Boston Early Music Festival / Recenzje

BOSTON — To say that Monteverdi has swallowed the Boston Early Music Festival this year would not be quite right. That would, after all, take a considerable gulp. As usual, there is a teeming array of concerts and recitals at this biennial weeklong event, one of the most ambitious festivals of its kind in the world; exhibitions of instruments, books, scores and recordings; and institutional and corporate displays. All of this is apart from some 120 “fringe concerts and colleague events.” Still, there has been no mistaking the main events, whose title, “Monteverdi Trilogy,” refers to the lavishly staged productions of the composer’s three surviving operas — “Orfeo,” “Il Ritorno d’Ulisse” and “L’Incoronazione di Poppea” — at the Boston University Theater. And there has been even more Monteverdi: a performance of the composer’s 1610 Vespers, for example, on Thursday. Even for a New Yorker sated in the composer of late, this is something special. Not that multiple opera productions are new to the festival. In 2013, a grand staging of Handel’s “Almira” was set against a double bill of Charpentier, modestly but intelligently conceived. But the sheer weight of the Monteverdi venture — the number of performers and costumes, the amount of performance time (some 10 hours total), let alone rehearsal time — is remarkable.

“Scaramanzia” is an Italian term that alludes to irrational ways one can either avoid bad luck themselves, or inflict it on others. In the notes to this new recording, Rolf Lislevand cites superstition and malediction as primary examples, explaining that all varieties of “scaramanzia” rely on the repeating of rituals in one form or another. He then links this behavioral repetition with the Italian term ostinato, derived from the English “stubborn” or “obstinate”, where a musical motif, phrase, melodic theme, etc., is persistently repeated. As Lislevand puts it, for this program they “went in search of the ostinato as a means of expression, as a musical form, and as a minimalist rhetorical and ritual phenomenon.” Nearly all of the selections here are duets featuring Lislevand accompanied by Thor-harald Johnsen performing on baroque guitars, chitarra battente (Italian “strumming guitar”), and lute, with additional support by Bjorn Kjellemyr on colascione (a member of the lute family with an extremely elongated neck and a small body) and Ulrik Gaston Larsen on an additional baroque guitar and theorbo. These mostly early baroque works typically begin simply enough, then gradually evolve into more complex counterpoint and sonority, often leading to dazzling conclusions. In Antonio Carbonchi’s Capona, for instance, it’s fascinating how Lislevand begins the piece by sustaining the notes with a sitar-like dexterity before Johnsen enters, introducing dance elements that both rhythmically complement and at times contrast with Lislevand’s treatment. Later on Domenico Pellegrini’s Passacagi per tutte le Lettere is laced with similar intricacies, though here an additional intrigue is created, a sense of madness by the way Lislevand and Johnsen radically shift the dynamics and rhythmic patterns in unison throughout the piece. Apart from the Tarantella, it’s the lengthiest work here and also one of the most beguiling. Though the booklet lists its timing as 1:05, the performance of the Tarantella is actually 10:05, the longest selection on the program. Lislevand and Johnsen’s arrangement of this traditional southern Italian dance, while instrumentally sparse compared to most, is nonetheless just as mesmerizing and compelling as any. Again, Lislevand and Johnsen’s deft articulation and the manner in which they shift the dynamics and momentum throughout the piece is remarkably effective and continuously captivating. The sound is audiophile quality with excellent clarity and detail. There are a few moments, most notably in the previously mentioned Capona and Corbetta’s Passacaille, where Lislevand’s breathing and sighs can be distinctly heard, but it’s nothing compared to the distracting sounds that marred his earlier 2003 effort, “La Belle Homicide”, previously reviewed here. All in all, an intelligently conceived, expertly performed, ravishing program, and in turn, highly recommended.

The final instalments of Kristian Bezuidenhout’s Mozart survey are as stylish as the previous seven volumes: with his bold, sensitive playing, the South African is the leading fortepianist of his generation. He begins his eighth volume with the familiar Sonata in C major K545 – anyone who studied piano will remember it being hammered out in exams. But these volumes also feature obscurities such as the parody Kleiner Trauermarsch K453a and the single-movement fragments K312 and K400 in reconstructions by 20th-century fortepiano trailblazer Robert Levin. These last two pieces might be of limited appeal, but no matter: Bezuidenhout could find spirit in a C major scale. Articulation sparkles and ornaments are neat; slow movements sing like arias and he has fun giving weight to the Rondo themes; virtuosity buzzes under the surface but never becomes the focal point. On his modern keyboard – a Czech copy of an 1805 Viennese instrument – the sound is sweet, nutty and declamatory. Above all, Bezuidenhout knows how to make a fortepiano sing.

It’s good to see Music of the Baroque exploring less-often-heard baroque music. MOB provided a highlight of the musical year earlier this month with stirring performances of Monteverdi’s Vespers. And its penultimate season program was devoted to music of Henry Purcell Monday night at the Harris Theater. It’s heartening as well to see guest conductors leading MOB programs, a development that has been long overdue. Paul Agnew was in charge of the proceedings Monday and the Scottish tenor-turned-conductor proved an admirable advocate, directing the MOB Chorus in an evening centered on Purcell anthems. As pointed out in Jennifer More Glagov’s excellent program note, Purcell was in the right place at the right time, with the restoration of Charles II ushering in a new era for English church music. Rather than the previously required somber and ascetic style, composers were now able to write with a more open and varied approach under the enlightened regent. This was a natural for a man of the theater like Purcell who adapted quickly to the loosening of strictures in his church anthems. While these are still devout and serious works mindful of spiritual matters, the composer was able to cast the sacred texts in a more populist style. Agnew’s selection and ordering of anthems was intelligently chosen with instrumental interludes by the accompanying chamber sextet providing contrast. Each half of the program was, wisely, performed without interruption. If his expansive spoken introduction felt a bit like the British history version of Deuteronomy, Agnew proved a worthy advocate for this music. Leading sans baton, Agnew drew alert and expressive singing from the chorus, which he prepared for this program. Rejoice in The Lord alway made an apt curtain-raiser, with three solo voices leaning into the heart-easing opening phrases before the entrance of the full choir. Agnew consistently underlined the complexity of Purcell’s writing for divided voices, drawing out the striking, layered sophistication in I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live. Rather than smoothly blended choral textures, Agnew opted for a rougher, more rustic style that suited Purcell’s madrigal-like solo writing. That quality was most manifest in O sing to the Lord a new song, with a solo quartet led by the excellent bass Kevin Keys, who provided sturdy solo contributions throughout. With a dozen Purcell anthems over the course of the evening, at times one wanted a wider dynamic and expressive choral response to this music. The largest and best-known work of the evening, My heart is inditing, felt like a bit of an anticlimax–solidly performed but rather prosaic at the end of the evening. Still, the singing was largely committed and polished–some pitchy moments in Blow up the trumpet in Sion, apart. The stately beseeching of Remember not, Lord, our offences, was surely conveyed and the MOB singers were at their finest in Miserere mei, caressing the long lines in a hushed and atmospheric performance. The chamber sextet provided excellent backing as well as lending musical contrast with Purcell sonata movements. Violinists Rika Seko and Kate Carter teamed with cellist Matthew Agnew in an elegant rendering of Purcell’s Sonata V, and violist Elizabeth Hagen, organist Robert McConnell, and theorbo player Daniel Swenberg fluently filled out the ensemble.