Max Emanuel Cencic, once dubbed by Tim Ashley ‘the cult Croatian countertenor’, brings his trademark mix of flamboyance and sensitivity to this largely uncharted repertoire. George Petrou’s Greek period band play with style and pizzazz. It seems churlish, then, to start with a serious gripe. But here goes. A prime requirement for anyone listening to these Porpora arias, most of them recorded for the first time, is some dramatic context. Nicholas Clapton provides a decent note on Porpora’s writing for the voice, with interpolated comments from Cencic. But on character and plot there’s not a word. While we might infer that Agamemnon is railing against the High Priest in a ferocious aria from Ifigenia in Aulide, we’re told nothing about the predicaments of these mythical heroes, whom they are addressing in their arias and, not least, why.

Still, once you accept this as a vocal concert trading on a range of generalised Baroque affects, you can settle down to enjoy the power, brilliance and sheer technical security of Cencic’s singing. With their reams of lung-stretching roulades, Porpora’s arias – many of them written for the castrato stars Farinelli and Senesino – are often in danger of sounding merely mechanically flashy. Even with Cencic’s virtuoso swagger (has any countertenor ever matched his breath control?) and the band’s coruscating energy, strumming theorbo to the fore, a number such as the bellicose ‘Destrier, che all’armi usato’ from Poro comes across as an extended vocal workout. But Cencic, with his (for a countertenor) unusual depth of tone, always characterises as vividly as Porpora’s music allows, whether in the spitfire coloratura of the Ifigenia aria or the muscular defiance he brings to a horn-fuelled aria from Enea nel Lazio. His embellishments in da capos invariably sound apt, with virtuosity tempered by elegance. Unlike the often exciting Franco Fagioli in his all-Porpora recital (Naïve, 12/14), Cencic never goes over the top.

Amid all this high-testosterone bravura, the relatively few reflective arias, all of them musically rewarding, come as welcome oases. Phrasing broadly and tenderly, Cencic is at his most dulcet in a gentle, flute-coloured siciliano from Filandro and Teseo’s touching prayer to Neptune from Arianna; and, abetted by the band’s precisely coloured accompaniments, he finds an aptly plangent quality for a lament from Meride e Selinunte and the fearful ‘Va, per le vene il sangue’ from Il trionfo di Camilla. Just don’t ask who, or what, has prompted all this agonised emoting.