Love Is Blindfolded, Listening Is a Pleasure

I open this blog of mine with the review of a boxed CD set that "intriguing" barely begins to describe.

It is the first complete world-premiere recording, released by Glossa and produced by the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis together with the Hochschule für Musik FHNW, of José de Nebra's Vendado es amor, no es ciego, a zarzuela composed in 1744 that survives in an autograph copy held in the library of Saragossa Cathedral, together with two versions of the libretto by the playwright José de Cañizares (considered the creator of the Spanish Baroque literary genre known as the Comedia de magia), and until now recorded only in excerpts.

An intense and decidedly successful work of recovery, one that reveals to a wider public the beauty of a musical genre little known to most, yet one that represents the popular musical art form performed in Spain between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries, with fluctuating fortunes.

The structure of a zarzuela alternates spoken scenes with dances and genuine musical numbers, among which the fandango preceding the finale is often the best known and most popular part.

In the present recording, overseen by Alberto Miguélez Rouco, who temporarily set aside his countertenor's garb to don, with remarkable flair, conviction and well-earned success, that of the conductor of the Baroque orchestra Los Elementos, the spoken parts of the narrator were entrusted to the actor and voice-dubber Javier Dotú, the Spanish voice of Pacino, Hoffman, Sellers, Aykroyd, Delon and Spacey, to name only a few.

Practically a guarantee.

The libretto borrows elements from classical myth, adapted and reworked in the taste of the age, weaving a plot of love and divine vengeance destined to resolve in a happy ending — precisely because love is blindfolded, yet sees perfectly well when it comes to letting the purest feeling triumph.

From a purely musical standpoint, the Vendado is pleasure in its purest state.

De Nebra owes something to the masters of the period, and in my view there are unmistakable Vivaldian echoes (Don Antonio died in Vienna in 1741; the Vendado, as noted, was first performed in 1744) that are quite pronounced at various points in the work. The more attentive listener will perceive them already in the Obertura and the Minués that open the zarzuela.

On the whole, it is a score that is a great pleasure to listen to, and its two hours of music pass in a particularly agreeable way.

It had also been a long time since I last heard a recording so well put together in every respect, considering too the already-mentioned work of recovering the score and the critical spirit in which the project was conceived, as is evident from the notes in the booklet accompanying the box set, available in the three customary languages: English, French and German.

The orchestral ensemble Los Elementos proves compact (credit also to leader Claudio Rado) and particularly well-blended, kept in fine order by the aforementioned Rouco.

The cast (made up of very young and extremely well-prepared singers, a further pleasant surprise of this recording) performs the zarzuela in a convincing and passionate manner, delivering moments of genuine inner delight.

The role of the shepherd Anquises is performed by Giulia Semenzato, whom I have followed since her first recording, and whose extraordinary — indeed, as luminous as it is powerful — voice leaves me enchanted as always.

The second-act aria, Batalla con mi pecho, during which Semenzato literally duels with the brass (winning the contest), is something highly evocative, and it brought to mind a key scene from Gérard Corbiau's film Farinelli, which readers will probably remember.

Most delicate and sweet is the Eumene of Alicia Amo, a soprano already directed by Adam Fischer, René Jacobs, Andrea Marcon and Pablo Heras-Casado, who brings to the role the expressiveness and corresponding sweetness one expects.

The French mezzo-soprano Natalie Pérez (Venus) struck me in particular for the nobility of her voice and for its richness combined with considerable power.

Then again, coming from the Jardin des Voix of Les Arts Florissants is, in itself, a guarantee.

Very solid and assured is the Diana of Eva María Soler Boix, formerly a student at the Schola Cantorum Basiliensis and of Rosa Domínguez.

Well matched are the two graciosos (the zarzuela's comic, non-dramatic roles), entrusted to the voices of soprano Amalia Montero Neira (Brújula) and baritone Yannick Debus (Títiro).

I therefore recommend listening to it most warmly, hoping that in the near future other scores similar to the Vendado may be rediscovered and brought to the attention of a wider public, with the same critical spirit and enthusiasm that Rouco and Los Elementos have brought to the making of this wonderful recording.