One would be forgiven for not knowing the name Niccolò Jommelli (1714-1774), even though he was one of the most eminent composers in Europe, and wrote in the region of sixty operas, both comic and serious, during his nearly forty-year career. To most who do, his is just one in a list of names in music history textbooks, a way-station on the road to operatic ‘reform’ as exemplified by Gluck. True, there has been some limited recording of his work on disc, most notably the late opera Armida abbandonata (1771) under the direction of Christophe Rousset, but save for the odd revival here and there, such as a version of the Metastasian drama Demofoonte (1770) given at the Paris Opera under Riccardo Muti in 2009, his work in the realm of opera seria still remains a dusty curiosity for most. Jommelli was born outside Naples and studied under the operatic composer Francesco Feo as well as Ignazio Prota, whose main strength was sacred music. It was for Neapolitan theatres that he wrote his first operas, which were both comic: L’errore amoroso (1737) and Odoardo (1738). His first opera on a serious theme was written for Rome in 1740: a setting of Apostolo Zeno and Pietro Pariati’s drama Ricimero, re di Goti. For the next decade or so, he produced operas in all the major centres across Italy, as well as Vienna. From there he was called to Stuttgart, which, like Parma would do for Tommaso Traetta several years later, offered him a concentration of French-inspired culture. It was here that the ideas for reform based on the French style — such as the increased use of accompanied recitatives, choruses, and dances integrated into the dramatic action as first practiced by Jean-Baptiste Lully — were acquired and refined.

Reform, however, is but a far-off glint in Jommelli’s eyes at the time of writing La Didone. Rather, the present opera is a typical opera seria with all the hallmarks of the genre: alternating secco recitative and da capo arias within a three-act structure. Performed at Rome in 1746, the libretto is a setting of Pietro Metastasio’s 1724 play La Didone abbandonata, first set by Domenico Sarro (or Sarri). The story, taken largely from Virgil’s Aeneid by way of Ovid’s Fasti, is that of the ill-fated love affair between Didone, Queen of Carthage, and the Trojan prince Enea, further complicated by political and amorous tensions between the main lovers and Iarba, king of the Moors. Jommelli was a keen revisionist, and quite a few of his operas are re-settings of libretti he had already dealt with at some point in his career. The version of Demofoonte mentioned above is itself the fourth incarnation of that libretto produced by the composer. Didone abbandonata, too, underwent four such revisions (1747, 1749, 1763 and one posthumously in the period 1777-83). The version of 1747, which was given as part of the 2014 London Handel Festival, differs from Metastasio’s original libretto in only a few arias, mostly replacements, with one aria being cut.

Typical of the genre right until the end of the eighteenth century, the scoring is geared towards higher voice types, the lowest, Iarba, being a tenor. Thus Enea and Araspe, Iarba’s aide, are both written for soprano castrati. Osmida, Didone’s traitorous minister, is an alto castrato. As the opera was written for Rome, where it was forbidden for women to appear on stage, the female roles of Didone and Selene, her sister, were also written with alto and soprano castrati respectively in mind. In order to reproduce the kind of vocal palette of the original 1747 production, Ensemble Serse chose to have an all-male cast, meaning that there were both alto and soprano countertenors. The former, represented by Tom Verney as Didone, and James Hall as Osmida, were both excellent. Both have beautifully silky voices, which were put to good use in arias such as Didone’s defiant aria di bravura, Son regina, e sono amante. While Jommelli may not have given Osmida the flashiest arias, Hall’s performance was nevertheless very satisfactory and solid. The sopranists were of a more variable quality. The role of Enea is very demanding, with Jommelli employing a formidable arsenal of roulades and leaps and bounds across an expansive range in a number of arias (the indecisive Se resto sul lido which closes Act 1, and the rather more resolute A trionfar mi chiama un bel desio, featuring a ‘duel’ between soloist and trumpeter, are but two examples). Calvin Wells, his impressive range notwithstanding, often came across as shrill in the upper registers, and somewhat wooden in his acting, but must nevertheless be commended for tackling such a role. The roles of Araspe and Selene, which make up a subsidiary (unfulfilled) love dodecahedron, sung by Martin Milnes and Alexander Pullinger respectively, both redeemed themselves in their final arias: the bravura comparison aria Già si desta la tempesta, in which Araspe implores Didone to leave the burning city of Carthage by comparing her to being lost at sea during a storm; and Selene’s plangent Nel duol che prova, the only aria of the opera in a minor key. The lone tenor, Ronan Busfield, was superb as the tyrant Iarba, playing the role with aplomb and revelling in the wonderfully dramatic arie di furia which Jommelli affords the character, notably Chiamami pur così,in which he vows to have revenge on Didone for spurning him, and Cadrà fra poco in cenere, where he taunts the queen as her city burns down around her. Overall, though, it was a generally strong cast, with only occasional moments where some of the drama was missed (Didone could have been a lot more pleading in the aria Ah! non lasciarmi, for example). It may have been a concert performance, but it is still an opera!

Musical director Chad Kelly, conducting from the harpsichord, was also a fine helmsman to his orchestra, making well-informed musical choices, and also ensuring that they were well and smoothly executed. His continuo playing, along with cellist Gavin Kibble, kept the recitatives from becoming stale and monotonous, while Ensemble Serse itself, playing on period instruments at the contemporary Roman pitch of 392Hz, was equally delightful to watch. The work is scored in the standard manner for opera across the eighteenth century: a string orchestra and pairs of oboes, flutes and horns, accompanied by harpsichord continuo. To this a bassoon was added in order to beef up the bass line. Trumpets, and with them obligatory timpani, were rightly added in a few arias where they were not explicitly called for. The orchestra is fairly small (only eighteen instrumentalists), but this suits this kind of repertoire where clarity, transparency, and incisiveness is paramount, qualities which were all evident in abundance in this performance. This intimate size was equally suited to the performance venue of the Grosvenor Chapel, a Georgian church in the heart of Mayfair.

It is a pity that this performance was a one-off event. Its music historical interest notwithstanding, this kind of repertoire is fairly hard to come by in Britain, and it is a shame that not more of it is performed here. Unlike some other attempts at reviving the eighteenth-century opera seria, this version of La Didone was performed uncut as in the manuscript, which brought the total running time to over four hours, not including the two intervals. Some may say that this is indeed a demanding length of time for an audience to concentrate, but at no point did it really feel as though the drama was dragging. This is thus not an argument against producing more work from the hundreds of neglected scores still in manuscript. Rather, we should be willing to give the benefit of the doubt to a genre and style which dominated the operatic scene for almost a century, and be open to the fact that there are many such gems just waiting to be found if we have the patience to look close enough. I eagerly await what Ensemble Serse will produce for next year’s festival.