When precisely the term bel canto came into use I have been unable to verify, though James Tyler in his notes claims that it first appeared in print midway through the last century; but the arte di ben cantare mentioned even before 1600 by Bardi, which was later to extend from recitative to aria, implied the very same qualities of beautiful tone, legato phrasing, command of expressive intensity, agility and flexible ornamentation. These requirements are conspicuously called for in the dozen arias by the four composer represented here—Monteverdi, his erstwhile chorister Cavalli, Luigi Rossi (regarded by his contemporaries as one of the greatest writers of vocal music of his day) and Carissimi, whose cantata Il mio core (which has a text of striking nautical imagery) in addition demands an exceptionally wide range from both the two singers.
Glenda Simpson displays admirable versatility in moving from the lyricism of Cavalli's Amara servitu (to which the strings, in this case fully scored, valuably contribute) to the mischievous comedy of the nurse in his Egisto; she handles her fioriture lightly in Carissimi's Bel tempo but sounds altogether too cheerful for the sense of the words ( ''Happiness left me when love lured me''). Andrew King makes the most of the poignant aria on a ground bass from Cavalli's last, and unperformed, opera Eliogabalo and the wistfully melodious Cor mio, in which the vocal phrases are echoed by the violins. (The instrumental playing throughout the LP is a particular pleasure.) As for Paul Elliott, I should have derived greater enjoyment from his stylish singing—florid in ''Quel squardo'' from Monteverdi's Scherzi musicali, expressive in Egisto's aria of disappointed love—had he not sounded so disproportionately loud: the level of his first entry after the beautiful opening ritornello in Rossi's lament of Orpheus on finally losing Eurydice comes as a distinct shock.
I have regretfully to add that a few of the text translations show considerable misunderstanding of the Italian.'