Gaspare's Spontini's French-language La Vestale is probably the most often heard of his operas, but that is not saying much; the work was sung by Maria Callas in the 1950s, but performances are sparse. Here, it is revived in period style by Les Talens Lyriques and conductor Christophe Rousset, and a very good case is made for further attention. The story is action-packed; Julia, in the absence of her lover, General Licinius, becomes una Vestale, a Vestal Virgin and guards a sacred flame. When Licinius returns to town, the flame goes out, and Julia is sentenced to be buried alive. Licinius rallies his troops, vowing to kidnap Julia, and the flame is reignited later by a lightning strike. Spontini's orchestration of this tale is Beethovenian in its dimensions, and despite the difficulties of natural horns, it is exciting to hear this opera as Napoleon (thought to be the model for Licinius) and Josephine (who backed the opera) heard it. The singers are not Callas-level, but throughout, and especially in the choruses, there is a commitment to the text and its meaning that is rare in any kind of recording. Marina Rebeka, in the role of Julia, is fully involved in the character's plight, and the smoky-voiced Aude Extrémo as La Grande Vestale is worth the price of admission on her own. The singers are aided by clear, spacious studio sound engineering from the early opera specialist label Palazzetto Bru Zane, whose high standards are perhaps even exceeded here. © James Manheim /TiVo

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Francis Poulenc's La Voix Humaine ("The Human Voice") is a one-woman opera, less than an hour long, about a woman on the phone with her boyfriend as they break up. Set to a text by Jean Cocteau, it puts the woman through strong mood swings. (Country music fans may wish to compare it to As Soon as I Hang Up the Phone, although there, the boyfriend is present to deliver the final blow.) Soprano Véronique Gens is best known for music from the 17th century up to Mozart, but it is easy to believe the claim in the publicity materials for this release that she had always wanted to record this work; its direct, conversational quality, interspersed with occasional freakouts, fits her manner beautifully. It might seem that those freakouts require a bit more intensity than Gens gives them here, but that is not really in the Cocteau spirit and certainly not in the Poulenc spirit. Gens receives sensitive support from the Orchestre National de Lille under Alexandre Bloch, who also ring down the curtain with a lithe performance of the joyous Sinfonietta. There are other strong performances of Poulenc's little opera, which ought to be much more frequently heard and would be ideal for university voice programs, but this one is instantly appealing and quite memorable, and it is no surprise that it made classical best-seller charts in early 2023. © James Manheim /TiVo

L'amour de loin (2000) is Finnish composer Kaija Saariaho's first opera, but the mastery of its memorably dramatic music demonstrates incontrovertibly that she is a born opera composer. The opera has had numerous international productions and in 2003 it received the Grawemeyer Award, the most prestigious international award for composition. Saariaho was inspired to write an opera after seeing the 1992 Salzburg Festival production of Messiaen's Saint François d'Assise, so it is not surprising that her first effort would be more concerned with introspection than with conventionally operatic drama. The French libretto, by Armin Maalouf, deals with twelfth century troubadour Jaufre Rudel, and the legend of his love for the Countess of Tripoli. Separated by thousands of miles, the two had an erotically charged but unconsummated relationship, which in the opera is sustained by messages carried between them by a Pilgrim. The poet finally makes the voyage to meet his love, only to die in her arms. For a work on such an intimate subject with such an understated dramatic profile, L'amour de loin feels like a very big opera. Saariaho is dealing with large emotions, and what it lacks in outward theatricality is more than made up for in the vividness and depth with which it probes the psychology of its characters. The orchestra and chorus are vehicles for making audible the lovers' states of mind, which are frequently roiling with conflict and anxiety, and the music is consequently turbulent, powerful, and often very loud. (It's closer in tone to Tristan and Isolde than to Pelléas et Mélisande, two tragedies of thwarted love that it resembles in some ways.) Saariaho's counterintuitive take on Maalouf's intensely inward libretto works brilliantly. The ravishing orchestral palette, deft blend of Medieval and contemporary musical traditions, and gorgeous choral and vocal writing make this is a work that seems destined to endure. Saariaho's text setting is exceptionally graceful and limber, and it's performed beautifully by the superlative singers on this recording. Mezzo-soprano Marie-Anne Todorovitch's shapely vocal interpretation invests the Pilgrim with so much nuanced individuality that the listener cannot help being drawn to the character. Her supple, infinitely colorful voice is responsive to the most subtle dramatic cues in the text and music; this is the kind of fully realized performance that opera composers dream of. The same can be said for soprano Ekaterina Lekhina and baritone Daniel Belcher as the lovers; the startling purity and focus of their voices, and the intensity and subtlety with which they inhabit their roles, make them absolutely compelling, both musically and dramatically. Kent Nagano leads Rundfunkchor Berlin and Deutsches Symphonie-Orchestra Berlin in a luminous reading of the richly variegated score. Harmonia Mundi's sound is pure, full, and warmly atmospheric. This outstanding performance of L'amour de loin should be of strong interest not only to fans of contemporary opera, but of new music in general, and to lovers of bel canto singing. Highly recommended. © TiVo

With Les Indes galantes by Jean-Philippe Rameau, György Vashegyi – along with his Orfeo Orchestra and Purcell Choir – makes a further dazzling addition to their Glossa series of French dramatic masterpieces from the Baroque, and in the company of a luxurious line-up of vocal soloists. The version of this “ballet heroïque” – supplied with an anti-colonial, anti-clerical manifesto by librettist Louis Fuzelier – selected by Vashegyi is the 1761 revision, a mere decade or so before the irruption onto the Parisian musical scene of the likes of Gluck and Grétry. Rameau’s score had undergone frequent adjustments and improvements since its première a quarter of a century earlier, and the performing edition for this recording, prepared for the Rameau Opera Omnia by Sylvie Bouissou (who also provides a booklet essay here), offers a vision of this work which is more theatrical, fluid and concise than hitherto. Just in themselves, the names of Chantal Santon-Jeffery, Katherine Watson, Véronique Gens, Reinoud Van Mechelen, Jean-Sébastien Bou and Thomas Dolié (sharing out the dozen solo roles) augur well for a glorious exploration of the prologue and three entrées ahead. Recently, they have also, in conjunction with the Centre de Musique Baroque de Versailles, been working on questions of tempo and how to perform Rameau’s sequences as the composer intended. Vashegyi brings a consummate understanding of Rameau’s galante style to the proceedings, following two previous Ramellian Glossa outings (Naïs and Les Fêtes de Polymnie). © Glossa

Francis Poulenc's late opera La voix humaine (1958) seems ideally suited to the age of cellular telephony, and indeed, it is showing signs of revival with several new productions. This 2023 recording by soprano Julie Cherrier-Hoffmann and the Orchestra del Teatro La Fenice di Venezia should contribute to the trend. La voix humaine is an operatic monodrama, but of a modern kind; the single character is a woman, simply named Elle (She), talking on the phone, being dumped by her boyfriend, and hinting at suicide. The text was written by Jean Cocteau in 1930, when dropped phone calls were no doubt common, but it works perfectly in a contemporary setting; the phone conversation is interrupted by panicky "Allô allô" interjections. Poulenc's musical language for dealing with this text is remarkable, and it is not like that in any of his other compositions. The singer is unaccompanied when she is directly addressing her hearer, while the passages in which she narrates events are accompanied by the orchestra. This creates an uncanny impression of an actual phone conversation. Poulenc's harmonic language here is quite modern in comparison to his other works, not quite atonal but shorn of the popular tinge present in so much of his work. Cherrier-Hoffmann's performance is appropriately stressed out, and she is shown in the graphics with her hands splayed across a window as if trapped. Conductor Frédéric Chaslin emphasizes the orchestra's big, operatic sound, and this works; the engineering makes no attempt to disguise the opera house acoustic. Chaslin also contributes orchestrations of smaller Poulenc voice-and-piano works; these frame the opera and return the listener to the usual Poulenc world. This is an unusually satisfying Poulenc release and a fine performance of a work whose reputation is on the way up.© James Manheim /TiVo

Brigitte Fontaine, who started out sounding like a more adventurous version of Françoise Hardy, got steadily further out as the 1970s progressed. By the time of this recording, she was arguably too far out to even be categorized as a popular singer. Collaborating with songwriter Areski (who also takes some of the vocals, both alone and in partnership with Fontaine), this odd assortment of tracks includes pieces in which singsong lyrics are done a cappella or backed by nothing more than an instrument or two (not always guitar); dissonant avant-garde jazz miniatures that could serve as soundtrack material for suspense thrillers, occasionally overlaid with spoken poetry; and highly rhythmic cuts in which African drumming-like percussion patterns support Fontaine and Areski's experimental vocalizing, which can sound like bird noises or early New York "new music" exercises at times. It's not without its folky and melodic elements (particularly in some of Fontaine's singing), but it's tough listening, and not especially rewarding. This is due more to Areski's unattractively gruff and brusque vocals than Fontaine; to quote from the book of the jealous husband, he is not worthy of her. Confusingly, although the front of the sleeve bills this as a Fontaine album with the title Je Ne Connais Pas Cet Homme, the spine and back cover bill it to "Areski et Brigitte Fontaine," and the back cover gives the title Fontaine 4.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo

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