Franco Fagioli and Versailles bring rare bel canto to New York

New York has been at the center of musical life for so long that it’s rare to encounter a new international orchestra, but this week, under the aegis of Death of Classical, the Chœur et Orchestre de l’Opéra Royal de Versailles under Stefan Plewniak, debuted with a pair of fascinating programs at L'Alliance, the second of which ventured into 19th-century bel canto, starring the Argentinian star countertenor Franco Fagioli, also in his US debut. The faithful flocked.

Giovanni Battista Velluti, born in 1780, is considered the last of the great castrati, the men who ruled the operatic roost and played leading roles in the operas of Handel, Rossini and many other composers. Apparently, his voice was quite strong (he began as a soprano and later became a mezzo); his range was enormous and his fluidity in ornamentation was so great that it actually angered Rossini, who wished he would stick more to the written score. One might say the same about Fagioli, perhaps including Rossini’s complaint, but in performance, it is thrilling. Most of the Versailles program was not from the greatest works of the early 19th century, but they achieved grandeur through Fagioli’s virtuosic singing and the remarkably energetic, occasionally manic, leadership of Plewniak.

Much of the program was semi-esoterica, familiar however by the format of early 19th-century standards. One of Velluti’s great triumphs was from Giuseppe Nicolini’s Carlo Magno, a marvelously rarefied piece. The tripartite scena for the hero Vitekindo goes from a dolorous recitative accompanied by strings and bassoon, to a heartfelt prayer, followed by a recit, in which our hero loses consciousness and dreams of Charlemagne menacing his beloved Rosmida. When he wakes, he swears vengeance on Charlemagne and the rondo “Lo sdegno io non pavento” (Scorn, I fear thee not), filled with trills, octave leaps, wild coloratura and a ferocious resolve leaving the singer and audience cheering. Throughout, Fagioli met every emotional and musical need, his three-octave range in full flight. Theatricality without stagecraft.

A gentler, briefer piece by Nicolini opened the program.“Ah se mi lasci o cara” (Ah if you leave me, my dear) from Nicolini's Traiano in Dacia is almost courtly, and the solo clarinet part that duets with the singer is very special indeed. Saverio Mercadante, a somewhat more familiar name to modern audiences (there has been revived interest in his works since the late 1980s) was represented by his opera Andronico and the hero’s aria “Dove m'aggiro... Era felice un dì... Sì bel contento in giubilo” (Where I wander... I was happy one day... So happy in jubilation). It’s a charmer, that goes from philosophical musings to memories of joy to an outburst of coloratura happiness.

Rossini’s Tancredi overture opened the show, and most of the audience realized it was the same overture he later used for Il barbiere di Siviglia; a long scene from his Aureliano in Palmira suddenly turned into a few minutes from Barbiere’s “Una voce poco fa.” It’s always good to hear Rossini self-borrow.

Sorry to omit works by Niccolo Zingarelli and Paolo Bonfichi, but, well, you get the point. Fagioli sang Arsace’s Cabaletta from Rossini’s Semiramide as an encore. His voice is a perfect mezzo, with booming low notes and an astonishing high B.

A final word. In the program’s first half, Plewniak took up his violin and played the unknown polonaise from Pierre Rode’s – a contemporary of Beethoven’s – Violin Concerto no. 1 in D minor. Plewniak, tall, lean, with unruly shoulder-length hair locked in a bun, played like a man possessed – contemporary drawings of Tartini and reactions to Paganini come to mind. Showy and magnificent, it made one want more.