In 17th-century Naples, the delineation between church, palace and street music was deliciously and dangerously porous. This mix of sacred and secular is wonderfully played out on this set by L’Arpeggiata, which includes seven premiere recordings. Coming in at an hour and 44 minutes, though, there is a slight sense that director Christina Pluhar doesn’t know what to do with all this sonic treasure except slap it all on disc for us to enjoy. As a musicological effort, it’s commendable. Some editing, however, might have made for a more successful listening whole. The placement of Pietro Antonio Giramo’s Il Pazzo as the penultimate offering, for example, is strange: it’s far too late in the album to digest a cantata of this length.

From the impeccable booklet notes, we learn that these art and folk songs contain theatrical elements deriving from the commedia dell’arte. The mixture of Italian with Neapolitan dialect is particularly enjoyable, such as in Giramo’s La Pazza – now a madwoman – when the character shifts to Calabrian as she edges closer to losing her mind. And with fabulous lines such as ‘my heart is finely diced like cabbage’, it’s a hoot. There’s a carefree loveliness to the traditional tarantella Lo Guarracino, too. Speech-like song tumbles out of tenor Alessandro Giangrande like coins from a sack; it’s glorious. But my favourite voice on the album is that of Zachary Wilder. Check out his divine tenor in the Zefiro-like ciaccona by Andrea Falconieri. With supple, liquid lines such as ‘deh fa sereno il mio dolente stato, e fa felice il mio grave martire’, the listener becomes the bashful girl with fluttering heart he describes (well, at least, I do). Lots of other details scattered throughout the album delight almost equally: the pizzicato and bells in the joyous tutti celebration of Cristoforo Caresana’s La Pastorale, and the ticklingly delicate double consonants in the lament ‘Fenesta che lucive’ sung by Vincenzo Capezzuto.