George Frideric Handel: Arias
David Hobson (tenor)
Cantillation, Sinfonia Australis / Antony Walker
Recorded 2001 | ABC Classics ABC 472 151-2 [55’13”]
Handel’s arias—as perennial as ever—are here distilled into a compact collection that both affirms and — well — complicates their enduring appeal. David Hobson’s Arias disc, issued from the antipodean outback of classical music production, offers a survey of some of the composer’s best-loved tenor pieces, alongside a few less frequently trodden paths. The program ranges from Semele’s pastoral “Where’er You Walk” to Judas Maccabeus’s battle cry “Sound the Alarm,” threading through the familiar and the obscure with an Australian ensemble—Cantillation and Sinfonia Australis under Antony Walker—that plays with a lithe, polished precision.
Hobson’s voice strikes one immediately: not the typically honeyed Handel tenor one might expect, but rather a vocal instrument marked by a certain nasal incisiveness that can irk as much as it intrigues. His diction is razor-sharp—each consonant carved out with almost pedagogic clarity—though this clarity sometimes comes at the expense of warmth or ease. Yet, there’s undeniable vitality in his rendering, especially when launching into the quicker tempos now de rigueur in Handel interpretation.
The brisk pulse behind “Tune Your Harps” (from Esther), with its pizzicato strings; and solo oboe decor, propels Hobson’s lines forward with a kind of restless urgency. It’s not sentimental, nor is it languid; rather, it’s the sound of Handel’s music—alive and kicking in the 21st century. The orchestra and chorus deserve distinct applause.
Sinfonia Australis delivers a crisply articulated accompaniment that balances period-informed style with the clarity and — well — sheen of a modern symphony orchestra. Antony Walker’s tempi lean decidedly on the fleet side—most notably in “Sound the Alarm,” where Judas’s call to arms seems less a summons than a full-on charge. The chorus, Cantillation, is deployed to fine effect in the two grand choral excerpts: the triumphant St Cecilia’s Day ode “The Trumpet’s Loud Clangour” and the martial chorus from Judas Maccabeus.
They provide a resplendent backdrop, their twelve voices neither too thick nor too thin; the balance with the orchestra is well judged. Special mention must be made of the soloists within the band—a trio of instrumental highlights that add colour and character. Linda Walsh’s oboe in “Tune Your Harps” and Acis and Galatea’s “Love in Her Eyes” is a marvel of phrasing: refined yet with a clear, singing tone that complements the tenor line perfectly.
Leanne Sullivan’s trumpet fanfare at the start of St Cecilia’s Day is nothing short of galvanizing—assertive, bright, and unyielding in its clarity. And cellist Susan Blake’s sustained lines in the Athalia and Atalanta arias provide a — subtle, almost imperceptible warmth that grounds the ensemble texture without ever calling attention to itself. Of course, the program’s selection offers room for debate.
While it contains the usual suspects like “Ombra Mai Fu” (Serse), here sung by tenor rather than the customary alto, and “Lascia la Spina” from the cantata Il Trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno—the earliest vocal setting of the melody that would later become “Lascia ch’io pianga”—it could have been more expansive. The disc’s fifty-five minutes feel slightly truncated; one yearns for a broader sampling from Acis and Galatea, Jephtha, or even the ever-potent Messiah. The da capo sections receive variable treatment: some are lightly ornamented in keeping with Handel’s own practices, others left untouched.
This inconsistency is a minor irritation but also a reminder of the still-evolving nature of historically informed performance. Curiously, “Silent Worship” from Tolomeo is sung here to the familiar Arthur Somervell English text, rather than the original Italian. This choice, while understandable from an accessibility standpoint, jars against the otherwise faintly veiled nods to authenticity that pepper the disc.
It’s a small but telling reminder that Handelian execution practice remains a living negotiation, not a settled doctrine. Ultimately, Hobson’s Arias is a valuable addition to the catalog of Handel tenor — recordings—not least for its clear-sighted approach and the evident commitment of all involved. It’s not flawless: its vocal timbre and some programming decisions will divide opinion.
Still, it’s a disc that brims with life, with the bracing honesty of a performer who’s not afraid to let the music’s exuberance—and at times, its wrenching pathos—shine through. Handel’s music, as always, proves resilient and radiant, and this disc is a vigorous reminder of its undiminished capacity to enchant. I’m happy to recommend it warmly, if cautiously, to Handel devotees and newcomers alike—especially those curious; about how antipodean ensembles negotiate these famous arias with fresh energy and a lightly modernized sensibility.
