Well here is something well outside of the run of the mill Baroque operatic repertoire. A rare recording of a major work written ca. 1705 for the Spanish court by master of the chapel royal, Sebastián Durón (1660-1716), for which he took the zarzuela – a popular musical theatre form combining song and spoken declamation that was unique to Hapsburg Spain – and ambitiously used it to create an all-sung operatic version that, while drawing on Italian conventions, was entirely its own thing in architectural and stylistic terms. So, plot-wise, think serious passages juxtaposed with more entertaining ones, and characters drawn from both the lowest and highest ranks of society; then played out with the classical precepts of time completely disobeyed, allowing for the work’s action to flit about between different times and places; musical structure not so much based around the distinction between aria and recitative, but instead built around variety and contrasting juxtapositions, with short arias inserted into dialogues, and fewer long arias; and most distinctive of all, a female-dominated cast in which actresses even sing most male roles – because in Spain it was women alone who trained to sing in theatre troupes, which were looked down upon by royal chapel cantors.
As for what the storyline of Coronis is, it’s a mythological pastorale, possibly allegorising the hoped-for victory of the Bourbons over the English, Dutch and Portuguese fleets, in which the beautiful nymph Coronis first narrowly escapes abduction by Triton the sea monster, but then eventually gets captured by him as she flees a ruinous conflict that erupts between Apollo and Neptune, who themselves are fighting over the land of Thrace, one setting it ablaze and the other flooding it. But then Apollo comes to Coronis’s aid and kills Triton. So the two new lovers, one nymph and one god, are anointed king and queen by Jupiter.
That’s a lot of explanation. However, if you’re still with me, the good news is that the critical analysis of all the above is a good deal simpler. Durón’s actual score adds up to a colourful explosion of sound that’s as much an evocation of seventeenth century street music as it is court music, thanks to its use of harps, guitars and percussion (and of course the rough and tumble action itself). Then, it’s hard to imagine how it could have been brought more zingingly to life than it has been here by Vincent Dumestre, Le Poème Harmonique and his tip-top cast – and right from the get-go, via the blend of processional grandeur and lilting dance rhythms of the opening Corrente Italiana (actually the work of Juan Cabanilles 1644-1712, although the Passacalle by Durón that kicks off the Second Day’s action is perhaps even more dramatically weighted, with its sombre slow opening which eventually gives way to a high-octane exotic dance led by guitars and castanets). Onwards, and if you want a taster of how effortlessly both orchestra and singers glide and shimmy through the score’s swiftly chopping and changing metres, scoring and styles, via wall-to-wall strong vocal performances and a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of solo and ensemble instrumental colour, then head to ”Ah del mísero Albergo” followed by “Vuestro llanto humilde pretenda regar” sung with vim by Ana Quintans as Coronis and Cyril Auvity as Proteo and the chorus.
A sparkling tribute to this little-known corner of the Baroque repertoire. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz