This animated and engaging recording, captured with clarity, might perhaps finally please the Fourth Earl of Shaftesbury, who bemoaned the indifferent performances of the original cast back in May 1738. Despite that commercial failure (only five performances), I would agree with David Kimbell’s judgement that ‘Serse is at least the equal of the finest Royal Academy operas of the mid-1720s’ – and certainly one of the most melodious. Part of its modern attraction lies in its proto-buffa elements, thanks largely to the libretto’s Venetian origins, later adapted by Silvio Stampiglia (1664-1725) and once set to music by Giovanni Bononcini. There are comic moments – often driven by the two Venetian stock figures – that are hard to capture on a sound recording but which this pleasingly delineated cast keep clear and light, as their quick-fire recitative allows many emotions to sparkle between the famous arias.

The superb cast is led by Emily D’Angelo in the title-role, whose opening aria will not disappoint: beautifully controlled and rich in tone, it’s an entrance aria like no other – a powerful king singing about the beauty of a tree. Bicket’s tempo may not wallow but D’Angelo certainly basks in the long melodic lines, leaving hints of despotic tendencies for the long journey ahead. This opera inspired some of Handel’s most ingenious musical architecture and his gentle but persistent disruption of formal conventions throughout aids both comedic flow and character development. The first sign of this is Romilda’s entrance, which, heralded by muted strings and recorders, mocks Serse’s tree-hugging antics. Her song is interrupted by onlookers, however, and by the time she reaches a dazzling cabaletta Serse has fallen for her. Lucy Crowe plays this scene superbly well, from her radiant first entry to her audacious and fearless ornamentation in ‘Và godendo vezzoso e bello’.

Serse, unaware that his brother Arsamene (Paula Murrihy) is already Romilda’s lover, decides to declare his passion directly to Romilda himself (‘Io le dirò che l’amo’), an aria sung by D’Angelo with such uncomplicated arrogance that the comedy is momentarily suspended. Indeed, her vocal presence throughout this recording is gloriously commanding, but her character journey is equally impressive. She is admirably complemented by Murrihy, whose portrayal of the slighted brother is poignant when Arsemene copies Serse’s tune, sure that his beloved Romilda will not take the king’s passion seriously. Murrihy leaves just enough room for a glimpse of doubt in her character’s facade. It’s a delicious anticipation of the drama to come.

Scheming and flirtation are left to Romilda’s sister, Atalanta, who has her own eyes on Arsamene. Mary Bevan sparkles here, and she closes Act 1 with one of Handel’s most modern arias, ‘Un cenno leggiadretto’, in which she lists the many coquettish ways she could flirt, accompanied by ravishing violin flutters. It’s more of an acted song than a set-piece aria and Bevan is captivating. Listen out also for her short but powerful flash of defiance in the Act 3 aria ‘No, no, se tu mi sprezzi’, in which she dialogues with Handel’s mocking unisono strings.

There is a strong character performance from William Dazeley as the comic servant Elviro, whose flower-selling scene in Act 2 is a highlight. Similarly, Daniela Mack as Serse’s rejected lover Amastre grabs the limelight with her Act 2 aria ‘Or che siete, speranze’, in which she portrays the awakening of deep anger. Attention is repeatedly pulled back to Serse’s character development, and although D’Angelo doesn’t quite lose control enough in ‘Se bramate d’amar’ (Act 2) for my liking, when Serse is finally outwitted in the penultimate scene by learning that his brother has secretly married Romilda, a crisis point is finally reached and he explodes into a classic rage aria, ‘Crude furie degl’orridi abissi’, which shows the full range of D’Angelo’s skill; the effect is more astonishing for her not having played all her cards until this point.

A special mention must be made of the orchestra and their silvery string tone. The Overture is full of sprightly anticipation and notable for its harpsichord energy, and the Act 3 Sinfonia is broad and rich. Speaking of the harpsichord, that very particular restlessness peaks in Arsemene’s suffering aria ‘Amor, tiranno Amor’, where the final flourish squirms with unresolved longing.

On choosing their recording of La Resurrezione (6/22) for last year’s Critics’ Choice (12/22), Mark Seow referred to Bicket and The English Concert as a ‘crack team of Handelians’. I couldn’t agree more: this new Serse is surely one of the most charismatic recordings now available.