Beware the pen of a critic. When in 1720 an arrangement of Domenico Scarlatti’s 1714 opera Amor d’un’Ombra e Gelosia d’un’aura arrived at the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, Charles Burney’s pen was gently damning. “Though there were many new pleasing passages and effects”, proclaimed London’s esteemed writer on all things musical, “those acquainted with the original and happy freaks of this composer in his harpsichord music, would be surprised at the sobriety and almost dullness of the songs”; and over the ensuing centuries, critical opinion has largely persisted with the line that Scarlatti’s best work is to be found not among his vocal or instrumental works, but instead among the 555 harpsichord sonatas he wrote for the Portuguese Queen of Spain, María Bárbara. Now though, here is a multi-genre Scarlatti programme from Bertrand Cuiller and his period instrument ensemble Le Caravansérail, its aim to enable the listener to reach his or her own conclusion as to Scarlatti’s wider worth. Although with repertoire and performances as fine as these, it’s perfectly clear which side Cuiller wants us to come down upon. Not least he opens with a piece of shameless wooing: the famous Sonata in G major, K. 144, but heard not on harpsichord but instead from harpist from Bérengère Sardin in a performance of melting warm fragility and hope-filled nobility. Then with that still ringing in your ears comes one of the few surviving examples of Scarlatti’s sacred music, the Stabat Mater in C minor with its rich, ten-voice texture supported by basso continuo accompaniment alone; and instantly your ears are locking on to that continuo section’s harp-reminiscent archlute, and thus becoming extra-alive to the accompaniment’s poeticism, even as the clear-toned voices unfurl over it and entwine around each other, themselves bringing definition and lucidity to even the score’s most lavishly contrapuntal vocal writing. Onwards and there’s a D minor instrumental feast: violinist Leila Schayegh’s sombre, expressive reading of the Sonata, K. 90, one of a few harpsichord sonatas that appears to present the option of choosing a solo instrument on the melodic line; then, following a nimbly urgent ensemble reading of Charles Avison’s “concerto grosso” transcription of another harpsichord sonata, Cuiller himself bringing gossamer-weight lyricism to Harpsichord Sonata, K. 213. As for the secular vocal works, the numbers from Amor d’un’Ombra e Gelosia d’un’aura more than hold their own here, thanks to soprano Emmanuelle de Negri and countertenor Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian’s committed performances, while an album highlight is the lilting melancholic expression brought by de Negri to ”Pur nel sonno almen tal’ora vien colei” from the Cantata “Pur nel sonno almen” – composed to a Metastasio poem that appears to have been given to Scarlatti by star countertenor Farinelli, and thus inevitably sounding like a composer inspired to give his best. In short, in the case of Cuiller versus Burney, it’s a win for Cuiller. Also, indeed, for Scarlatti. © Charlotte Gardner/Qobuz

While the German soprano follows in the footsteps of Cecilia Bartoli, her virtuoso voice separates her fans from the purists who prefer a less fanciful vocal-line. This long-awaited new album from Simone Kermes shows off her masterful voice in almost every register and there is no sign of the excessiveness for which she has previously been criticised. Typically referred to as a “Ba-rock” star, some people are irritated by her gestures and extreme theatrics during her concerts, but those mannerisms are long forgotten here in the absence of any images. The title of the album, “Mio caro Händel”, says a lot about the affinity Simone Kermes feels with the Saxon composer. She has selected his most popular pieces, such as Ombra mai fù(Largo of Love), Piangeró la sorte mia(I will lament my fate) and Lascia ch’io pianga(Let me weep), along with some much less well-known pieces, which are some of the most wonderful revelations and rare musical gems on the album. The singer recorded this testimony of love to Händel in Berlin’s famous Jesus-Christus-Kirche in 2018 accompanied by Amici Veneziani, an ensemble put together especially for her which mostly comprises of German musicians and is led by Russian violinist Boris Begelman. As a great traveller who went all over Europe, this captures Händel’s European spirit perfectly. © François Hudry/Qobuz

Handel's Rodelinda, regina de' Longobardi, HWV 19, was a hit at its first performance in 1725 and has dropped out of the repertory only during periods when all of Handel's operas did. It is absolutely loaded with great Handelian tunes and also has a more-than-coherent plot involving an imprisoned queen in a conquered Milan, the intrigue that swirls around her among her lustful conquerors, and her disguised husband, Bertarido, who attempts to rescue her. The lead role has drawn star sopranos from Joan Sutherland on down, but many listeners will be drawn to the singing here of Lucy Crowe, who really inhabits the role. She sang it with the Dutch National Opera, and here, she returns with convincing delivery that will keep listeners' heads out of the libretto. She is aided by the clean playing of the English Concert under Harry Bicket, who leads from the harpsichord, and a strong supporting cast, including the ideal Iestyn Davies as Bertarido. This performance was planned for the English Concert's annual live concert at Carnegie Hall in New York; that was canceled due to the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, but Bicket and the group decided to record the opera instead, inaugurating a new series of Handel operas. The socially distanced playing and singing at St. John's Smith Square is a little rusty in spots, and the venue is somewhat airy for the music, but all in all, this is a Handel opera performance that makes one anxious for more of the same for the performers.© TiVo

To women the musical direction, to man the agonies of love... By reversing the roles, the countertenor Théophile Aexandre and the Quatuor Zaïde sign a singular and troubling genderless reinvention of diva's arias: a universal tribute to opera's heroines, celebrating for the first time the beauty of these masterpieces beyond their gender setreotypes. © Nomadmusic

This is a Barbiere "di qualità, di qualità": in fact, of very great quality indeed, from Deutsche Grammophon. Recorded in London in the summer of 1971, it is one of the first meetings of Claudio Abbado and the London Symphony Orchestra. It is also the first of Alberto Zedda's philological editions of Rossini's works, whose scores have been covered over by inherited errors for over a century. Getting rid of the additions which have, quite wrongly, become traditional, means restoring certain interruptions and the fine instrumentation of the period; and above all, singing and playing without exaggerations, thanks to an innate sense for the theatre. It's a spot of spring cleaning which has restored the youth of the 24-year-old composer's masterpiece. Bravo, signor barbiere, ma bravo! It is a dream record, with singers who are well-versed in the repertoire. Everyone is right where they need to be, from Teresa Berganza's wiley and cheeky Rosina, to the refined and hard-working Figaro played by Hermann Prey, via Luigi Alva's frivolous Count and the utterly ridiculous Basilio played by the outrageous Paolo Montarsolo. We're amused by their antics, as we admire the well-oiled and unstoppable machine of Rossini's theatre, under the unceasingly inventive and thrilling baton of Claudio Abbado. © François Hudry/Qobuz

This 2023 release is way outside the usual zone for the ensemble Les Arts Florissants and director Paul Agnew, who have specialized largely in the French Baroque. The booklet even lists an Italian language coach, but it is quite worthwhile, for these Italian-language madrigals by Schütz are sparsely recorded. They were published in 1611 while Schütz was studying in Venice with Giovanni Gabrieli, and they reflect his mastery of the polyphonic Italian madrigal style. There are some splashes of chromaticism, but nothing resembling the music of Gesualdo, Marenzio, or the other late Italian madrigalists. Instead, the model is the early madrigal books of Monteverdi, which would have been very much in the air while Schütz was there. The music reflects the texts in great detail, which was one of the straws in the wind pointing toward the emergent operatic styles, and there is a certain dramatic quality that seems to prefigure the mature Schütz. This is captured well by Les Arts Florissants, essentially opera specialists, and while there is a feel suggesting that the musicians are coming to this tradition from the outside, the performances hold the listener's attention. The Philharmonie in Paris is not really the right venue for this music and gives it a remote sound, but this is, nonetheless, a valuable addition to the Schütz discography.© James Manheim /TiVo