Tasso's tale of Armida, the temptress with supernatural powers, used to attract composers, librettists and opera house impresarios by the dozen. Most settings turned out to be decidedly third-rate, prompting one to imagine some otherwordly depository of unperformed operas where all the Armidas sit around muttering ''Mirror, mirror, on the wall/Who's the fairest of us all?''. Gluck's setting is clearly in the first division, probably at the top of it, and Handel's Rinaldo has its fans. But also meriting a place in the first division is Rossini's setting, a highly individual piece written for the gala re-opening of Naples's fire-gutted Teatro San Carlo in the autumn of 1817.
The opera is typical of Rossini's Neapolitan work in a number of ways, notably the robust Tancredi-like candeur virginale of the writing for the crusader-knights; and the typically powerful showpiece final scene, written for Isabella Colbran, where Armida destroys her palace and rides off into the night with a chorus of Furies. But in many other respect's Rossini's Armida is excitingly atypical. Rossini had not previously gone in for stage spectacle or the extended use of ballet music (Armida is a prime candidate for video if the ill-luck that has dogged recent continental stage revivals ever lifts). Nor had Rossini previously attempted so explicitly romantic a subject, with sensual love music and all the Weberish (preWeber) diablerie of the Fury-infested Act 2 forest scene. In this sense, it is a slightly Jekyll-and-Hyde score about which Rossini probably felt as uneasy as some contemporary observers clearly did. What seems to have scuppered it in recent times, though, is its allegedly requiring five (in some versions of the story, seven) tenors for performance. In practice, as the present recording confirms, you can perform it with three by the simple expedient of doubling up the roles of Carlo and Ubaldo, who appear only in Act 3, with the Paladins' commander Goffredo and Rinaldo's rival Gernando, who appear only in Act 1. This doubling was used at the premiere in Naples in 1817, so it has Rossini's own stamp of authority on it.
It is a sign of the opera's general ill-fortune that, as far as I can recall, it has never until now been commercially recorded. Of course, copies have long circulated of a dim and truncated pirate tape of Florence's 1952 Maggio Musicale production with Maria Callas in the title-role; and for a time it was possible to acquire a pirated recording of a 1970 Venetian stage production with the 'Dutch nightingale' Cristina Deutekom as Armida. But that's been the sum of it to date. Happily, the Europa production, a part collaboration, it seems, with Treviso's Teatro Comunale, is a considerable success.
Certainly it is a set I found myself warming to more and more as it went along. There were, it is true, some early doubts. Armida's first entry, unusually, is in recitative, followed by a Quartet. Limp-wristed direction of recitatives being one of Scimone's occasional failings in the past, this performance didn't initially do much to lay that particular ghost. Nor is it possible to think Cecilia Gasdia as instantly alluring as Callas obviously is on that dim old pirate set. But Gasdia slowly takes charge and by the time we reach her big Act 2 number ''D'amore al dolce impero'' she is splendidly in command, singing with a degree of accuracy and spirit that almost inevitably eluded her stage rivals. (Deutekom was especially sketchy, often making bits up as she went along.) In the end, Gasdia's isn't an especially suggestive reading psychologically. Her Armida seems neither dazed nor vulnerable at any point in the great denouement; but her ability simply to sing the notes has its own allure and inevitably generates its own excitements.
The three tenors acquit themselves well, not least (happy chance) in the celebrated Trio in Act 3 where Rinaldo sees his reflection in the shield. Earlier, Chris Merritt is probably more persuasive as Rinaldo the soldier than as Rinaldo the lover (the writing cruelly elaborate) but William Matteuzzi is superb both as Goffredo and as Carlo, his stainlessly gleaming tone perfectly apt to the bright world of chivalric endeavour; and Bruce Ford, marginally darker voiced, is the perfect complement. The bass plays a smaller part in the action, but Ferruccio Furlanetto is very fine in a role originally written for the great Michele Benedetti, Rossini's first Moses.
In Rossini's day, the San Carlo orchestra was said to be the best in Italy; and, certainly, a further striking feature of his Armida is the importance of the concertante writing in the ballet music, and in the main body of the opera. Clearly, the re-opening of the theatre in 1817 was intended to be a red-letter day for everyone, including the front-desk orchestral soloists. Here Scimone's aptly named I Solisti Veneti come splendidly into their own. Initially it is the virtuoso horn playing of Simone Baroncini and Alessio Benedettelli that catches the attention. Then it is the solo cellist. Later clarinet, ottavini, and first violin excel. And then the solo harp, which Rossini uses, not mooningly in the Lucy Lammermoor style, but piquantly, with an almost Ravel-like intent. Scimone himself (whose performing edition this is) is most effective when the action is decisive and extroverted; erotic by-play often finds him pushing the music (and the singers) a bit too hard. By and large, though, his contribution is a most distinguished one.
Technically, the recording is excellent: good, clean sound in a pleasantly open acoustic. I was happier with the placing of the off-stage trumpets in Act 1 than that of the chorus in Act 2. Here the chorus acts briefly as protagonist and their scenes in this recording are lacking in real impact. Not all the editing is entirely unobtrusive and I seriously deplore the distributors, Koch International, allowing the set into the UK without either a synopsis of the action or a translation of the Italian text into English. Those who have the Deutekom discs will already have full text and translation but that is no help to newcomers to the opera. This major blemish apart, the set has much to recommend it.'