Claudio MONTEVERDI (1567-1643)
Vespro della Beata Vergine (1610)
La Compagnia del Madrigale
Cantica Symphonice
La Pifarescha/Giuseppe Maletto
rec. Basilica di San Maurizio, Pinerolo, Italy, 2016
GLOSSA GCD922807 [64:58 + 58:46]
My first encounter with Monteverdi occurred while
I was a final year student studying History. I was doing a course
on Renaissance Venice, and our tutor suggested we look at some Venetian
cultural artefacts to give us a wider understanding beyond La Serenissima’s
politics. I think I was the only one in the class who decided
to look into some Venetian music, and I came upon a recording of Monteverdi's
1610 Vespers going cheap in HMV (R.I.P.). It was Andrew Parrott’s
stripped down 1984 recording with the Taverner Consort (review),
and it was unlike anything I’d ever heard. For me, up until
that moment, music began with Bach, and I simply didn’t know what
to make of this strangely beautiful sound world that was unfolding before
me. All I knew was that I wanted more.
For that reason, the Taverner’s recording will always be special
to me, and I love the fresh air that blows through all of his textures.
However, Giuseppe Maletto’s recording is the first one I’ve
heard in years that has stopped me in my tracks and made me go: “Wow!”
Even accounting for Parrott’s irreplaceability, I think
Maletto’s recording is now my new favourite.
The reason for that, and for the “Wow” factor, is that it
sticks out a mile in terms of difference of sound. Maletto’s
sound is luxurious and rich where Parrott’s was stripped down
and transparent, and I love the multi-layered approach he brings to
the texture. For one thing, this is a Vespers that isn’t
afraid to take its time.
You know right where you are with the opening Toccata, which has a wonderful
sense of splendour to it. No stripped-back tendencies here: this
is obviously a performance of many performers in a huge (but very well-recorded)
space, conducted with magisterial spaciousness by a sympathetic music
director. Some will already bristle at that description, but for
me it made the scalp prickle. Maletto - and, critically, the Glossa
engineers - have worked hard to create a sound world to bathe in and
to lose yourself in, and I loved it.
This sets the tone for a wonderfully rich reading of the whole set.
The large scale of the performance (and the acoustic) means that
the listener can repeatedly plug into the sense of wonder inherent in
so much of the music. Yes speeds are, on the whole (but not always),
slower, but who cares when the effect is to give you a sound to luxuriate
in?
The Dixit Dominus, for example, revels in the sense of dialogue
between the soloists or small group and the bigger chorus, and the gorgeous
acoustic, together with the beautifully captured sound, makes for a
sensual, thrilling experience. It’s not an especially religious
one, but it’s very Venetian! The orchestra’s contribution
really helps, of course, especially the piping cornetti and magisterial
sackbuts, even crunching through some of the dissonances fearlessly.
This is a sound you just don't get elsewhere in this music,
or if you have then I haven’t come across it.
That’s true throughout the choral Psalm settings. The multiple
layers of Laetatus sum sound thrilling, and Nisi Dominus
is gloriously rich in sound and texture. The organ makes a big
difference to Laudate pueri while the vocal line is agile and
cultured. Lauda Jerusalem, especially, is underpinned
by a marvellously rich bass line which energises and strengthens everything
above it and gives everything a gloriously vibrant texture.
However, Maletto’s approach to the work’s structure accentuates
the difference between the assertive, diurnal Psalm settings and the
more intimate, nocturnal sacri concentus, and here it is the
solo vocal performances that thrill. Nigra sum is gorgeous,
sensuous, sinuous, as well it should be. The tenor soloist here
is fantastic, and crops up again and again in the solo numbers; and
not until I had finished my first listen-through did I register that
it is Giuseppe Maletto himself (the notes don’t specify, but I
assume that he and the conductor are one and the same). Duo
seraphim sounds strangely compelling in this company. Audi
coelum has a wonderful call-and-response effect with eerie tenor
voices, and the placing of distance works magically.
All the explicitly Marian music is saved for the second disc, launching
with a bright, glittering sonata. The Ave maris stella
is like a compendium on its own, with instrumental effects ranging from
lutes and strings through to recorders and beyond. The singing
is also lovely here, with an entrancing concertante effect,
switching from soloists to small groups to larger choruses. The
two Magnificats are every bit as encyclopaedic. I loved
the wind sounds in the seven-voice Magnificat, which moves
from aristocratic splendour through spicy cornets through to high-pitched
avian tootling. The balance of singers and instruments is excellent,
too. Furthermore, the juxtaposition of different styles through
which the piece ranges is never a problem, either. It feels like
a coherent whole, at the end of which I felt very satisfied. The
instrumentation is more limited for the six-voice Magnificat,
but the drama is not. Here it's the beautiful, sinuous
vocal lines that cast spells before your ears, and the blend of different
voices, together with the spatial differentials, is so beautiful as
to be almost erotic.
There is a long, scholarly booklet note which explains the performing
preferences with admirable clarity and, in fact, honesty, admitting
at one point that the choice of pitch is, in fact, “a modern compromise
without any historical basis”, but nevertheless explaining why
they felt it was the right decision. Texts and translations are
included, too.
That only sets the seal on what is, as I say, the finest, most joy-inducing
recording of the Vespers to have come my way in many years. No
doubt there will be others in this Monteverdi year, but if they come
close to this one in quality then we can count ourselves very lucky
indeed.
Simon Thompson
