There was a time when Israel in Egypt was second only to Messiah in popularity among Handel’s choral works. Both are non-dramatic settings of texts compiled from the scriptures, so no doubt they seemed to many then to be the very models of Handelian oratorio. Today, however, when scarcely a Handel oratorio remains unrecorded and works like Jephtha, Theodora and Solomon have become more familiar, it is easier to spot Israel in Egypt for the experimental one-off that it is, since no other oratorio shows such a heavy imbalance in favour of choruses over arias and recitatives. Certainly Handel seems to have seen it as a miscalculation not worth repeating; after the lukewarm reception which attended its premiere in London in 1739 he quickly amended it by importing arias from other works, and when he revived the work in 1756 he replaced the first of its three parts with a new, largely pasticcio concoction.
Subsequently, the oratorio became known almost entirely by Parts 2 and 3 – ‘Exodus’ and ‘Moses’ Song’ – and gained justifiable popularity for its thrilling echt-Handelian choruses, as well as for typically tender moments such as the alto aria ‘Thou shalt bring them in’. The original Part 1 – basically the 1737 funeral anthem for Queen Caroline, minimally adjusted from ‘The Ways of Zion do mourn’ to become ‘The Lamentations of the Israelites for the Death of Joseph’ – was in the meantime consigned to obscurity, from whence it has rarely emerged, even in its independent state.
The first recording to restore Israel in Egypt to triptych condition was Andrew Parrott’s with the Taverner Consort and Players in 1989 (also, incidentally, the first to use period instruments). The present recording was made six years later in 1995, but for some reason has been held back from release until now. The two make an interestingly complementary pair. Parrott’s is a typical product of the British period-performance scene of the time, with a virtuoso, mixed professional choir delivering a brisk, lean and incisive reading, backed up by such stalwart baroque soloists as Nancy Argenta, Anthony Rolfe- Johnson and David Thomas. It is very accomplished, but in places it is underpowered and lacking in atmosphere.
The King’s performance offers something different. The spacious chapel acoustic cannot help but bring a greater grandeur to proceedings, of course, but the presence of a choir of men and boys also forges an unmistakable aural link with the English choral tradition – which one assumes is what Handel himself was attempting to tap into when he put in all these choruses in the first place. It works wonders above all for Part 1, the erstwhile anthem, which in these evocative surroundings begins, at least, to escape the torpor which its static, overwhelmingly slow choruses can create. The principal gain in Parts 2 and 3, on the other hand, is in sheer weight. True, there is less textural clarity than in the Parrott (the alto line sometimes struggles to be heard), but the hammerblows of ‘He smote all the first-born of Egypt’, for instance, though blunter than Parrott’s, are certainly mightier. The downside, inevitably, is a comparative lack of vocal precision in the choir; fast passagework, such as in ‘I will sing unto the Lord’, is clouded compared to the Taverner Consort, and the boys sound tired in ‘But the waters overwhelmed their enemies’.
Elsewhere, however, Cleobury shows a surer touch than Parrott in some of the less bombastic descriptive music; the orchestral breezes of the soprano aria ‘Thou didst blow with the wind’ are bracingly real, while good spatial separation among the violins lends such verisimilitude to ‘Their land brought forth frogs’ that you almost feel that one of the little blighters is going to plop onto your head at any minute. Cleobury also has a strong solo line-up, better matched than Parrott’s team, though for the latter the ever-stern David Thomas is surely more of a natural for the duet ‘God is a man of war’ than the more gentlemanly Stephen Varcoe.
On balance, my vote just about goes to the newer recording over the older, though both have their virtues. Perhaps I just prefer Cleobury’s because, in its honest and straightforward way, it somehow sounds less ‘studio-ey’. But it is worth pointing out that for those who (probably along with Handel) consider that all the best music resides in Parts 2 and 3, and that we can therefore easily live without Part 1, a very strong rival exists in John Eliot Gardiner’s vivid and superbly executed performance with the Monteverdi Choir, recorded live in 1990.'