To most people the term ‘zarzuela’ implies (if anything at all) the Spanish form of light operetta that enjoyed a huge vogue in the latter part of the nineteenth century; but in fact its history goes back another couple of hundred years, when it was all but indistinguishable from baroque Italian opera except by being in the vernacular and including spoken dialogue and some folk-dance elements. Auvidis have done us a considerable service by issuing this early zarzuela by one of the most famous and prolific eighteenth-century Spanish composers (with 68 stage works to his credit), teacher of Padre Soler and uncle of the keyboard writer Blasco de Nebra. The two-act Wind is the happiness of love was first produced in 1743 and revised nine years later: the present recording is of the version produced in Madrid in 1992 from the careful reconstruction by Alicia Lazaro, who provides a useful introduction (whose scholarship, unfortunately, is undermined by a musically ignorant and often inaccurate translator who renders, for example, “the continuo” as “the whole thing”).
Without the dialogue, replaced here by sketchy printed resumes, I found the complex and apparently inconsequential action incomprehensible; but it centres on the reluctance of the nymph Liriope to accept the love of Zephyr, since (prophetically) she fears giving birth to Narcissus, for the love of whom Echo will die. Musically the score is a treasure-house of fresh and appealing melodiousness, with inventive instrumentation, revealing Nebra (a composer all but unknown today) as a baroque master of outstanding quality, fully justifying the encomiums showered on him in his lifetime. From the striking opening, with its chorus cries of “Fire!” (the initial sung jacara is lost), there is not a dull moment. Highlights are two arias for Amor, one with soli horns, the other martial, with trumpets; a brilliantly bravura coloratura aria in Act 2 for Liriope (splendidly sung by Marta Almajano); a “turtle-dove” lament for Zephyr (inevitably with flutes); and a vigorous comic quarrel for two minor characters. There is an unusual number of duets, and even a trio; the accompanied recitatives have vitality; and the folk element is provided by a lively seguidilla just before the end of Act 1 and by a final contradanza.
Christophe Coin directs a distinguished performance by a remarkably fine all-female cast that does not have a single weak member and is admirably supported by a neatly stylish orchestra. The whole issue is a delight, certain of a place in my annual “Critics’ choice”.'