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Reviewer: Barry
Brenesal Castor et Pollux was Rameau’s fourth opera—his third in terms of performance, since his lost Samson, though rehearsed, was never staged—and his second tragédie en musique. It was first performed in 1737 at the Académie Royale, at which time it was a succès d’estime. It was revived in 1754 at the insistence of the directors, Rebel and Francœur. Much was revised, including a completely new first act to replace the allegorical prologue, which was no longer in fashion. The opera was dramatically tightened, with new numbers written and older ones shuffled about. The result was a triumph. In its new form Castor et Pollux continued to enjoy revivals through 1782. It was also a heavily edited performance of the revision that drew an enthusiastic newspaper response many, many years later from Debussy, and supposedly led to him crying out during its performance, “Vive Rameau, à bas Gluck!” On a musico-historical level these two versions present a mirrored perspective. In 1737, Lully (though dead) was still king of tragic opera, and Rameau was the challenger. The lullystes and ramistes argued incessantly at court, at salons, and in print over whether that upstart Rameau had more to offer than convoluted harmonies and an unneeded virtuosity imported from the Italians. Come 1754, and Rameau was king, being attacked in the celebrated Quarelle des Bouffons by some French writers and critics who saw nothing good in contemporary French opera, and everything splendid in lighter Italian works. On both occasions Rameau can be awarded the win, though in 1737 he had yet to fully convince his audience, and in 1754 had to deal with iconoclasts rewriting history. (Diderot, in his 1764 Rameau’s Nephew, insisted that several operas including Castor came “crashing down on you one after another, like a house of cards. And so Rebel and Francœur spurt and sputter with rage,” which was far from the truth.) On record, both versions have had their champions. Of particular interest in this latest recording of the 1754 revival is that its Castor, Colin Ainsworth, performed the same role in an album released 12 years ago under Kevin Mallon’s baton (Naxos 8.660118–19). At the time, Ainsworth was a strong asset to its cast: a tenor who enunciated clearly, was stylish in his ornamentation, and technically able to manage well (if not always shine in) the swift, difficult passagework of act I’s “Quel bonheur règne dans mon âme.” He was capable of a melting mezza voce and a forthright, martial declaration as required; and his production was even, from the lowest notes in his range to the highest. That’s not the case on this new release, unfortunately. For whatever reason—illness, overwork or vocal wear—passagework in the air mentioned above is occasionally slurred, and always lumbered in movement from note to note. Turns are still handled well, but the highest notes in the air are strained, and the lowest notes vanish. (The entire score is taken roughly a halftone lower, but that should have made the task easier for Ainsworth at the top end.) The sweet tonal quality found in the earlier version of the act V air Mais le bruit cesse has been replaced by a dry opaqueness. The vibrato has ever so slightly widened, and in far louder passages, such as the recitative beginning Peuples, éloignez-vous, the voice abandons any sense of a tonal center. It is a shame this has happened to such a fine artist, and I hope it represents only a temporary phase in a fine career. Castor’s brother, Pollux, was portrayed by Joshua Hopkins for Mallon, while Florian Sempey does the honors under Raphaël Pichon. Both are capable baritones with a dark quality to their respective voices. Sempey has a greater edge to his, and Hopkins the rounder tone. The latter also provides a rounder interpretation of Pollux’s character. In the act III invocation to Jupiter, “Ma voix, puissant maître du monde,” his enunciation is superlative, and you can really believe when he sings softly of his profound grief. The swell in his phrasing of the line “Castor n’est plus, et ma vengeance est vaine” is both ardent and technically immaculate. Sempey, on the other hand, uses an unremittingly fierce tone throughout his performance. His voice quivers with a nearly permanent sense of assertiveness. When he does set this aside, as on the words “et calme,” the effect is wonderful; but with “ma douleur profonde” he’s back at the head of his troops, despite the contradiction implicit in the text. There’s just not enough variety in his manner to convey so complex a musical personality as Pollux. Sempey also drops nearly as many notes as he sings in the air vif “Ah! Laisse-moi percer,” whereas Hopkins provides all the fireworks with hardly a misstep. The two Telairas are more difficult to choose between. Monica Whicher is the best thing in Mallon’s set, a fine lyric soprano with no fear of using dynamic extremes to make her expressive points. Much the same can be said of Emmanuelle de Negri, whom I enjoyed so well as Poyxène in Royer’s Pyrrhus (Alpha 953; Fanfare 38:1). Her tonal weight is slightly darker and heavier than Whicher’s, with a focused tone that is if anything more impressive. Mallon allows Whicher to take the mournful act II aria, “Trieste apprêts,” at a solemn pace, and she does it complete justice. Pichon, however, takes a chance and slows it even further, thus allowing de Negri to concentrate upon coloring individual words and phrases—at the expense of sustaining her tone in a manner that would expose the slightest flaw. The gamble pays off, in a performance that is commendable for its interpretative depth. As much can be said for the tempestuous “Éclatez mes justes regrets,” as delicate as it is violent. The fourth member of this love quadrangle, the Medea-like Phoebe, is played by Clémantine Margaine under Pichon and by Meredith Hall under Mallon. Hall is a soprano, rather closer to a soubrette in tone than a lyric, with a very French, brilliant focus to her voice. She sings well and ornaments excellently, but displays almost no sense of passion in this jealous, vindictive figure bent on utilizing dark forces to destroy everything in her path. Margaine, by contrast, is a dramatic mezzo with an alto coloration to her voice. She makes much theatrically of her air in act IV, “Esprits soutiens,” despite a tendency to switch mid-note into her chest voice—a late 19th century habit. She portrays Phoebe with vividness. Mallon and Aradia Ensemble perform spiritedly, and with great discipline. However, the lack of edge and accenting, and the instrumental balance (which greatly favors the strings), dull Rameau’s daring harmonies, and blur the clarity of his textures. Pichon and Ensemble Pygmalion, as briefly indicated above, take chances. Tempos are at once faster, and slower, not everywhere, but where it counts: in the aforementioned “Trieste apprêts,” for instance, and in the extremely slow, stark dead march that leads off act II. He phrases more flexibly to allow Margaine to express the vocal and emotional extremes to which Phoebe descends, and takes some of the war passages faster. His chorus is distinctly better, and that’s important, as the chorus functions as a fifth lead in Castor. It requires no stretch of the imagination at all to hear under his baton what the lullystes found so heretical in this opera when it first took stage in 1737. The
sound is close and well balanced between singers and orchestras in this new
release, while Mallon is saddled with engineering that keeps his singers in
a relatively distant perspective. Both recordings supply librettos, but only
Pichon provides an English translation. As it is, though, I can’t really
select one over the other. Ainsworth in the all-important role of Castor was
considerably better under Mallon, and Hopkins is both musically and
interpretatively superior to Sempey as Pollux. Yet Pichon can boast de
Negri’s magnificent assumption of Telaire, while Margaine has both the
theatrical and vocal dimensions of Phoebe compared to Hall’s merely vocal
one. Recommended, then, but for the eponymous brothers you’ll also want
Mallon. | |
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