Operatic fashion in Paris changed a good deal between 1737, when Rameau’s Castor et Pollux was first given, and 1754, when he presented the revised version recorded here. The allegorical prologue, by now an anachronism, has gone, and a new Act 1 gives a clearer idea of what the opera is about; the new Acts 2–5 represent a compression of the previous 1–5. It isn’t merely a matter of cutting but also of rewriting in a more concentrated form. Several attractive numbers go, however, but some of them were worthily replaced. Rameau rewrote most of the dialogue, in a style that seems to me even richer, expressively, than it was originally.

There is a fine recording under William Christie of the 1737 version (Harmonia Mundi, 7/93); the 1754 text was however used for the 1983 English Bach Festival recording under Charles Farncombe, cited above. The present version, from Canada, offers the opera almost uncut, with a team of singers who, it seems, are mostly new to recording. The result is remarkably successful. Kevin Mallon has a good sense of how to pace the extended dialogue sections and control the dramatic unfolding of the work, and his feeling for Rameau’s tempi and the flow of his music is sound. What I miss is the forthright characterisation of the dances that some conductors (including the very capable Farncombe) provide: Rameau’s lines are so striking, his orchestration so vivid in these pieces that they ought to be more arresting (listen to the ‘Celestial Pleasures’ music at the end of Act 3, new to this version and far more imaginative in its invention than anyone else was writing at the time). Some of them seem just a shade tame. And the choral singing, which is subject to vagaries of internal balance, is also lacking in the definition, the incisiveness, that is needed in this French repertory.

There is, however, no want of intensity in the orchestral preludes; the beginning of Act 4 also has some fine playing (notably in the air for the Ombres heureuses). Castor is sung by Colin Ainsworth, a high tenor who slips easily into the haute-contre register, sweet and even in tone and often very expressive. The Pollux, Joshua Hopkins, shows a firm and focused baritone, not one of great warmth yet capable of passionate feeling, and he brings due weight to his fine plea to Jupiter in Act 3. Télaïre is sung by Monica Whicher, who brings much intensity to her big moments, notably of course the famous and moving air ‘Tristes apprêts’ (enhanced by beautifully controlled bassoon playing – the bassoonist distinguishes himself elsewhere too). Giles Tomkins brings due depth of tone to Jupiter, Meredith Hall the necessary power to the music for Phébé, and there is a charming contribution from Renée Winick as a follower of Hébé.

There is, to my mind, a rather more idiomatic approach and sound to the older recording. On the whole I wouldn’t advise trading it in for the new one. Yet this set has many good things, and it is heartening to have a performance of such quality and such feeling for the music and its mode of expression from a group of relatively inexperienced performers.