It begins startlingly: brisk, staccato, pistol-shot chords, and the oboe is off at a fashionably rapid pace which is arrested at the orchestral statement ‘Cosi fan tutte’: and then the Presto, at a tempo that tests the agility of the woodwind (and does not find it wanting). This is not, in short, a conventional performance, either of the traditional or the ‘period-instrument’ type. Rene Jacobs tends to make the fast music faster than usual and the slow slower. Several numbers emerge with a real brilliance of sound and execution: the last of the three trios in the opening scene, for instance, the sextet, the men’s laughing trio, the stretto of the Act 1 finale, or the end of the ‘lesson-in-love’ quartet. In much of the slower music he is apt to luxuriate. The farewell quintet is a case in point, but it is agonizingly lovely; the heavenly trio that follows too is leisurely, with a cloudy, sensuous quality to the sound. Another movement over which Jacobs lingers, here I think excessively, is the (anyway lengthy) B flat section of the first finale, which otherwise, however, is alert and well paced. The toast in canon in the second finale is also drawn out – so different in tempo from the ensuing section that the two pieces seem to have nothing to do with each other. In the E flat quintet (the beginning of the farewell scene) Jacobs seemingly tries to get the best of both worlds, with a stiffish, martial gait for the men’s music and then a livelier tempo for the girls’; he doesn’t succeed. I do like his pacing of the recitatives, however, which allows the singers enough time to articulate meaningfully but keeps things moving along; and the appoggiaturas, nearly all of them, sound natural and convincing.
Jacobs also shows sensitivity to the particular colour of Mozart’s scoring in this opera. He uses an orchestra that corresponds almost exactly with Mozart’s own (the strings are 6.6.4.3.3). Whether it is intentional, or an acoustical quirk, the violins are extraordinarily subdued: sometimes it is hard to hear them (the firsts in particular) at all, and usually the violas are much more prominent, especially when they are sustaining and the violins have accompanying figuration (Alfonso’s little F minor aria in Act 1 is a good example). This playing-down of the violin line allows for rich wind colouring and the graceful clarinet and bassoon lines that distinguish this score have plenty of scope. The brilliant colours of the fully scored items also come sharply across, and in ‘Come scoglio’, which (exceptionally) uses trumpets but no horns, Jacobs and his engineers have the trumpets well forward. Accents and dynamic markings are rigorously and incisively observed, in the (perhaps exaggerated) modern manner. What is perhaps less happy is the constant overprominence of the bass-line, which is sometimes raspy and obtrusive; three double-basses may be too many. The orchestral playing is adept, especially the woodwind, but there are moments, notably in the accompanied recitatives, of imperfect ensemble. The continuo fortepiano is recorded quite forwardly and often adds colour or comment to the orchestral palette.
Not many of the names in the cast-list are familiar, at least as Mozartians. The most experienced among the singers is Bernarda Fink, who contributes a poised Dorabella: there are suggestions of quickening love in ‘Il core vi dono’ and a neat, light ‘E Amore un ladroncello’. Her voice blends happily with that of Veronique Gens, the Fiordiligi, whose previous recordings have mainly been with Les Arts Florissants. Gens gives a big, noble account of ‘Come scoglio’ and a very slow, concentrated ‘Per pieta’; she uses a shade more vibrato than one might have expected in this context. She has the necessary chest tones for Fiordiligi’s dips below the stave. Both of these are very capable performances. The Despina, Graciela Oddone, is lively and worldly-wise, with some attractive artifice in her rather slow account of ‘Una donna a quindici anni’; once or twice her intonation is marginal. She and Pietro Spagnoli give a light, rapid and graceful account of the ‘lesson in love’ quartet. Spagnoli, who has sung as a bass, sounds here like a fairly light baritone, unusual for the role these days although it is probably what Mozart intended, and it works well; he gives the impression of being very much in control of the proceedings, as an Alfonso ought. As Guglielmo, Marcel Boone is smooth and appropriately insinuating, with a touch of sensuality and a good deal of warmth in his voice. ‘Donne mie’, with lively orchestral playing in support, is delightful. Lastly, Werner Gura’s Ferrando: the crucial moment is of course ‘Un’aura amorosa’, which he sings wonderfully gracefully and with perfect control. His voice is not very varied, but it is beautifully even and always a pleasure to listen to. I am sure we will hear much more of this accomplished singer.
Cosi fan tutte has been well served on disc: there is an array of recordings in the catalogue, traditional ones and ‘period’ ones, of distinction. My own preference among the latter remains with Oestman, as the most appealingly intimate and the best balanced; but this new one does have unusual and arresting things to say about the work, and aficionados of the work will certainly want to hear it.'