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Reviewer: Barry
Brenesal Cuthbert Girdlestone, who wrote the only full-scale musico-biography in English of Rameau, was unequivocal in his opinion of Dardanus: “[It] contains more first-rate music, and of greater variety, than any other work of Rameau’s except perhaps Les Fêtes d’Hébé.” This, however, was not the opinion of the majority of the original audience of nobility and their various circles, on November 19, 1739 or at successive performances. Some attendees were among the Lullyistes, who accused Rameau of devastating dissonance, a complete lack of melody, and an overuse of the orchestra—so stuffed with music that for three hours none of the instrumentalists so much as had time to sneeze. To the other side were Ramoneurs, as their enemies punned them, from the word for chimney-sweep. They loved the composer’s works, and were determined to make the opera a grand success. In the middle were a vast number of people of whom it eventually became apparent they took little pleasure in the work. The quality of the libretto, at that point in time still very important to any opera’s success, was regarded as too complex and wordy, and the characters as superficial. A lengthy slumber scene in act IV for Dardanus with a chorus and ballet of dreams only slowed the action’s resolution down for no reason, and gave way to numerous caricatures in the press. Or, as Girdlestone caustically put it, “In the presence of such rubbish the question that comes to one is: how could any audience ever have accepted it? The answer is, as we already know, that no audience did….” Rameau, however, was not willing to let the matter go. It’s seldom remarked but true, that while he was loudly and completely obstinate regarding his acoustical theories, when it came to his music he was more than willing to recompose material that proved unsuccessful. So it proved with Dardanus. Charles-Antoine Leclerc de la Bruère, its librettist, was convinced to work on a rewrite with the aid of the abbé Pellegrin, who had written the text to Rameau’s first opera, Hippolyte et Aricie. Rameau in turn pressed for ruthless pruning. Contents that slowed or stopped the original opera, allowing for its many dances, airs, and full ballet sequences, were to be cut down or cut out. The last three acts in particular were subjected to an overhaul that removed much which had been beautiful but judged as both ridiculous and halting of the work’s momentum. New music, much shorter and fitted to grimmer circumstances, replaced the older; and the greatest gain of all was Dardanus’s new prison scene, “Lieux funestes.” This heavily revised Dardanus was premiered on April 23, 1744. It was a hit, and revived subsequently in 1760, 1768, 1771, and 1784. The problem facing modern production teams interested in performing the opera are clear. On the one hand, the original version is slow-moving, illogical, and sometimes quite silly—de la Bruère was an aristocratic amateur author—but provides Rameau with opportunities to produce pieces of enormous variety and charm that are ruthlessly removed from the second version. The latter moves much more quickly, make better sense, and includes the remarkable prison scene. Any number of solutions are possible, and all three versions currently available on CD have chosen different ones. Marc Minkowski (Archiv 463 476-2) opted essentially for the first version with the addition of the prison scene and “bruit de guerre” that ends act II in 1744. Antony Walker (ABC Classics 476 5844) followed Minkowski, but added in act II, scene 4 from 1744 a scene between Dardanus and Anténor (with a bit of a lead-in added to act II, scene 3). Walker also removes the entire Prologue, roughly 25 minutes worth of excellent music, because, as he writes, it “largely sets a scene unrelated to the main plot.” Though musicologist Philippe Beaussant spends an enormous amount of space rapturously discussing what he regards as the highpoints of the score in this new release, he never finds a moment to touch upon the matter of edition. Pichon’s is in fact the 1744 version. This means compared to the other recordings that a pair of rigaudons are eliminated from act I, scene 3; a slow dance, from act II, scene 3; various pieces are shortened, and from act III through act V’s conclusion, the score is significantly different than those previously on record, save for the inclusion of the act IV prison scene. The singers are good overall, though of varying quality. Gaëlle Arquez, though catching more of the inherent drama of “Cesse, cruel Amour” than Véronique Dens (Minkowski), isn’t better in this respect than Kathryn McCusker (Walker), while at least on records having a rather steely soprano lacking any chest coloration. Of further value to Walker is his Teucer, Stephen Bennet, a rock-solid bass who hits the low notes better than Russell Smythe (Minkowski); while Alain Buet (Pichon), who lacks Bennet’s depth, also possesses a clear, wide pulse to his voice at all levels. Jean-Philippe Courtis (Minkowski) is an excellent Isménor, who finds the role a trifle low-lying at times, but has a distinct warmth of timbre and fast vibrato that are both recognizable and attractive: “Nos cris ont pénétré jusqu’au sombre séjour” is a fine example of his art. The brilliant upper register and ability to sing even its lowest notes makes Joáo Fernandes a close second, but Courtis brings considerably more interpretive attention to the part. Each is superior to Damian Whitely (Walker), who offers poor enunciation and intonation plus a nasal production. The Anténors of all three productions—Laurent Naouri (Minkowski), Paul Whelan (Walker), and Benoît Arnould (Pichon) are excellent, though I’m inclined to give the palm to Arnould. I’ve noted before that he can sing excellently, with an attractive tone, ornaments delicately, has fine breath control, and enunciates with ease—though there have been times in previous recordings (Rameau’s Zaïs and Campra’s Tancrede come to mind) when he tries to express emotion in a typically verismo fashion, by tightening his vocal chords and sending himself off-pitch. Not so, here—both “Mars, Bellone,” and “Princesse, après l’espoir” show what he can accomplish at his best. Once again, Pichon scores with his Vénus, Sabine Devieilhe. She’s one of those very bright, almost soubrette-like French sopranos in the lower range, whose tone glows and warms as it rises. With fine control of dynamics, she easily bests Penelope Mills (Walker) who is acidic, and Mireille Delunsch (Minkowski) who is simply difficult to hear and makes no real impression. Note that the Vénus of Walker is almost non-existent without the Prologue, and Cupid isn’t even mentioned in Walker’s recording. Françoise Masset (Minkowski) does a fine job with the part, but she’s up against Emmanuelle de Negri (Pichon), which is casting a very small part from very great strength: a lyric with the power and range of a first-rate Medea. Some may in fact find it a bit much for the role, but “Je veux que sous” is Cupid in an almost martial aspect, the god using his power in wrathful aspect to banish Jealousy, Suspicions, and Troubles from Vénus’s domain. Each of the three recordings has a splendid Dardanus; and if Paul Agnew (Walker) is the most interpretatively telling, and John Mark Ainsley (Minkowski) restrained yet lyrical, Bernard Richter (Pichon) is the most uninhibited in “Lieux funestes,” with a bright, youthful top employed to great advantage, that nevertheless remains stylistically on target. Forced to choose among them, I would opt for Agnew, but it would be extremely close, considering how expressive a personality Dardanus is. Of the three conductors, I find myself preferring Minkowski. Nearly everything is treated much alike among the three, but both Walker and Pichon push fast tempos a bit too much on occasion, and “Lieux funestes” in particular under Pichon loses some of its tragic edge when the clashing seconds and enharmonic shifts move by too swiftly. Ensemble Pygmalion is fully up to the challenge of this extremely complex work. The recording dates from a pair of performances on stage at Versailles in 2012, and only occasionally brings this fact to mind. The engineering, however, emphasizes the treble, and seems somewhat dry and lacking in resonance in the bass. So where
does this leave us? I can no longer claim, as I did in 2008 when reviewing
Walker, that “Minkowski wins by a Prologue.” But I can also state that the
musical differences between the versions recorded by Minkowski and Pichon
are great enough that despite the addition of the 1744 prison scene to the
former, in much of the latter half of Dardanus these conductors present very
different works. If you must have one, I think Minkowski has the better
all-around cast, and conducts with more weight where something darker and
more dramatic is required, but Pichon has tremendous energy, and a fine
group of singers at his disposal. | |
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