Having caught the superb six-strong vocal group Cantus
Cölln a couple of years ago at the York Early Music festival, I
was looking forward to hearing this selection, recorded in the early
90s, of late Monteverdi masterpieces. The first thing to say is that
the recording, whilst very full-bodied and well balanced, was made in
the studio and given something approaching artificial reverberation,
presumably to give us the feeling of being in a spacious, church-like
acoustic. It is reasonably successful, though hi-fi buffs or those (like
me) who often listen on high quality headphones, may find the sound
a bit sterile and lacking in the last degree of atmosphere.
The second and much more important gripe, is the lack
of any texts or translations. I know it’s a familiar refrain these days
from reviewers, but the truth is that with these particular madrigals,
as much as any I can think of, the absence of the words robs us of a
major dimension of appreciation. Monteverdi’s response to his texts
is one of the revolutionary features of the music, and his subtle and
justly famous word painting is lost on us if we don’t know what he is
actually setting! Other budget series’ (Apex comes to mind) manage to
provide texts, and in Baroque and Renaissance vocal music it is, to
my mind, an absolute necessity. Hopefully, future incarnations will
redress the omission.
Enough of the carping. The actual performances are
truly excellent, with Monteverdi’s multi-layered settings, original
vocal colours and subtle word play all brought out with impeccable taste
and musicianship. The big, 15-minute setting of Lagrime d’Amante
that opens the disc has a sumptuous 5-part vocal texture and instrumental
accompaniment (plus interpolations) that cover enough dramatic contours
for a small opera. The beauty of the alternating 3-part soprano line
that opens Tu dormi is well realised, a mixture of dexterity
and extreme purity giving the music the desired ethereal quality. Monteverdi’s
new fondness for variations on ostinato bass models came from folk music
and instrumental improvisation. His madrigals constantly exploit these
practises. Thus we find in a piece like Ohime dov’e il mio
bene the composer delighting in splitting up the group into contrasting
sections, a highly virtuosic tenor line being set in dialogue with a
soprano duet, all superbly performed here.
In fact, there is not a dud amongst the performances,
and I can’t think of any better disc at budget price with which to get
to know these marvellous works. You can certainly but with confidence
on the artistic front and maybe, like me, go hunting for the texts from
libraries or the web. We really shouldn’t have to do it, though.
Tony Haywood
Gerald Hambitzer (harpsichord)