Agrippina is Handel’s Venetian opera, composed in 1709 for the S. Giovanni Grisostomo theatre, where it was evidently and deservedly a great success; according to Handel’s first biographer, the audience were struck with the “grandeur and sublimity of its style”. Handel drew on its music, but he never revived it: its scheme, with a large number of short and lightly accompanied arias (often with only continuo until the final orchestral ritornello), is very much of its time and its place – that amplitude of phrase and structure and indeed emotion, what we regard today as his “grandeur and sublimity”, that distinguishes Handel’s operas from those of his contemporaries, had yet to come. Yet Agrippina is a very effective piece, if directed with due vitality (as it certainly is here), and it is full of appealing music in a wide variety of moods.
The plot is a typically Venetian, and largely fictional, account of an episode in Roman history, chiefly referring to the Empress Agrippina’s intrigues to see her son, Nero, on the imperial throne in succession to her husband, Claudius. There is a marked comic element as the two women, Agrippina and Poppea, manipulate the largely guileless men unfortunate enough to cross their paths; the characters, save the emperor and Otho, are unprincipled and self-seeking, which rather limits the opportunities for grandeur or sublimity. The big, near-tragic moment comes in Act 2, where Otho, in spite of his loyalty to the emperor and his devotion to Poppea, is universally betrayed, and left isolated on the stage as in turn the lesser characters denounce or dismiss him in brief ariettas and walk off: he then sings a passionate and poignant F minor lament (“Voi che udite il mio lamento”) which, in any good performance of the opera, is its high point. It certainly is that here. Michael Chance sings it magnificently, with great depth of feeling and beauty and evenness of tone. Chance is no less impressive in his other arias, for example the lively one that opens Act 2 (there is beautifully clear articulation), or the first of the pair that soon follows the lament – an exquisite piece with recorders, “Vaghe fonti” – or the gentle D minor miniature with which he opens the last act. The role of Otho was originally sung by a woman, and in principle should be sung by one today, but such a performance as this disarms criticism.
Any admirer of countertenor singing should be prepared to buy the set for Michael Chance’s singing alone. But in fact there are two other countertenors here who are well worth hearing, especially Derek Lee Ragin, whose high-lying voice and sensitive, thoughtful phrasing serve Nero’s music admirably. His last aria, a brilliant piece with colourful instrumental writing, as he renounces Poppea in expectation of the imperial crown (Monteverdians, of course, know that he gets both in the end), is breathtakingly done, fiery singing with very precise execution of the divisions. The third of the countertenors is Jonathan Peter Kenny as Narcissus, rather softer in tone and line, who provides some particularly musical singing in his aria near the end of Act 2.
Della Jones gives a masterful performance in the title-role. Her music is very varied in mood: there are several brief and catchy little pieces, which she throws off with spirit, but also some larger-scale numbers, such as the marvellous C minor aria near the end of Act 1 (although totally insincere in sentiment), which is done with great vigour, and the noble, invocation-like “Pensieri, voi mi tormentate”, another of the opera’s high points, to which she brings much intensity. Her commanding singing is ideal for Agrippina, and her occasional exuberant ornamentation (most of the cast are quite sparing of embellishment) is not out of place. I enjoyed, too, the spirit and the charm of Donna Brown’s singing of Poppea; she makes the most of a role with much lively and appealing music. Alastair Miles’s full and resonant bass – the part goes down to cello C – brings due weight of authority to the emperor Claudius; Pallas is done by a clean, lightish but nicely firm baritone, George Mosley, and Julian Clarkson contributes some very neat singing in the role of Lesbo. I almost forgot to mention Anne Sofie von Otter, who comes in as a dea ex machina at the every end, not to rescue the situation but to honour the marriage of Poppea and Otho – which of course she does in style.
John Eliot Gardiner has not recorded many Handel operas, nor directed many in the theatre. But of course he is a fine and very experienced conductor of Handel and he has a sure feeling for tempo and for the character of each movement. He keeps the secco recitative, of which there is a great deal, moving along pretty quickly while allowing the singers opportunity to convey its meaning – at one point in the middle of Act 2, for example, there is a stretch of very tense dialogue, done with considerable urgency and drama. The orchestral playing is beyond reproach (I was sorry not to see the individual players listed in the booklet). The text followed is that of the Chrysander edition which probably doesn’t correspond too closely to Handel’s own. This recording however, which was made in 1991-2, is comfortably among the half-dozen finest recordings of Handel operas, and has a much more powerful cast than its only competitor, on Harmonia Mundi, to which it is much to be preferred.'