Cappella Neapolitana / Antonio Florio GAETANO VENEZIANO Passio

Antonio Florio has discovered and prepared a performing edition – for Glossa’s new Passio release – of the 1685 St John Passion setting by the Neapolitan composer Gaetano Veneziano, which features countertenor Raffaele Pe in the technically demanding role of the Evangelist.

Until recently, Italian Passiontide settings from the Baroque era have been thought to amount to just the one, that by Alessandro Scarlatti, but the score by Veneziano – who was a contemporary of Scarlatti, a maestro in the royal chapel as well as a favoured pupil of Francesco Provenzale – has been located in the Archivio dell’Oratorio dei Girolamini in Naples, and displays a surprising blending of modernity and an older style in its instrumental accompaniment (here provided by Florio’s Cappella Neapolitana). Moreover, it provides an extrovert and atmospheric response to the Gospel text for the roles of Christ (taken by tenor Luca Cervoni) and Pilate (the bass Marco Bussi) as well as for the interventions of the crowd (sung here by the Ghislieri Choir).

Having already done much to revive the name of Gaetano Veneziano, through his recording of the later oratorio, La Santissima Trinità, as well as through discs with other sacred music, Antonio Florio has now created a further fascinating release of Baroque Italian music from Naples, and one which benefits from a typically absorbing booklet essay from Dinko Fabris. (GLOSSA)

Capella de'Turchini / Antonio Florio CAVALLI Statira

Though it has its flaws, this is a hugely important issue that adds immeasurably to our understanding of Pietro Francesco Cavalli, the dominant Italian opera composer of the second half of the 17th century. His music fell out of fashion after his death, and its rediscovery, which began with Glyndebourne's productions of L'Ormindo and La Calisto in the 1960s, has been a slow process. This recording of Statira, first performed in Venice in 1656, cannot help but change our views of his output as a whole, since it reveals a dark side to Cavalli hitherto ignored.

It begins in familiar territory. The plot is rooted in one of those complex, cross-dressing tangles - quintessentially Cavalli - complete with an emphasis on bisexuality as fundamental to human nature, something that made the composer unperformable for centuries. Statira, daughter of King Darius of Persia, is in love with Cloridaspe, king of Arabia. There are, of course, complications. Usimano, an Egyptian prince, is also besotted with Statira; in order to pursue her, he has disguised himself as a woman and is now employed as her lady-in-waiting. "Ermosilla", as he calls himself, attracts men like a magnet, including Cloridaspe's brutal sidekick Nicarco and his manservant Vaffrino.

Anyone expecting this situation to resolve itself serenely after the fashion of Calisto, however, is in for a shock, for the opera's subject is actually the relationship between sex and war. The men are members of a military alliance that is in the process of flattening Armenia. whether it holds or not depends on the shifting sexual allegiances back home. Once Usimano's guise has been penetrated, Statira becomes a bargaining tool between themen, who demand her favours in exchange for military service to her father. A conventionally happy ending doesn't alleviate the resultant nastiness.

Stylistically, the score blends familiar Cavalli with startlingly new elements. Cloridaspe and Usimano are both played by women, which means there are plenty of his sexy trademark duets for twining female voices. Instead of advancing the action with extended recitative dialogues as in La Calisto, however, Statira often proceeds by way of successive monologues that swing from recitative to arioso and back. As Statira becomes a pawn in a man's world, her growing anguish is mirrored in arias of ever-increasing size and difficulty. Cavalli is frequently cited as the link between Monteverdi and Handel; his pivotal nature has never been more apparent than here.

Conducting his own Naples-based period band, the Cappella de' Turchini, Antonio Florio's performance has great clout. Cavalli never wrote out the orchestration in full - in the 17th century, much of it would have been improvised in performance - and this performing edition is Florio's own. It's very stark, with dry strings and sparsely deployed woodwind and brass, far removed from the smoothness of Raymond Leppard's editions or the jazzy flamboyance of René Jacobs.

The singing, however, is uneven. Clarity of diction sometimes takes precedence over beauty of line. Dionisia di Vico's Cloridaspe reveals some ungainly register breaks, and Giuseppe Naviglio's Nicarco isn't quite dangerous enough. On the plus side, however, there's Rosario Totaro's funny, cynical Vaffrino, Maria Ercolano's complex, vibrant Usimano and, above all, Roberta Invernizzi's Statira, miraculously fusing sound with sense in even the most taxing bravura passages. This is a restoration of a lost masterpiece by one of opera's greats, and you need to hear it. (Tim Ashley / The Guardian)

Roberta Invernizzi / I Turchini / Antonio Florio I VIAGGI DI FAUSTINA

I Viaggi di Faustina is part of a series from Spain's Glossa label, with each album examining the legacy of a singer from the 18th century, re-creating the repertory sung and even the sound of the voice insofar as such a thing is possible. The title I Viaggi di Faustina refers to Faustina Bordoni, the Neapolitan singer who became famous for her onstage brawl with her rival Francesca Cuzzoni, shrewdly egged on by Handel's promoters in London. But her career was centered on Naples, where she married German-born composer Johann Adolf Hasse; the "viaggi" here are trips both to and from Naples, and the music consists of excerpts from operas she is known to have sung. A similar album by American mezzo soprano Vivica Genaux brings Handel into the mix, but Italian mezzo Roberta Invernizzi sticks with Italian composers, and the scale of the music, more delicate than fiery, is suited to her voice. The music blooms into high notes only occasionally, but it demands agility and finesse, according well with contemporary descriptions of Bordoni's own voice. And Invernizzi is sympathetic to the music, which includes no killer Handelian tunes but has plenty of charm. The program is mostly by three composers, two known only to Baroque and Classical opera enthusiasts, Leonardo Vinci and Nicola Porpora (the latter Haydn's teacher), and one Neapolitan local unknown to all but serious specialists, Francesco Mancini. The fact that the Mancini pieces are perhaps the most charming of all will recommend this album automatically to anyone with an interest in the period. It all comes together in a piece like "Canta e de caro usignolo," from Mancini's opera Traiano, a night piece that shows off the smooth sound of the Baroque orchestra I Turchini under Antonio Florio to great advantage. A worthwhile addition to any library of Baroque opera and a pleasant foretaste of delights to come in Glossa's series. (James Manheim)