Monteverdi states in the preface to his Eighth Book, Madrigali guerrieri et amorosi, ''I took the divine Tasso as a poet who expresses with the greatest propriety and naturalness the qualities which he wishes to describe, and I selected his description of the combat of Tancredi and Clorinda as an opportunity of describing in music contrary passions, namely, warfare and entreaty and death''. This, more than any other piece from the publication, heralds the novelty and excitement of Monteverdi's quest for action-packed realism. Although not published until 1638, the piece was produced for the Venetian patriarch Girolamo Mocenigo 14 years earlier and was, according to Monteverdi, received with ''much applause and praise''. That said, the lack of spectacle and scenery for a work of this dramatic force must have baffled a few observers. Visual imagery is drawn entirely from the fabric of the music and largely by abstract means (notably thrilling instrumental contributions) since the use of a narrator purposefully restricts a purely theatrical confrontation in the operatic sense. So as neither a true madrigal, an opera nor an intermezzo, Il Combattimento demands especially skilful handling to render plausible its hybrid, and at times awkward, dramatic vision.
Five recordings of this brief 'tableau' have appeared in Britain in the last 18 months, usually joined by a range of madrigals from the last two madrigal books or earlier balli. The three versions previously reviewed in these pages are all strongly characterized. Stephen Stubbs's Tragicomedia delivers an account of sustained momentum with the Testo (Douglas Nasrawi) rattling off his quasi-narrative with a raw energy which at its best puts this recording at the top of the list, and a worthy partner to the group's recent collection of madrigals from Books 7 and 8. It has, however, an unhappy way of reducing the range of effects, by rushing ahead, not taking time for reflection (a key rhetorical device) and bypassing high points. Peter Holman's direction with John Potter as the narrator is far more successful in its emotional inflexions and it is beautifully paced, though there is no question that the greatest rival to these current new releases is William Christie's mesmeric performance. The narrator on this occasion is less eager to impress and therefore able to contemplate the implications of his story-telling, letting the overall event breathe in a way which gives the performance an integrity of design.
Skip Sempe's approach is always fresh and challenging and it is not hard to admire a philosophy of musical performance which breaks down self-induced limitations: his Tancredi e Clorinda explores the free speech and passion which can be derived from restoring a sense of improvisation—of a type similar to that employed in the early seventeenth century. This work is perhaps not the universal success that most of the other items on the recording undoubtedly are. Although Sempe's 'casting' is carefully considered, the complete vocal palette puts the finer moments in perspective: Paliatsaras responds to the immediacy of Sempe's direction and also the intensity (one can almost touch the gleaming steel of the swords) but even a magical ''E voce e moto. Ahi vista! ahi conoscenza!'' does not detract from a whiteness in his sound which left me yearning for Guillemette Laurens's dark and brooding tone, three tracks before, in a wonderfully imaginative and spellbinding performance of ''Lamento d'Arianna''. The re-release of Nikolaus Harnoncourt's Il Combattimento reveals a similarly enlightened view but from a different angle. His performance from the early 1980s is full-blooded and, for the time, unconventional in its determined stand against purism. He wrote at the time, ''please do not fear vibrato, liveliness, subjectivity, hot Mediterranean air''. This dictum manifests itself here in a warm and cultured (if not exacting) string sound and a highly declamatory approach, underpinned by a lean but well-chosen continuo. Werner Hollweg is an operatic narrator who, when he sings in tune, is a fine exponent of the stylo rappresentativo. Like no one else, he and Harnoncourt conjure up in ''Notte che nel'' a sinister stalking sensation before blood is spilled. Only Trudeliese Schmidt's Clorinda is vocally disappointing. There are, however, many memorable moments on this disc including a colourful ''Ogni amante e guerrier''. Yet in the Il Combattimento stakes, William Christie and Les Arts Florissants are going to be a hard act to follow.'