Vivaldi claimed to have written over 90 stage works, but he may have been exaggerating. What is undeniable is that, much as we may marvel at the profusion of his concertos, which certainly brought him fame, he was most successful in his day as an opera composer. This, his very first opera, premiered in Vicenza in 1713, was an instant hit, and Vivaldi himself thought well enough of it to employ the music of one aria no fewer than five more times. The work was produced very simply, without special scenery or effects, and with modest forces – only five singers (one a castrato) and a small orchestra of strings, a pair of very economically used oboes doubling recorders, and continuo. The story – nothing to do with Handel’s Ottone, produced ten years later – is a relatively uncomplicated one by the standards of baroque opera, of amatory pretences and misunderstandings: it has been admirably summarized by Eric Cross (who has edited the work) as a “light-weight, amoral entertainment in which the flirtatious Cleonilla consistently has the upper hand, and gullible Emperor Ottone (a far from heroic figure) never discovers the truth about the way he has been deceived”.
The score proceeds in a succession of secco recitatives (with just a very occasional accompagnato) and da capo arias – which the present cast ornament very stylishly. There are no duets or ensembles except for a perfunctory final chorus in which the characters merely sing in unison; but there is an abundance of tuneful arias, and when Vivaldi can be bothered to write proper accompaniments to them – he often merely has violins doubling the voice, plus a bass-line (surely the harpsichord was intended to fill in the harmonic hiatus?) – he can provide interesting imitative counterpoint. Several arias employ only the upper strings without cello and bass except in ritornellos. It was not to be expected that Vivaldi’s first venture into opera would break new ground, but some features do grab our attention. He has a penchant for changing tempo within an aria to denote a change of mood, notably, for example, in the ornate bravura aria that ends Act 1, where furious violin semiquavers underlining Caio’s jealousy give way to a slow, grieving section, Cleonilla’s heartless “Tu vedrai” shortly after, and even more in the closing aria of Act 2, where the unhappiness of Tullia (disguised as Cleonilla’s page) finds outlet in an alternation of pathetic expressive harmonies and spirited agitation. There is an echo aria (the word-endings conveying a different meaning) with trilling recorders (their only appearances in the work); a quite lovely tender aria for Caio, “Leggi almeno”; an unexpected French-style aria in crisp dotted rhythm; and in Act 3, one aria with a big violin cadenza in the final ritornello (presumably for Vivaldi himself to play). This is brilliantly flaunted by Simon Standage, who also features with another (unnamed) violinist in florid duetting at the start of the sprightly overture, whose spring-heeled vivacity sets the tone for the orchestral approach throughout the work.
The small Vicenza theatre could not afford star singers, so only limited opportunities were provided for vocal virtuosity; but the present cast makes the most of its opportunities, both in display and in meditative mood. It is not always easy to tell the three sopranos apart, but Susan Gritton well suggests the scheming minx Cleonilla; Nancy Argenta with her bright voice has the castrato role that includes the fine arias mentioned, and displays a messa di voce in the echo aria; and Sophie Daneman, in a breeches role, produces a wide range of colour. Monica Groop slightly undercharacterizes Ottone (who is indeed a bit of a drip) except when roused to dismiss Rome’s anxiety at his dalliance. It is quite a relief to hear one male voice, and Mark Padmore is excellent, especially in his elaborate “Che giova il trono al Re”. Richard Hickox keeps a firm rhythmic hand on everything and delivers quite the best and neatest Vivaldi operatic recording yet.'