San Francisco Classical Voice

In the world of music, there are Bach people and there are Handel people. It's not really a dog- or cat-people distinction, but more like the proverbial apples and oranges. Even those folks who love the musical fruits of both composers usually have a secret (or not so secret) preference. Those listeners who have enjoyed the musical offerings of Nicholas McGegan and the Philharmonia Baroque Orchestra, however, would know that McGegan is a true-blue Handelian. While he may tip his hat in respect to the creator of the B-Minor Mass and the Brandenburg Concertos, McGegan's vim and vigor don't really show themselves until Handel is on the stand. So it is hardly a surprise that Philharmonia Baroque's presentation of Bach's secular cantata Hercules auf dem Scheidewege ("Hercules at the Crossroads") and Handel's The Choice of Hercules at the First Congregational Church in Berkeley last Saturday night was geared toward making one thing clear: there is more Pleasure in Handel's telling of the hero's story.

Both pieces recount the conflict that Hercules faces when choosing between Pleasure and Virtue, with the title role allotted to that patently Baroque vocal hero, the countertenor. There are so few close correspondences between Bach and Handel's compositional outputs--not to mention their professional and personal lives--that the enthusiast might be tempted to match up these two dramatic works by two musical giants and historical peers in a kind of Olympian competition. Yet, even if you could argue that Bach's dramatic sensibilities were in line with the subject itself, you would have to allow for the dampening influence of his audience. Written for the celebration of the eleventh birthday of Prince Friedrich Christian of Saxony, Hercules auf Scheidewege focuses less on the hero's conflict than on manly duty and innate virtuousness, in flattery of the young prince and his parents.

Joined by a gifted trio of vocalists, the orchestra's Hercules auf Scheidewege offered first-rate musical execution, but little dramatic imagination: the result was a sometimes charming but often pedantic morality play. Soprano Meredith Hall as Pleasure, for instance, soothed listeners with her sonorous lower register in the lovely aria, "Schlafe, mein Liebster und pflege der Ruh'." But her presentation was disappointingly chaste, barely turning up the heat even in a deliciously chromatic passage where she urges Hercules to "follow the lure of passionate thoughts." Interestingly, Bach also used the music of this particular aria for the Virgin Mary's lullaby in his Christmas Oratorio. Rather than play with this irony, Hall seemed satisfied with a temperate temptress or perhaps was intimidated by the aria's better-known sacred context.

Excellent technique and a clear tone also marked the singing of tenor Rufus Müller (Virtue), who fired through florid passage work without giving up power or rhythmic accuracy. The overblown, antiquated sentiments of Virtue's arias require a certain innocent fire (that of Hercules's own heart) to avoid sounding like so much Enlightenment-age moralistic pedagogy, laced with a little misogyny. Unfortunately Müller's vehement and grim-faced Virtue just reinforced the latter impression--a stern and self-righteous schoolmaster or clergyman pulling the boy up by his bootstraps and shooing the naughty girls away. Perhaps, too, for this reason the final duet between Virtue and Hercules--which features a surprisingly erotic text-seemed more dutiful than earnest.

As Hercules, countertenor Kai Wessel expertly shaped each phrase with pleasingly bright and resonant sound. Together with cellist Elisabeth LeGuin and Marc Schachman on the oboe d'amore, Wessel delighted listeners with the aria, "Treues Echo dieser Orten" ("Faithful echo of these parts"). In a captivating show of early-music special effects, the oboe d'amore, and mezzo-soprano Jennifer Dudley (placed offstage) echoed Wessel's musical phrases. The similarity in timbre between the countertenor and oboe d'amore was often uncanny; Dudley's contribution was far less satisfying, as her more operatic tone often missed the mark.

Wessel was equally pleasing in his part in The Choice of Hercules, but the real musical interest lay in the allegorical cat fight between Pleasure and Virtue. Unlike Bach, who has Hercules initiate the dramatic action by asking for advice on which road to take, Handel lets the hero bask for quite a while in Pleasure's reign before engaging in his moral struggle. Addressing one another in a semi-staged manner, Hall as Pleasure and Dudley as Virtue enthusiastically played their parts. In the wonderfully descriptive "See Hercules! how smiles yon myrtle plain," Hall enjoyed every moment of her siren's song, enticing us with a full-bodied, but limpid sonority as she spoke of how music is "fittest to tune the melting soul of love."

In a nice contrast to Hall's graceful articulation and careful vocal shading, Dudley's powerful and lush mezzo-soprano endowed Virtue with a believable majesty. Finally Hercules must decide, but Handel's hero is slower than Bach's to take the "better" path. Wessel's ravishing rendering of "Yet, can I hear that dulcet lay," beautifully expressed Hercules reluctance to leave pleasant diversions. Ultimately Hercules is convinced of his sacred destiny by the stunning chorus, "Arise, arise!" which Bruce Lamott's Philharmonia Baroque chorale delivered with aplomb and breathtaking intensity. Nevertheless, Pleasure was the order of the evening, and, after McGegan and the other musicians took their bows, he invited everyone to a reception, where "we can raise a toast to Virtue."

(Kristi Brown received her Ph.D. in musicology from the University of California, Berkeley. She is currently a Contributing Editor for the Music section of the Encyclopedia Britannica Internet Guide. She spends the rest of her time lecturing about music, singing, and playing with her two children, Caterina and Stefano. She also happens to live in Hercules [California].)

©1999 Kristi Brown, all rights reserved