It’s a toss-up as to whether listening to mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli’s spectacular new Decca recording of music written for the star castrati of the 18th century is more exhilarating or exhausting. Many of Sacrificium’s 15 arias, which are stronger as virtuosic showpieces than conveyers of emotional truth, contain more trills, roulades, and impossibly difficult runs than any singer can be rightly expected to generate in the course of a day.
It’s no wonder that Bartoli and the superb authentic instrument ensemble, Il Giardino Armonico, took two weeks to record this tribute to the castrati.
The castrati were trained like no other singers in history and their breath control is the stuff of legends. It may be impossible to recreate the sound and technique of these fabled singers but that takes nothing away from Bartoli, who is in sensational form. If you thought soprano Montserrat Caballé held the record for long-breathed lines, wait ‘til you hear Bartoli’s world premiere recording of Francesco Araia’s “Cadrò, ma qual si mir” (I shall fall, just as one sees fall). One of 11 world premieres in the set, this little ditty is a vocal freak show whose impossibly long runs are the ultimate divo showpiece. Even allowing for some digital sleight of hand, hearing Bartoli rage through coloratura passages almost 30 bars long without either pausing to breathe or fluffing a single note is astounding.
She is, of course, Bartoli. The voice whirls like no other, whipping up torrents of tones, blazing with fire and brilliance on top. Just as some people complained that the vibrato of Conchita Supervia, the infinitely expressive Spanish mezzo coloratura of the early 20th century, sounded like a rattle, some may find Bartoli’s machine gun articulation of rapidly produced notes offputting. To me, it adds to the emotional expression and excitement. When you compare her recording of Broschi’s “Son qual nave” (I am like a ship) to the rendition Derek Lee Ragin executed for the movie Farinelli, it sounds like a case of Wonder Woman versus the Wimp. Alongside Bartoli, mezzo Vivica Genaux’s CD of castrato repertoire, Arias for Farinelli, almost seems tame.
Listen to the Music
Although Bartoli seems to value coloratura accuracy over enunciation, her voice is gorgeous. Time and again, her slow singing, as in Antonio Caldara’s “Profezie, di me diceste” (Prophecies, you told me), is heart-touching. Her floated highs in Niccolò Porpora’s “Parto, ti lascio, o cara” (I go, I leave you, o my love) borders on the angelic, in contradistinction to her fabulous growl-like low utterance, in Carl Heinrich Graun’s “Misero pargoletto” (Unhappy child), on the word “terror.” Is there another singer either alive or on record who can simulate the sound of a butterfly as magically as she does in Leonardo Leo’s “Qual farfalla innamorata” (Like a butterfly crazed with love)?
Emperor Joseph II must not have been paying attention to the music castrati were singing when he issued his now infamous accusation, “Too many notes, Mozart.” Mozart’s coloratura is restrained compared to what these other 18th-century composers demanded of their artists. That Bartoli not only meets the demands with breath to spare, but also makes the best case imaginable for this music’s merit, is a phenomenal accomplishment. What an artist!