Purcell's songs are receiving considerable attention from record companies at present: ''Mad Songs'' from Catherine Bott (L'Oiseau-Lyre, 2/93) re-releases of the unmistakable Alfred Deller (on Harmonia Mundi Musique D'abord) and a high profile disc from Drew Minter (Harmonia Mundi, 1/93) to name only the leaders. Now we have another release of Purcell's posthumous collection ''Orpheus Britannicus'', following Jill Feldman's lavishly produced equivalent (Arcana, 1/93). Both come complete with similarly-styled protective card covers, top quality paper for commentary and texts, with both sets of notes expertly written by James Holman. Happily the affinities end here: of the 21 numbers on each disc, there are only nine songs common to both.
Overall, Agnes Mellon's consistently voluptuous tone gives her the edge over Jill Feldman her sensuous vibrato, delicate decoration and soft vowels recall her notable contributions to the pioneering explorations of the French baroque at the hands of William Christie (Harmonia Mundi). ''Sweeter than roses'' seems unashamedly continental with its smooth phrases sailing into one another like penitential Charpentier. Dispensing with home-grown conceits in familiar repertoire can often reveal a composer's previously unrecognized compliance to foreign inflexion (relish, for example, the southern passion behind Jordi Savall's recording of six-part Jenkins, also on Astree, 2/92). This is certainly the case in some of Mellon's offerings but there is little she can do to make Bess of Bedlam ring true. The frenzied characterization required here to transport the quaint play on lunacy and irony to the listener is perhaps too indigenous and in this regard Feldman is the more persuasive.
Some will scoff also at Mellon's at times inaudible English. The Fatal hour, for instance, is likely to be less immediate to those who rely on 'faytal' to capture the doom-laden sentiments. But her own expressive response to Purcell's ''peculiar Genius to express the Energy of English Words'' is often fresh and deeply-felt and well worth the trouble of referring to the booklet for the odd indecipherable word. ''From rosy bow'rs'' is a gem of vocal phrase painting and ravishingly shaped. Christophe Rousset's realizations are robust throughout but often intrusive and texturally at odds with Mellon's light touch. Nigel North's archlute serves Feldman better over a long period but Rousset's keenly articulated solo 'interludes' add an element of diversion to an already attractive recital.'