Christophe Rousset has been championing the revival of Lully’s “tragédies
lyriques” with a whole sequence of recordings of which this
release is the latest. In fact, “Amadis” made a break
from that genre with its dependence upon the mythological by adapting
it. This extended to including such innovations as the linking of
the prologue to the main action, magical events, demons and taking
as its subject the story of the 16th century Spanish chivalric Romance
“Amadis de Gaula”, simultaneously identifying Louis XIV’s
virtues with those of the tale’s hero. This sycophancy displayed
in both the dedication by Jean de La Fontaine on behalf of the composer
and the libretto itself by Philippe Quinault seems either somewhat
repellent or risible to modern sensibilities but “autres temps,
autres mœurs”. We need first to consider the context of
its era then judge the music on its own merits rather than take its
moral temperature. The opera enjoyed enormous success, being performed
regularly from its premiere in Paris in 1684 until 1772.
Some official commentators have been raving about this music; this
amateur reviewer is less enraptured but to express anything less lays
me open to the charge of a lack of musical sophistication and receptivity.
Nonetheless, I found that at two and three-quarters of an hour long
this entertainment contained more than its fair shares of longueurs.
Also the content itself can seem very stylised and stilted to a twenty-first
century listener. There is a constant emphasis upon the supremacy
of courage and honour in conflict with the demands of courtly love.
Strangely, I do not experience this reaction anywhere near as acutely
in Early Opera of the Italian school. Monteverdi holds my attention
because I find it much easier to identify with Orfeo’s grief
and to revel in the sensuality of the amorous duetting of Nerone and
Poppea than I am able to respond to the often very artificial posturings
of Amadis and his noble cohort. Yet there are moments of delicate
beauty where the vocal decorations intensify the emotional turmoil
of the character singing; the celebrated arietta “Bois épais”
is a classic example.
Lully’s music tends to be restricted to two main gears: passages
of noble grandeur in march time and bucolic skipping in dotted rhythms
with a lot of percussive instrumentation. Both modes can be highly
attractive, and one fairly straightforward and jaunty tune follows
another. There is also some plaintive, yearning music hymning the
power of love but the lack of variety can pall and there is a lot
of accompanied recitative. However, the thing that above all compromises
this enterprise for me is the tremulous, constricted tenor of Cyril
Auvity as the hero Amadis. He sounds more like a parody of bad French
singing rather than the type required, in the tradition of Gallic
lyric tenors such as Edmond Clément, David Devriès, Charles Friant
or Georges Thill. In truth, I derive no real pleasure from his singing;
others may find differently. The tenor singing the second demon disguised
as a shepherd – don’t ask - is also rather piping and
feeble.
One singer who really does make me sit up, however, is the rising
young French baritone - of Irish extraction, hence his name –
Edwin Crossley-Mercer, as Arcalaüs. This is a singer to watch –
or rather, hear. He has a beautifully smooth, rich voice and his crystalline
diction immediately enlivens any text he sings. I note that in a radio
broadcast of this opera back in 1974 the great French baritone Robert
Massard sang the other baritone role of Florestan. Crossley-Mercer’s
handsome baritone reminds me of Massard’s voice and he is thus
carrying forward the admirable precedent of big-voiced singers scaling
down their sound to accommodate the more intimate demands of French
Baroque opera.
The female voices here are uniformly attractive and the language poses
no problems, the cast being nearly all native French-speakers with
the exception of Dutch soprano Caroline Weynants who is slight less
at ease with the text. The large, vibrant voice of Ingrid Perruche
as Arcabonne is a particularly good match for Crossley-Mercer’s
baritone in their scene together as brother and sister that opens
Act II. In general the idiom is convincingly recreated without sounding
precious, successfully conjuring up the atmosphere of the court of
Le Roi Soleil. The small orchestra is made up of period specialists
skilfully playing authentic instruments in what we must assume is
the correct style, insofar as we can know these things. Lully’s
use of kettledrums and trumpets is especially typical of his feisty
style. Within the overlong fabric of the opera there are some established
highlights which have survived as concert recital pieces, such as
the aforementioned “Bois épais”, the equally brief but
highly dramatic aria “Tu me trahis”, very reminiscent
of Purcell, and the stately extended Chaconne which concludes the
work.
The booklet is lavish and attractive with a full French libretto and
English translation.
There have been to my knowledge only two previous recordings of “Amadis”,
so it is all the more to be regretted that the eponymous character
in this otherwise well cast and enthusiastically played live recording
is not more gratefully sung.
Ralph Moore
Cast & performance details
Amadis – Cyril Auvity (tenor)
Oriane – Judith van Wanroij (soprano)
Arcabonne – Ingrid Perruche (soprano)
Arcalaüs – Edwin Crossley-Mercer (baritone)
Florestan – Benoît Arnould (baritone)
Urgande – Bénédicte Tauran (soprano)
Corisande – Hasnaa Bennani (soprano)
Alquif, l’ombre d’Ardan Canile, un geôlier, un berger
– Pierrick Boisseau (baritone)
Un captif, un berger, un héros –Reinoud Van Mechelen (tenor)
Une suivante d’Urgande, une heroine, une captive, une bergère
– Caroline Weynants (soprano)
Une bergère, une suivante d’Urgande – Virginie Thomas
(soprano)
Chœur de Chambre de Namur
Les Talens Lyriques/Christophe Rousset
