Monteverdi’s first music drama was performed for his Gonzaga patrons in Mantua on February 24, 1607. In his illuminating booklet-note, Professor Tim Carter regards L’Orfeo as the first great opera. Few would quibble with that verdict, but it is surprising how rarely it has been recorded in a fully fledged operatic style that sounds as if it derives from a 21st-century theatre rather than a polished Mantuan palazzo. Instead of attempting an intellectual reconstruction, Emmanuelle Haïm presents a full-blooded reinvention of the opera that is firmly modernistic.

Haïm and Virgin Classics have assembled a cast that is primarily constituted of world-class opera and recital singers, and the overall result is even, cohesive and without vocal blemishes. Some sopranos featured represent the fading legacy of ‘authenticity’ better than others. Natalie Dessay’s forthright declamation as La Musica in Monteverdi’s exquisite prologue is emotive, but cannot eclipse Gardiner’s astute Lynne Dawson. In contrast, Carolyn Sampson’s fleeting contribution as a Nymph is gorgeously refined and elegantly poised, suggesting that she might make a fine La Musica if given the chance. Véronique Gens is a creamy Prosperina whose tangible pity for Orfeo makes her a very human goddess. Alice Coote’s Messenger provides the most compelling moment with a haunted voice full of eloquent pain. The title-role suits Ian Bostridge, and his thoughtfully considered singing effortlessly ranges between smouldering gestures in ‘Vi ricorda ò bosch’ombrosi’ and shivering disbelief when the messenger tells him that Euridice is dead.

European Voices incline towards a full-blooded operatic sound rather than a cool choral blend, although a slightly smaller body of singers might have emphasised the madrigalesque quality of the music with more intimacy. Le Concert d’Astrée serve as a linchpin that propels the drama forward with obsessive momentum. The pumping sackbuts during the introductory toccata indicate that the ensuing drama is not going to be dull, and Les Sacqueboutiers also provide a splendid regal entrance to a vision of Dante’s Inferno in Act 3. The strings produce ritornelli of magnificent sensitivity and resonating eroticism. I disliked Haïm’s excessive peppering of Monteverdi’s score with prominent and improvisational percussion bashing away in a manner that veers between a holiday in Tenerife and a street market in Marrakesh. Disc 1 ends with a presumably funereal solo drumbeat that sounds like a giant elastic band.

It would be condescending to the considerable achievements of Charles Medlam, Sir John Eliot Gardiner and Philip Pickett to simplistically describe Haïm’s work as the best Orfeo available, and anyone who owns those estimable recordings need not let them gather dust yet. But it is notable that Haïm’s performance has a much stronger Italianate sense than the comparatively English school that has hitherto dominated the discography, and her compelling perspective on Monteverdi’s opera certainly possesses a lively spirit that makes the listening hours fly by. Purists will be divided over the liberties Haïm takes, but her performance contains a wealth of musical interest, and I recommend it as a stimulating alternative to the fine pedigree of recordings that has preceded it.