CC1 was the worst seat in the house at Wigmore Hall today and I was in it. The singer was much of the time obscured by the gamba player's back but we were an audience who went to listen, not spectators who went to see, so it's a minor point.
The programme of Monteverdi and several of his contemporaries ranged from impassioned operatic arias, giving Roberta Invernizzi scope to demonstrate impressive power and control of the more dramatic moments, to more delicate ornamentation in the mannerism of the baroque stylings and not only the forlorn, bereft mood but happier expressions too.
Andrew McGregor explained to the radio audience, and I know because I sat behind him while he did so CC1 isn't all bad, how in Monteverdi, music served the words which was something of an innovation. If this high, early baroque is mannered then its expression of rage is all the more effective, beyond the capability of unrestrained Romanticism, when it happens.
If the instrumentation was listed as viola da gamba and two lutes, I'm sure it was a gamba but the lutes looked like theorbos to me and one of them was at times exchanged for a guitar, by Craig Marchitelli. If viola da gamba is always a favourite for me and Rodney Prada was very much the part there, it was a surprise that Kapsberger's Toccata Arpeggiata somehow emerged to grab more than what might have been intended as its fair share of attention. Surely the instrumental interludes are only to put in to give the singer a rest. Perhaps not, or not today. Guitar and lute/theorbo by Franco Pavan combined in a lyrical piece evocative of perhaps gentle summer, pastoral reveries and a sure-fire hit for a 'soothing classics' album for those who believe in music as therapy. Even more soothing than the theme from Tales from the Riverbank and, while I'm making completely inappropriate comparisons, I heard the riff from Feelin' Groovy in Tarquinio Merula's Folie e ben che si crede, which it was beguiling enough to survive with plenty in hand
One might suggest that Roberta's strength is operatic but the finale, Monteverdi's Voglio di vita uscir was the longest, and presumably main feature, unregretful at parting this life, renouncing the world with some glorious abandon before the quartet returned for an encore of more Caccini, information for which I am indebted to the radio announcer, making it unnecessary to wait until Sunday's repeat broadcast to find out.
Gorgeous and moving through a wide range of feelings throughout, this was consummately Wigmore Hall and why one takes the trouble to go that far for a concert. Because it is value, makes for a day out if one can combine it with, say, the item below, and it is the best place to find such things and be there rather than habitually let it pervade the home atmosphere throughout the weekend. It's never knowingly not the choice place to be.
