The Indian Queen is the ugly duckling among Henry Purcell’s semi-operas. Ill health prevented him from conjuring music for more than three of its five acts, while his death soon after the premiere meant his brother, Daniel, was called in to enliven the ending with a nuptial knees-up entitled The Masque of Hymen. Nevertheless, the work contains a great deal of fine music, as Harry Christophers and the Sixteen demonstrated in a spirited evening that included Daniel’s aforementioned finale and one of his brother’s imaginative, though lyrically fawning Royal Welcome Songs.
Purcell’s final operatic entertainment is a convoluted tale of Aztecs versus Incas. Zempoalla, the Indian Queen of the title, has bumped off her brother in order to rule over Mexico where she falls for the young general Montezuma, not realising he is the disguised heir to the throne and her nephew to boot. Creaky plot aside, the quality of Purcellian invention is readily apparent in rollicking orchestral hornpipes and vigorous trumpet tunes, all delivered with crisp precision by the 18-or-so musicians crammed on to the Wigmore Hall stage. It also contains two of Purcell’s greatest hits: the maleficent You Twice Ten Hundred Deities with its croaking toads and crested adders, and the florid soprano aria, I Attempt from Love’s Sickness to Fly.
Among a sterling cast, Jeremy Budd’s fluent, pinging tenor stood out, while Eamonn Dougan relished summoning the god of sleep and flexing his sibilants backed by a troupe of hissing serpents. The choral singing was exceptional with immaculate blend and snappy diction. On the downside, placing the singers behind the orchestra created sightline problems and hampered dramatic projection.
The first half of the concert was equally likable. Sound the Trumpet, Beat the Drum was the final ode Purcell composed for James II before Protestant England gave its Catholic monarch the boot. The performance was lithe and elegant, Christophers shaping lightly sprung strings, and with piquant contributions from harp and baroque guitar. Daniel Purcell’s splendidly cynical masque, which followed, had its moments, but you couldn’t help wishing for an extra helping of Henry’s musical wit.
