JOLIETTE, Quebec — The Lanaudière Festival has a long history of playing host to headline singers. Cecilia Bartoli, Marilyn Horne, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Renata Scotto, and Shirley Verrett are some of the names that graced the marquee in the late 20th century. On July 26, the sylvan space outside Montreal added Franco Fagioli to the pantheon — in the main successfully, after the Argentine countertenor did a little settling down and warming up.
The recital was given under the rubric of “The Last Castrato,” this being a reference to Giovanni Battista Velluti (1780-1861), an Italian who was unfortunately not the last young singer to be victimized by soprano-affirming surgery but was among the last to enjoy a prominent solo career. The program was built accordingly of music from the Velluti songbook, including selections by such slenderly remembered note-spinners as Giuseppe Nicolini and Paolo Bonfichi.
Thus the onus was placed squarely on the artist, who in the first half seemed to be meeting his material (from Nicolini’s Traiano in Dacia and Bonfichi’s Attila) only halfway. To be sure, we could admire the steady vibrato and disciplined phrasing, but there was little to fire the imagination. It obviously did not help that Lanaudière supplied no printed texts or contextualizing program notes, leaving only Italian speakers with any sense of what was being lamented, extolled, scorned, or otherwise sung about.
Happily, Fagioli brightened his tone before intermission in a lengthy scene from Nicolini’s Carlo Magno. In the second half, we heard an aria from Rossini’s Aureliano in Palmira, which had a few listeners scratching their heads since it was patently an early version of “Una voce poco fa,” the celebrated showpiece for mezzo-soprano from Il barbiere di Siviglia. Interesting that Rossini could outfit an amorous Persian warrior (in Aureliano) and the crafty ward of Dr. Bartolo (in Il barbiere) with essentially the same music.
Finally came an aria from Andronico by Saverio Mercadante (1795-1870). It was clear from this selection that Mercadante learned from his contemporary Rossini the potential of the prolonged crescendo as an easy means of heightening tension. Fagioli was brilliant — high note included. The countertenor also produced some resonant lows. Was this his normal voice? It is the nature of fine countertenors to keep you guessing.
Very much part of the package was the Orchestre de l’Opéra Royal de Versailles, a funky-sounding original-instrument band of about 30 under the charismatic (not to say frenetic) direction of Stefan Plewniak. Adorned with lengthy, Louis XIV locks, this Polish violinist and conductor made quite an impression, especially when jumping up and down in place — an engaging, but impractical, means of maintaining a beat. He also applied high virtuosity (if subdued tone) to the Polonaise from the Violin Concerto No. 1 by Pierre Rode (1774-1830).
The Sinfonia from Rossini’s Tancredi is as close as we got to standard repertoire in the first half. After intermission we heard the Sinfonia from the same composer’s Aureliano, which became the future overture to Il barbiere as well as Niccolò Antonio Zingarelli’s overture to Giuletta e Romeo (mostly jaunty, despite the subject matter), and some innocuous ballet music from Rossini’s Il viaggio a Reims. Strings were nimble and winds produced striking sounds, including some pre-Gershwin clarinet glissandos.
One of the great pleasures of attending a concert at the outdoor Fernand Lindsay Amphitheatre in July is exposure to cool country breezes. There was not much relief on this occasion, either in temperature or air quality, the latter adversely affected by migrating smoke from wildfires in western Canada. “Limit time outdoors” was the federal government advisory for southern Quebec. Possibly some potential concertgoers took the advice. Scarcely half of the 2,000 seats under the roof were occupied.
Still, this was a half-full rather than half-empty experience. Applause was abundant. Two encores were forthcoming — Alsace’s cabaletta from Rossini’s Semiramide and Handel’s “Lascia ch’io pianga” from Rinaldo. The latter turned into an audience hum-along. Then the players exited, as they had entered, to the ceremonious strains of Lully’s Marche pour la cérémonie des Turcs.
All good fun. Good music? Hmm. Let me get back to you.
