Only recently I wrote on this site about the new recording of Monteverdi's Vespro della Beata Vergine by InAlto. That double CD impressed with the thoroughness with which Lambert Colson approaches the work. He created a concrete reconstruction of a Marian vespers as it might have sounded in Mantua around 1610. The result offered a surprisingly fresh perspective on a work I thought I already knew rather well.
The question, then, was how that vision would translate live.
Before the concert began, Colson himself addressed the audience. InAlto turned out to be caught up in a stubborn battle against the viruses. The originally planned line-up of ten singers had to be adjusted: alto Gavagnin was absent and was not replaced, while a tenor had to be substituted at the last moment. In an ensemble of this size, these are not minor details. Every voice carries an essential part of the musical structure.
A second factor came into play: the acoustics of the concert hall at the Bijloke. It was not the first time I had attended a concert there, and once again I was struck by how dry this hall sounds. That is not a criticism, since the clarity of the sound is impressive and not a single detail is lost, even at the back of the hall. But for the musicians on stage, it is a merciless environment. There is hardly any reverberation, hardly any acoustic support, and virtually no natural feedback.
This inevitably affects music like this. Monteverdi wrote his Marian vespers for the large church spaces of Italy, where sounds blend, resonate and naturally take on a certain majestic dimension. In the Bijloke, you hear everything much more directly: bare voices, individual lines, and details that in a church building often dissolve into a larger whole.
Under these circumstances, the quality of the instrumental ensemble stood out in particular. Throughout the evening, the instrumentalists formed a remarkably solid foundation and supported the singers with great care and musicality. With a relatively small ensemble, they managed to present a rich and varied palette of colours. On several occasions they played an important role in carrying the whole.
The singers, in turn, gave their best, but the circumstances were sometimes felt. In the sopranos I occasionally missed the natural brilliance that some passages need to make a real impact. At other moments the concert seemed to catch its breath.
What I missed most, beyond that, was a sense of grandeur. Not necessarily the massive kind, but a certain spaciousness and tension. On the recent CD, InAlto succeeded in conjuring a remarkably full sound world. In the dry acoustics of the Bijloke, that came about less naturally.
It also remains astonishing how this ensemble operates without a conductor. Yet during this performance I more than once wondered whether precisely this music might not benefit from a conductor who adds colour, direction and extra tension to the whole.
Do not misunderstand me: this was a polished and musically very sound performance. The craftsmanship of everyone involved was beyond dispute. But where the CD gave me the feeling of gaining a new perspective on Monteverdi's masterpiece, this concert remained for me somewhat more a meticulous reading of the score than an evening that truly got under the skin.
You left the hall with respect for what the musicians had achieved under these circumstances. But not necessarily with the feeling that Monteverdi had revealed himself in all his richness that evening.
The day after, InAlto had another performance on the programme in Versailles. One can only hope that the battle against the viruses had subsided by then.