Barbara
Strozzi is a fascinating figure, musically and biographically
alike. As a composer she wrote works of great interest, leaving
aside any special interest which attaches to her as one of
those pretty rare creatures, a female composer in the Italian
Renaissance/Baroque era. Biographically, one feels that she
ought to have attracted the attention of biographers, or
even novelists – her near contemporary, the painter Artemisia
Gentilleschi (1593-1652/3) has, after all, been the subject
of at least three fictionalised lives, by Anna Banti (Artemisia,
1965), Alexandra Lapierre (Artemisia: un duel pour l'immortalité,
1998) and Susan Vreeland (The Passion of Artemisia,
2002). The outer events of Strozzi’s life are less sensational
than those of Gentilleschi’s, but fascinating nonetheless.
She
was the illegitimate daughter of Giulio Strozzi (1583-1652),
offshoot of a distinguished Florentine family and well established
in Venice as a poet; Monteverdi set some of his sonnets,
and he collaborated with Monteverdi, Merula and Cavalli,
amongst others. Barbara Strozzi’s mother was one of Giulio
Strozzi’s household servants. Her daughter seems always to
have been well-treated by her father; she was brought up
mixing amongst the cultural elite of Venice. Her musical
training was obviously extensive; she gained a reputation
as a singer – when Nicolò Fontei dedicated two publications
to her in the 1630s he described her as “virtuosissimi cantatrice”;
her performances as a singer, however, seem to have been
restricted to private occasions, such as concerts at her
father’s home or for select gatherings of the Accademia degli
Unisoni which he established. She studied composition with
no less a master than Cavalli and her first volume of compositions
was published in 1644. Others followed, the sequence coming
to a close with the Op. 8 Arie of 1664. In total she
published over a hundred and twenty pieces, most of them
secular in nature; her Sacri musicali affetti of 1655
is the chief exception.
Some
accounts of her – largely based on one contemporary satire – have
depicted her as a kind of courtesan but, even though she
did have three children by an older married friend of her
father - Giovanni Paolo Vidman – there is little evidence
to justify this assumption. There is much fascinating information
in two articles by Beth L. Gilson in Musical Quarterly,
Vol. 81, 1997, pp.311-335 and Vol.83, 1999, pp.134-141. These
supersede the entry in the New Grove. Candace A. Magner has
contributed a valuable piece, ‘Barbara Strozzi: A Documentary
Perspective’ to The Journal of Singing, Vol.58, 2002.
As
a composer one of the most striking things about Barbara
Strozzi is the care and attention she gives to the texts
of her many vocal compositions. The fact that as a performer
she was confined to the domestic sphere – rather than performing
in church or theatre – perhaps made her particularly sensitive
to the possibilities of an intimate relationship between
words and music. No doubt the influence of her poet-father
counted for something here, too.
It
is in her vocal works that Strozzi is heard at her best and
most individual. This present CD gives us the chance to hear
her vocal writing in several different moods. ‘Finche tu
spiri, spera’ is an anguished setting of words by Rottillio
Lepidi, expressive of the pains of the unhappy lover. ‘Bel
desio che mi tormenti’ is an elegant love song, rather lighter
in tone; ‘Costume di grandi’ sets words by her father, moral
advice about the lies and flatteries of lovers and of the ‘great’.
Giovanni Pietro Monesi provides the words for ‘Apresso ai
molli argenti’, full of unexpected chromaticism and richly
expressive. Much of Strozzi’s best work is to be found in
her laments, such as this last. ‘Il Lamento: Sul Rodano severo’ is
a powerful piece, occasioned by the execution of Henri d’Effiat,
Marquis de Cinq-Mars and favourite of Louis XIII of France,
for his part in a plot against Cardinal Richelieu. Strozzi’s
composition, sometimes referred to as the ‘Lamento del Marchese
Cinq-Mars’, is a powerful and memorable work, nowhere more
so than in its remarkable conclusion, with the rapid reiteration
of a single chord in the continuo accompaniment. In ‘Lagrime
mie’, which sets words by Pietro Dolfino, we are back with
an unhappy lover, but the conventionality of Dolfino’s text
is not reproduced in Strozzi’s striking setting, full of
unexpected melodic and harmonic twists and turns and genuinely
moving.
Strozzi’s
music is gradually getting more and more attention and some
of these works have already been recorded more than once.
Others, I think, are getting their first recording here.
The performances are assured and intelligent, the recorded
sound rich and clear. Cristiana Presutti has a full, even
heavy, voice which does full justice to the emotional substance
of much of Strozzi’s writing; there are one or two places
where a little more agility, a little more variety of tone,
wouldn’t have gone amiss, but there is a great deal to enjoy
here. The instrumental accompaniment perhaps lacks the sheer
zing that we have now come to expect from the very best Italian
ensembles in music of this period but, again, this is a minor
reservation in the face of such richly enjoyable music-making.
Not a bad place to start if you don’t know Strozzi’s work;
another CD to add to your collection if you are already an
admirer of her work.
Glyn Pursglove
Ensemble Poïésis:
Christiana Presutti (voice); Martin Bauer (viola da gamba);
Angélique Mauillon (harp); Hager Spaeter-Hanana (cello),
Odile Edouard, Benjamin Chénier (violins); Marion Fourquier (harp,
director) 
