Since it first appeared in 1724,
Giulio Cesare
has been one of Handel’s most popular operas. It has also been
the one that our modern age has taken to most readily. One of the very
first Handel operas to be resurrected in the 20
th century,
it’s by some way the most recorded of all of them. When you compare
it to the musical riches of some of the composer’s other Italian
operas I admit that I sometimes struggle to see exactly why it is
Cesare
that has gained the precedence. Perhaps it’s the larger than life
cast of characters and the fully drawn personalities, especially the
complex figure of Cleopatra. Anyway, it was surely inevitable that at
some stage
Giulio Cesare would come to be recorded by Alan Curtis
and Il Complesso Barocco as part of their ever-expanding series of Handel
operas. Happily, the final result sits comfortably and confidently alongside
Curtis’s other Handel discs, as well as with other recordings
of the work.
As with most of the Curtis recordings, it’s the integrity and
quality of the instrumental playing that strikes the ear first. Handel’s
Sinfonias come across as fresh and newly minted in his hands with Il
Complesso Barocco’s characteristic sharpness of attack and clarity
of sound, helped by their small forces.
Cesare has more than
the average number of instrumental interludes, including multi-part
sinfonias in the second and third acts. The quality of the orchestral
playing means that your attention never wavers during these moments
- if anything I came to look forward to them. The various instrumental
obbligatos are all exceptionally well played too, such as the horn in
Cesare’s
Va tacito e nascosto or the violin in
Se in
fiorito ameno prato.
If the instrumental performances provide the fertile soil for the set,
then the singing is a knockout display of Baroque virtuosity from everyone
involved. Curtis tends to work with singers that he knows well and with
whom he has developed a high level of relationship; it shows here. Having
recently collaborated with Karina Gauvin and Marie-Nicole Lemieux for
the album
Streams
of Pleasure, it is natural and delightful to see them return
as the two leads in this set. The first thing that you notice about
Lemieux’s Caesar is the rich, throaty depth to her voice, adding
masculinity to her portrayal of the Roman leader and deepening the sense
of his heroism. Lemieux uses her exciting coloratura with psychological
insight and, importantly, accuracy. This can be heard in the heroic
numbers such as
Empio, dirò, tu sei and the enormously
exciting
Al lampo dell’armi. However, the voice is wonderfully
sensual for the love music with Cleopatra, most especially a beautiful
“Parnassus” scene at the start of Act 2. Karina Gauvin’s
Cleopatra is well contrasted next to her. Where Lemieux is masculine
and heroic Gauvin is all feminine sensuality; even more than that she
charts the character’s development from brittle immaturity through
suffering to knowledge. She is appropriately skittish as she mocks Ptolemy
at the outset, but she turns this into heart-melting seductiveness in
V’adoro, pupille. Her two laments are bewitching, especially
Se pieta di me non senti. The confident bravura of her final
Da tempeste comes across as a consummation of the character’s
newly found maturity rather than display for its own sake.
Romina Basso’s Cornelia is of a similar pitch to Lemieux’s,
but in this case she uses the voice to evoke wounded femininity. Her
character is serious and injured - she spends the whole opera recovering
from the news of her husband’s murder - so Basso’s portrayal
is a world away from the sexuality of Cleopatra. Instead she has Cornelia
sing with dignified beauty, especially in the remarkable
Cessa omai
di sospirare, but she also evokes wounded impotence in her early
Priva son d’ogni conforto. As her son, Emöke Baráth
is brighter and more unbridled. She brilliantly evokes Sesto’s
youthful impetuosity and - often - his lack of common sense. The highlight
is a beautiful
Cara speme but even this is shot through with
naivety, and her progress to adulthood is well depicted. Filippo Mineccia,
the only counter-tenor in the cast, uses his voice to emphasise his
role as the villain and to underline Ptolemy’s otherness and treachery.
It lends his arias a slightly chilly tone that works very well. Johannes
Weisser is also a very effective Achilla, rich and resonant with a touch
of villainy that is none the less redeemable.
As always, though, it is Curtis that holds the whole show together.
He approaches this, as with his other Handel recordings, with fresh
eyes and ears so as to reawaken us to how effective this opera can be
for our own time; not just for Handel’s. This recording made me
marvel all over again at the psychological penetration of Handel’s
music. His understanding of human nature remains remarkable nearly 300
years after his time. Amongst Handel’s treasure box of humanity
this opera gives us remarkable studies of souls falling in love (or
lust), the corrupting desire for power, or the capacity of the human
heart for self-deception. Curtis reveals all of these things, and more,
with freshness and revelatory clarity, buoyed up by faultless musical
standards.
With this Handel opera more than with most, we come up against the issue
of comparisons. The CDs that have impressed me most in recent years
have been those by
René
Jacobs and Mark Minkowski. There have also been some tremendously
insightful DVD productions, most notably from
David
McVicar at Glyndebourne and
Francisco
Negrin in Copenhagen. This one is at least capable of holding its
own alongside them. More significantly for collectors of Curtis’s
Handel, though, this set can look in the face any one of its companions
in the series. My own favourite is still Curtis’
Alcina,
mainly because it’s a better opera given a truly remarkable performance.
This won’t put anyone off this
Cesare which takes its place
alongside the best. Full texts and translations are included in the
accompanying booklet.
Simon Thompson 
