald Burrows, The Master Musicians: Handel, Oxford University Press, 1994, p. 81. 
2. Differences between the 1718, 1732, 1739 and 1742 versions are discussed in detail in Peter Holman, "The 1739 Acis and Galatea," The Handel Friends, 1 May 2016.
3. Stanley Sadie, "Acis and Galatea," in The Grove Book of Operas, Second Edition, edited by Stanley Sadie, revised edition edited by Laura Macy. Oxford University Press, 2006, p. 2. 
   

Favorites of 2022: Live and streamed performances

Jasmine Johnson as Andromaca in Leonardo Vinci's Astinatte. Photo credit: Valentina Sadiul. Image source: OperaWire

Favorite live and streamed performances seen in the past 12 months, in reverse chronological order by date of performance:

LIVE OPERA AND ORATORIO

Ars Minerva: Astianatte
ODC Theater, San Francisco, seen October 23, 2022

Jasmine Johnson as Andromaca and Anthony Polakoff as Astianatte. Photo credit: Valentina Sadiul. Image source: San Francisco Classical Voice

Leonardo Vinci's Astianatte (1725) is packed with high drama: in the aftermath of the Trojan War, the victorious Greeks begin to squabble among themselves while the captive Trojan widow Andromaca (Jasmine Johnson) desperately tries to save her son Astianatte (Anthony Polakoff) from execution. Meanwhile, there's a long-simmering love triangle between the Greeks Pirro (Deborah Martinez Rosengaus), Oreste (Nikola Printz), and Ermione (Aura Veruni), who was once in love with Oreste but is now betrothed to Pirro.

Vinci wrote Astianatte for four of the greatest singers in the world. Any company seeking to revive it needs four superlative singers, a requirement that Céline Ricci's Ars Minerva decidedly fulfilled. Musically this was also Ars Minerva's largest-scale production to date, with 14-piece period-instrument chamber orchestra conducted by Matthew Dirst accompanying the singers. The staging was enhanced by Marina Polakoff's sculptural costumes, Ricci's clever direction, Entropy's scene-setting projections and Delayne Medoff's evocative lighting. Ars Minerva surpasses itself with every production.

For more information and full credits, please see the post "Ars Minerva: Astianatte."

American Bach Soloists: Belshazzar
Herbst Theater, San Francisco, seen July 30, 2022

Maya Kherani, Belshazzar's mother Nitocris in American Bach Soloists' performance of Handel's Belshazzar. Image source: MayaKherani.com

ABS Artistic Director Jeffrey Thomas assembled an excellent cast for a concert performance of Handel's rarely-performed oratorio. During the feast of the Babylonian god Sesach mysterious writing appears on the wall: "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin." The Babylonian king Belshazzar (tenor Matthew Hill) calls his wise men, but none can decipher the meaning. Only the Jewish prophet Daniel (the rich-voiced mezzo-soprano Sarah Coit) can interpret the words, and the news is not good for Belshazzar. Belshazzar's mother Nitocris (pure-toned soprano Maya Kherani) urges him not to offend the god of Daniel, but Belshazzar scorns her. Meanwhile, as the Babylonians eat and drink, a Persian army under Cyrus (countertenor Eric Jurenas) has diverted the Euphrates and enters the city using the now-dry riverbed.

The libretto was written by Charles Jennens, who most famously compiled the libretto of Messiah. In his classic book Handel's Dramatic Oratorios and Masques (Oxford University Press, 1959), Winton Dean calls the three months during the summer of 1744 in which Handel simultaneously composed Belshazzar and Hercules "the peak of Handel's creative life"—quite an assertion for a writer who is well aware that between January and April 1735 Handel premiered Ariodante and Alcina (my votes for Handel's peak three months, but then who am I?). Thomas and his first-rate cast made a compelling case for Belshazzar as one of the pinnacles of Handel's musical achievement.

For more information and full credits, please see the American Bach Soloists program.

Honorable mention:

San Francisco Opera: Eugene Onegin, Dialogues of the Carmelites, and Orpheus and Eurydice

General Director Matthew Shilvock's programming for this centennial SF Opera season has been remarkably daring: of the eight operas in the fall and summer season, two are receiving their world premieres in 2022 (John Adams' Anthony and Cleopatra and Gabriela Lena Frank's Frida y Diego). Of the remaining operas, Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin was last performed at SF Opera in 2004, Richard Strauss's Die Frau Ohne Schatten (The Woman Without a Shadow) in 1989, Poulenc's Dialogues des Carmélites in 1982, and Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice not since its SF Opera premiere in 1959. Even the two more recently performed operas (Verdi's La Traviata, last performed in 2017, and Puccini's Madama Butterfly, last performed in 2016) are being given new productions.

We attended three of the fall operas in the War Memorial Opera House. Each featured excellent singers, some known to us and some new; a striking (if occasionally problematic) production design; and the glorious SF Opera Orchestra in the pit. So why aren't these performances firmly among my favorites?

Evgenia Muraveva as Tatiana Larina in Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin at SF Opera. Photo credit: Cory Weaver. Image source: Opera Today

Eugene Onegin was presented in the Robert Carsen production, which surrounds center stage with fallen autumn leaves and frames the action as the memory of the devastated Onegin. It's generally effective; least so, perhaps, in the Letter Scene, which has Tatiana rolling around in dead leaves to express ecstasy about her blossoming first love. (I know: how pathetically literal of me.) But the main problem is that this production (now 25 years old) was filmed in 2007 with a well-nigh ideal Onegin in Dmitri Hvorostovsky and the glamorous Tatiana of Renée Fleming. Comparisons are impossible to avoid, and at SF Opera on September 25 both Gordon Bintner's Onegin and Evgenia Muraveva's Tatiana lacked vocal charisma. Their final confrontation, which should be emotionally wrenching, never caught dramatic fire. When singers in secondary roles such as Aigul Akhmetshina as Tatiana's sister Olga and Evan Leroy Johnson as Onegin's friend Lensky outshine the principals, something is seriously amiss.

For more information about the opera, including the parallels between the story and Tchaikovsky's life, please see the post "Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin - The Letter."

Michaela Schuster as the Prioress Madame de Croissy and Heidi Stober as the novice Blanche de la Force in Francis Poulenc's Dialogues des Carmélites at SF Opera. Photo credit: Cory Weaver. Image source: Air Mail

Dialogues of the Carmelites, seen October 30, portrays the Martyrs of Compiègne, 16 women of the Carmelite religious order who were executed by guillotine in July 1794. The opera had its U.S. premiere at SF Opera in 1957 in English translation. As the title implies, Poulenc's music is largely conversational and follows the rhythms of speech. Song is used at the very end, as the women intone the "Salve Regina" and one by one are silenced by the guillotine. It's a powerful scene. Unfortunately in Olivier Py's production it verges on kitsch, as from our vantage point in the dress circle each of the white-clad women in turn descended off the back of the stage and then, with outstretched arms, appeared to float away into the starry sky (like angels? Please tell me I'm wrong).

Py made some other odd directorial choices, such as regularly shining spotlights into the faces of the audience. The Prioress's death scene midway through the opera is staged on a bed placed upright, as though we were looking down on her (and, of course, as though she is being crucified). It's a visually arresting image, but it makes the characters witnessing her torment seem as though they are standing perpendicularly on the walls or lying on the floor. (I know: how pathetically literal of me.)

For more information and full credits, please see the San Francisco Opera press release.

Jakub Jósef Orlinski as Orpheus in Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice at SF Opera. Photo credit: Cory Weaver. Image source: San Francisco Chronicle

Orpheus and Eurydice, seen November 20, was performed in Gluck's 1762 Italian version. Gluck never anticipated, though, that when the curtain rose Orpheus would enact the frenzy of grief by performing jaw-droppingly athletic breakdancing moves. Countertenor Jakub Jósef Orlinski also trained as a dancer, and seeing him do flips, spinning handstands, windmills, swipes, and backspins was astonishing. (My partner thought that we were watching an SF Opera dancer, until he started singing. Don't ask me how he managed not to be completely out of breath.)

The stage was a vast circle, with Alexander V. Nichols' projections of brain images delineating Orpheus' journey through the underworld to recover Eurydice. The projections were quite vivid, but changed so frequently that I found them distracting—at times it was like watching a psychedelic light show. And director Matthew Ozawa ignored the implications of one of Nichols' most striking images: when the stage apparently split apart at the moment of Euridice's second death, Ozawa had Euridice lying suspended over the newly-opened abyss and Orpheus kneeling next to her in empty space, instead of having them separated on either side of the chasm. (I know: how pathetically literal of me.)

But staging miscalculations aside, Orlinski's voice got a bit lost in the vast War Memorial Opera House, built for Verdi and Puccini rather than 18th-century operas (the Burgtheater in Vienna, where Gluck's opera had its first performance, is one-third the size of the War Memorial). Although both Meigul Zhang's Euridice and Nicole Heaston's Amore were outstanding, Orpheus must carry the opera. His voice, of course, is supposed to be so irresistible that it can "placate the Furies, monsters, and pitiless Death." This isn't just a matter of volume, and the beauty of Orlinski's voice would probably have been more apparent in a suitably-sized theater (hello, Glyndebourne).

Still, Matthew Shilvock's adventurous programming choices are welcomed; I'm looking forward to the 2023-24 season announcement in January. For more information and full credits for Orpheus and Eurydice please see the San Francisco Opera press release.

STREAMED OPERA

Glyndebourne Encore: Les Mamelles de Tirésias

Elsa Benoit as Therèse and Régis Mengus as the Husband in Poulenc's Les Mamelles de Tirésias. Laurent Pelly, direction and costume design (in collaboration with Jean-Jacques Delmotte), Caroline Ginet, set design. Photo credit: Bill Cooper. Image source: Glyndebourne

In Aristophanes' Lysistrata women go on a sex strike to force men to end war. In Poulenc's Les Mamelles de Tirésias (The Breasts of Tiresias, 1947), put-upon wife Thèrese goes the women of ancient Greece one better: she changes gender entirely. Discarding her breasts (which then, as huge pink balloons, float over the proceedings) and becoming Tirésias, she flees her importunate Husband. Left wifeless, he dons a corset and answers the call of the State for procreation by inventing an elaborate machine to produce 40,049 babies.

Members of the Glyndebourne Chorus in Poulenc's Les Mamelles de Tirésias. Photo credit: Bill Cooper. Image source: The Guardian

Laurent Pelly's production of Poulenc's adaptation of Guillaume Apollinaire's surrealist farce keeps the brilliant visual ideas coming so fast you'll want to rewatch the opera to be sure you catch them all. No matter—you'll want to rewatch the opera anyway for sheer pleasure.

For more information and full credits please see Glyndebourne Encore.

Boston Baroque: Amadigi di Gaula

Anthony Roth Costanzo as Amadis of Gaul. Image source: Boston Baroque.

Handel's 11th opera, Amadigi di Gaula, unusually has only four main characters; also unusually, half of them lie dead by the end of the opera. The sorceress Melissa (Amanda Forsythe) has abducted Oriana (Camilla Ortiz); Oriana's lover Amadigi (Anthony Roth Costanzo) attempts to rescue her with the aid of Dardano (Daniella Mack), who comes to realize that he and Amadigi are rivals for Oriana's affections. (The original cast featured the castrato Nicolini as Amadigi, the soprano Anastasia Robinson as Oriana, and alto Diana Vico as Dardano.) Amadigi's relatively small scale and straightforward story made it a perfect choice for Boston Baroque's semi-staging directed by Louisa Muller, and the cast assembled by music director Martin Pearlman would be the envy of any opera house.

For more information, please see Boston Baroque.

Honorable mention:

Glyndebourne Encore: Alcina

Jane Archibald as Alcina at Glyndebourne. Photo credit: Tristram Kenton. Image source: Glyndebourne

Perhaps inspired by all the cross-dressing in Baroque opera, director Francesco Micheli set Handel's Alcina in a 1960s nightclub, its own kind of enchanted island. The sorceress Alcina (Jane Archibald) is the owner/headliner, assisted by Morgana (Soraya Mafi). Ruggiero (Samantha Hankey) is a besotted customer whose fiancée Bradamante (Beth Taylor), in male disguise as "Ricciardo," attempts to bring him back to his former life and prior commitments (meanwhile causing Morgana, who is attracted to this handsome stranger, some erotic confusion).

The nightclub setting allows set designer Edoardo Sanchi and costume designer Alessio Rosati to give free range to their imaginations, as seen in Alcina's "shipwreck" number above. But as a metaphor for Alcina's magic island it also lowers the stakes. The opera is no longer a fierce contest between good and, well, less good, or a devastating depiction of the inexorable loss of love. Instead it becomes a parable of the "tragedy of development," in Marshall Berman's term, as (spoiler alert!) property developers close Alcina's nightclub in order to build more faceless high-rise offices. The cast is very good, but without a sense that life and death issues are at stake some urgency is lost.

For more information, please see Glyndebourne Encore.

Biggest disappointment:

Glyndebourne Encore: La Bohème

Yaritza Véliz as Mimì and Sehoon Moon as Rodolfo in Puccini's La Bohème at Glyndebourne. Floris Visser, direction, Dieuweke Van Reij, set design. Photo credit: Richard Hubert Smith. Image source: Glyndebourne

Or, as my partner and I refer to it, "La Bohème in an alley." We made it about halfway through Act I before the multiple absurdities and heavy-handed symbolism of Floris Visser's direction—literally, La Bohème in a grave-like alley, with a silent actor looking on representing, yes, Death—drove us to put on a DVD of the 1965 La Scala production directed by Franco Zeffirelli and starring the young Mirella Freni as a touchingly vulnerable Mimì. (And before you sneer at our hidebound traditionalism, we also like Baz Luhrman's "Paris in the 50's" production for Opera Australia and are intrigued by Yuval Sharon's "backwards Bohème" for Boston Lyric Opera.) No fault of the young cast, who gamely gave it their best. This is the first new production of La Bohème at Glyndebourne in two decades, but let us hope that this will be its only Festival run.

For more information, please see Glyndebourne Encore.

STREAMED CONCERT AND RECITAL

Boston Early Music Festival: Vox Luminis

Vox Luminis; director Lionel Meunier second from left. Image source: BEMF.org

Vox Luminis, led by director Lionel Meunier, performed a program of sacred music from Monteverdi's Selva morale e spirituale (The Moral and Spiritual Forest) with astonishing precision, blend, and beauty. This concert will be available to watch until December 2, 2022. For more information, please see BEMF.org.

Boston Early Music Festival: Philippe Jaroussky

Philippe Jaroussky and Le Concert de la Loge at the Royaumont Abbey.

In place of the live BEMF concert offering of Baroque opera arias performed by Jaroussky and his Ensemble Artaserse, the virtual program was a recorded performance of sacred music by Vivaldi, Pergolesi and Scarlatti recorded at the Royaumont Abbey in 2020. Ravishing music ravishingly performed by Jaroussky and Le Concert de la Loge. For more information, please see BEMF.org.

Other Favorites of 2022:

• Recordings
• Books
• Movies and television