Aníbal Cetrangolo is not only the director of the Ensemble Albalonga‚ he is also an expert on the Italian composer Giacomo Facco who fetched up at the Spanish court in Madrid in 1713. Facco had already composed three operas for the viceregal court in Sicily‚ and it was not long before he was collaborating with Spanish composers on operas for important events at the court of Philip V. The libretto for Amor es todo imbención was provided by the court poet José de Cañizares: it tells the tale‚ suitably modified for a court celebration‚ of Jupiter’s attempt to seduce Alcmena by adopting the guise of her husband‚ the soldier Amphitrión. Confusion ensues‚ and the intricacies of the plot and emotional chaos that arises provide plenty of opportunities for drama. In addition‚ the stage directions make clear the importance of the spectacular element: not only gods and goddesses such as Cupid‚ Neptune and Venus‚ but also allegorical figures such as Silence and Tranquillity‚ Night and Dawn‚ make timely appearances. Facco’s music is never less than interesting‚ and quite often inspired‚ notably in the two poignant arias sung by the increasingly distraught Alcmena‚ an enchanting echo song and a potentially beautiful dawn chorus. The recitative and arias are thoroughly Italian – with elements familiar from the operas of Alessandro Scarlatti‚ Vivaldi and Handel – but the eight­part choruses reveal that Facco was also well versed in the local Spanish idiom of the villancico. Cetrangolo claims this work to be the earliest extant Italian opera for the Madrid court; even if that is a matter for some dispute‚ it is clearly a piece worth reviving. What a pity‚ then‚ that this recording does it few favours. The performance has a certain amount of raw energy which works quite well at first‚ but becomes more irritating as the opera – in two acts‚ but with over three hours of music – progresses. For there is little sense of dramatic development or characterisation‚ and even less shaping in the singing and playing‚ which is just about acceptable but no more; probably the best singing comes‚ luckily‚ from Adriana Fernández as Alcmena. Then there are some really eccentric moments‚ such as when Amphitrión is driven to the verge of madness: the quirky realisation of his aria here would be enough to tip anyone over the edge. Almost every tempo feels wrong‚ and the pacing of the whole – even down to the gaps left between numbers – is so patchy as to be quite unsettling. As for the accompanying booklet‚ the Spanish libretto is littered with errors‚ with characters’ names often omitted‚ making a confusing story even more so. The text is presented only in Spanish and Italian – a detailed synopsis of the plot in at least one other language‚ French or English‚ would have been helpful. Cetrangolo’s intentions are admirable‚ but this is an opportunity lost: I would very much like to hear this work in a more polished and convincing performance.