Ardour Dons the Mask of Majesty: La Folia Barockorchester’s Odyssey through Three Contrasting Cleopatras at Wigmore Hall
Hours after Queen Elizabeth II’s passing the ensemble emanated an imperialism seemingly imperishable.
La Folia Barockorchester backstage. Credit: Wigmore Hall website.
Arresting reigns millennia apart were treated to an unexpected meeting at the 2022-23 Wigmore Hall Opening Concert last night when an orchestra’s tribute to a trio of empresses fell on the date of Her Majesty’s mournful departure. Testing the tenacity of three untetherable Cleopatras, La Folia Barockorchester offered a performance rife in fervour in an evening lent a sullen subtext.
Layers laced together in creative crusts throughout Carl Heinrich Graun’s Sinfonia from Cleopatra e Cesare; melding zealous strings with stirrings of a harp mellifluous to mould the texture of a shortbread-based mille-feuille: an interleaving of the sumptuous and stately supple yet imposing. At times the violins seemed to be viscously positioned in a tone intrepidly unchanging; dominant and minatory in impenetrable perseverance. Though in isolation their resolve suggested obstinance accompaniment by instruments by more malleable assured a multi-faceted assortment of melodious deportment.
Divots seemed occasionally to pivot lower strings away from the antagonistic upper; separating the two forces fractionally. Yet at their helm chromatic scales were endlessly regaled with slickness of precision; preciously unveiled in vacillating drizzles of meticulously meted symmetry. Combining with soprano Carolyn Sampson to bring an array of royal arias, the ensemble held on to its might to outfight the recitalist likely unwittingly. Sampson had been summoned several hours prior to the concert to replace the previously announced Regula Mühlemann. Managing to clamber through the ambling notes of Handel’s “Da tempeste il legno infranto” from Cesare in Egitto, Sampson swept her instrument into staccatos that remained intact and stresses dressed at times in affectation; accenting the “ma” of “l’anima” (“my soul”) with saccharine aplomb.
Crescendos’ slow ascents were offered deft sustainment in “Se tu sarai felice” from Giovanni Legrenzi’s Antioco il grande: a gentler display of regality showcasing delicate ditties on harpsichord. In Scarlatti’s “Vò goder senza contrasto” (courtesy of Marc’Antonio e Cleopatra) Sampson linked the lyrics with impressive slurs that nonetheless showed breaths conspicuous mid-phrase. “Te mia vita in dolce pace” (“[I wish to enjoy], you, my life, in gentle peace”) was cut in half by a swift inhalation after “vita” that suspended sentiment. Select breaths likewise perforated Johann Adolf Hasse’s “Quel candido armellino” from his 1725 opera of the same name; sneaking in amidst “abbandonar” (“abandon”) to divide the word in two.
Nonetheless the vocalist’s stylistic choices in “Squarciami pure il seno” (“Rip open my breast”) from Vivaldi’s Il Tigrane varied carefully between vibrato-ridden anguish and a salient bare tone to intimate humility before the sovereign’s suffering. Accentuated notes in Hasse’s “Morte col fiero aspetto” – also from Marc’Antonio e Cleopatra – made for a juxtaposition of determination in both syllables of “spera” (“hope”) as the Egyptian empress held forth to her will to “die in freedom [on her] throne.” In her encore, “Lascia ch’io pianga” from Handel’s Rinaldo, Sampson once again let loose the loops of crystal-clear chromatic scales and roaming tones that switched between thick stretches of vibrato and a naked voice. Both aspects were appealing but employed at intervals too indiscriminately.
Stealing the soprano’s thunder with its tempests, La Folia Barockorchester steered tendentious tempers into the ferocious overture from Handel’s Giulio Cesare in Egitto. Attacks were tacked onto the packs of different instruments with a defiance indefatigable, storming with a generous vibrato of invincibility. Inconquerable seemed the ensemble on its quest through the Allegro from Vivaldi’s Concerto in G Minor as the pinches of strings’ piquant pizzicatos zipped through rhythms with a modern aura; beats that may have borne an influence on feats by twentieth-century juggernauts.
Francesco Geminiani’s little-known Concerto grosso in D minor laid bare player Fernando Olivas’ fervour on theorbo: a delicious lute-like instrument extending appetising plucks. Inviting cellists to cavort col legno with distinctly striking taps, Olivas evoked chaos and flamboyancy in a rendition of the work indulgent for the ears.
Accelerandos rambled in a consummate precision on the strings in Hasse’s “Morte col fiero aspetto”; succumbing rarely to too-early drop-offs in diminuendo in the section that by far held sway throughout the evening. Only Wouter Verschuren’s bassoon at times tipped the ensemble’s cohesion with staggering entrances late to the fray.
Indomitable in Baroque’s domain, La Folia Barockorchester celebrated monarchies in a magnanimous collage of peerless queens: an homage made more reverent by its commemorative timing on this sombre evening.