Valentino Fioravanti
was born in Rome but studied in Naples
and did much work in that city. Of his
70-odd operas, Le cantatrice villane
(The Rustic Singers), a jolly tale of
Rosa, Agata and Giannetta, three country
wenches who aspire to be singers, a
lecherous music master, Don Bucefalo
and an equally unprincipled soldier
and would-be singer, Don Marco, both
with their sights on Rosa, and Carlino,
Rosa’s husband who, believed dead, has
come back to see what she’s getting
up to, has occasionally been produced
in modern times. Seemingly unaware of
more complex operatic developments in
Northern Europe, Fioravanti’s style,
somewhere between Pergolesi and Cimarosa,
is attractively melodious and sometimes
resourceful within its limits.
At least two names
will commend this reissue to opera buffs.
Alda Noni had that type of pert-sounding
vocal production with very brilliant
vowels projected well forward (today
a more rounded sound is preferred) which
may sound dated, but may actually be
necessary if the more virtuoso fioriture
are to be brought off effortlessly.
Sometimes this type of voice can be
harsh, soubrette-like, but Noni’s gift
was that she managed to keep her light,
bright timbre sweet.
The other two ladies
here are little remembered (Ester Orell
cropped up in RAI productions over the
next decade, not usually in leading
roles) but they are very good and favour
a similar type of voice production to
Noni’s so they make a well-balanced,
vivacious trio.
Not long ago I
reviewed Sesto Bruscantini’s 1949
performance of Donizetti’s Il campanello
and noted that his was a lighter baritone
at that stage of his career than it
later became, a fact confirmed here.
As a vivacious character performance
this is fine. Unfortunately he has to
perform some spoken dialogue in Neapolitan
dialect and, rather like a Londoner
trying to put on a Glaswegian accent,
if you can’t do it it’s better not to
try. My wife (from Calabria and an enthusiast
of Neapolitan theatre) has confirmed
to me that he can’t, but even to my
ears it wasn’t convincing. This is not
going to worry most of the international
public at whom the reissue is aimed,
obviously.
Franco Calabrese, mostly
remembered as an unfortunate Germont
alongside Callas, is game enough for
this sort of thing, as is Agostino Lazzari,
a light tenor who appeared in countless
RAI productions through to the 1960s.
The Naples "Alessandro
Scarlatti" Orchestra was a chamber-sized
band intended for the revival of this
sort of repertoire, but it never drew
upon the best of Italian players, sour
wind intonation offsetting some good
articulation by the strings. But Mario
Rossi has a firm and lively hand, ensuring
that the overall effect is greater than
the sum of its parts. Nowadays we might
expect a smaller group and a harpsichord
continuo, and maybe authentic instruments
too, but we might still be the losers
if the conductor hadn’t Rossi’s sense
of theatrical continuity.
The recording has some
distortion in the louder passages but
it is acceptable for its date. We get
a useful note and a synopsis in English
and Italian; as throughout this series,
we get the libretto but in Italian only.
We are told that the opera is given
in a concert adaptation but I have no
idea how much cutting this has entailed.
An interesting peep
into Italian opera in the late 18th
Century, and into the manner of its
revival some fifty years ago.
Christopher Howell
Orchestra di Napoli dell’Associazione "Alessandro
Scarlatti"/Mario Rossi 