Handel composed Almira, his first opera, in 1704, when he was a violinist in the opera orchestra at Hamburg; it was performed at the beginning of 1705, six weeks before his twentieth birthday. The models were of course the Hamburg operas of the time, in particular those of Reinhard Keiser; indeed the Almira libretto is derived from a text by F. C. Feustking, partly a translation from an Italian original by Pancieri, that Keiser had earlier set. It is of course a German opera, although for 15 of the arias the original Italian is retained (the effect of this isn’t as odd as you might expect; in fact it is hardly noticeable). The most obvious difference between Handel’s Hamburg operas and his later ones is that the arias are much more numerous and mostly much shorter.
Almira has a plot about a young Spanish queen and her marital affairs, with the usual complications of deceptions and misunderstandings, stray would-be suitors, and the rediscovery of a long-lost heir; but there is also a comic, earthy servant, in the old Venetian manner, which leads to a mixture of styles and moods. The music itself is very short-breathed for Handel; he had yet to acquire the full amplitude and resource of his later vocal style – that, of course, was to happen in Italy, although Johann Mattheson later claimed that he was largely responsible for Handel’s mastery of vocal writing through the instruction he gave him in Hamburg. There is a good deal of variety, however, about the arias (of which a high proportion are in minor keys). Many are simple continuo-accompanied arias, especially the very brief ones; often they have much-repeated bass figures. Several have light accompaniment and then a full orchestral ritornello at the end, a type he occasionally used later. There are a few with unusual scoring, for example one with flutes and viola, and there are several effective ones with oboe (sometimes oboe and continuo only), including what is surely the finest in the opera, Almira’s “Geloso tormento”, a poignant and powerful outburst, rivalled only by the music of the Act 3 prison scene where Fernando (her beloved) thinks himself about to die (he had been falsely charged with infidelity, evidently a capital offence): an impassioned F minor aria, and a deeply felt accompanied recitative gliding into arioso as he reconciles himself to death, watched and commented on by Almira, his true lover, who will of course spare him – a worthy precursor of many later scenes of this kind.
There are the usual stirring, military numbers in C major, with triadic themes, some fine pathetic ones, and a couple of arias where the characters’ boasting is neatly conveyed in the music. Many arias of course provided Handel with material he used later, in Italy and in London (you will hear among the Act 3 dances the very first – as far as we know – incarnation of what was to be “Lascia ch’io pianga”): Almira, you might say, is full of quotations. Ultimately, however, it has to be said that the musical level in this long work – not far short of four hours of music – is variable, more so than in the mature operas, because there is some trivial music here; and often the short phrases, with too many cadences, dissipate the vitality the music promises to generate. Mattheson’s and Keiser’s operas are similar; but Almira does embody many ideas that hint at the later Handel – indeed already bear his fingerprints unmistakably – and show a brilliance and depth far beyond those men.
So I would urge Handelians to give Almira a hearing. The performance, based on a staging given in Bremen and Halle in 1994, gives a very fair idea of the work. Andrew Lawrence-King, who took over the direction of the recording when the original conductor (Thomas Albert) withdrew through illness, paces it well and generally keeps the recitative moving along. Where it is allowed to slow down one is sometimes reminded of the world of German Passion music. The continuo instrumentation is varied a good deal; often a bassoon alone is used, and sometimes violone alone, both of which seem to me unsatisfactory, and the effect is not infrequently rather bass-heavy. The dance pieces that survive only as melody and bass are played that way when they should surely have inner parts added. There is a certain amount of ornamentation, mostly quite discreet though here and there extravagant (as in Bellante’s Act 3 aria).
Among the singers, Ann Monoyios makes a generally sympathetic Almira, light and bright in tone, and often phrasing her music gracefully; she does well in her demanding Act 3 aria although it really calls for a higher level of virtuosity. Patricia Rozario sometimes seems under strain in Edilia’s music, which perhaps lies high for her. There are three tenor roles (no castratos in Hamburg!), of which Fernando’s is particularly attractively sung by Jamie MacDougall, a tenor of some depth of tone and capable of expressive phrasing. David Thomas sings with directness and particular authority in the role of Consalvo and Olaf Haye supplies warm singing in Raymondo’s music.'