I'm afraid I can't summon up much enthusiasm for either of these recordings. Orfeo is directed by Trisha Brown, who naturally brings a choreographer's eye to the staging. Roland Aeschlimann's otherwise unadorned set is dominated by a disc that turns into the sun: tellingly, when it moves into eclipse as Orpheus bids farewell to the world before his descent to Hades; bafflingly, when it is still visible in Orpheus's dialogue with Hope before the encounter with Charon.

Brown goes in for the hand gestures familiar from the work of Peter Sellars. They are often suitably expressive, but when combined with head movements the effect is distinctly strange. The nymphs and shepherds are clad in white jackets and unbecomingly baggy white trousers: they run about a lot, with the result that much of the first act has the feel of a rather manic school sports day. The oddest thing of all is the ending. Apollo descends to take his son up to the heavens, and they disappear from view; but then Orpheus reappears, to be killed by the Bacchantes. His death is indeed implied in the original printed libretto, but it is incompatible with the musical version that has come down to us.

Simon Keenlyside makes a fine hero, delivering a fluent “Possente spirto”, the virtuoso aria that charms Charon, and drawing on reserves of power in his outburst against “vile woman” before the appearance of Apollo as . Paul Gérimon, seemingly seated on a billiard table, is a menacing Charon, and Tómas Tómasson is even more cavernous of voice as Pluto.

The orchestra plays well and is well recorded: how nice it is for once to hear the harp distinctly in “Possente spirto”. But Jacobs has tinkered with the score: brass added to Hope's intoning of “Lasciate ogni speranza”, gamba improvisations to accompany Pluto. Even less forgivably, he changes minor to major when the Messenger finally brings herself to announce the death of Eurydice, the ensuing dominant seventh turning Orpheus's stunned “Ohimè” into mere sentimentality.

If Jacobs has tinkered with Orfeo, he has committed outright aggression on Calisto, which was composed, like most of Cavalli's operas, for the limited instrumental resources of a public theatre in Venice. Jacobs, with his disdain for “the purists”, cites the lavish orchestration of Cesti's Il pomo d'oro, written years later in quite different circumstances, as an excuse for beefing up the score.

Herbert Wernicke, who both directed and designed, takes the costumes and masks of the commedia dell'arte as the basis for a production with as many misses as hits. Maria Bayo is enchanting as Calisto, the young nymph who wants to die a virgin; and Alexander Oliver, with rosebud mouth and beauty spots, is hilarious as Linfea, the old nymph who wants anything but. It was a mistake to have Jove sing falsetto when disguised as Diana, and Dominique Visse sounds more like the Sorceress in Dido and Aeneas than a randy little satyr. Something has gone awry in Act 2, where a differently shot version of the start of scene 4, taken from the documentary, precedes the scene proper, some of the music therefore being heard twice. As for the subtitles, “Woe is men” may have a certain resonance, but it is not a fair translation of “Ohimè”.