Even in these circumspect times‚ the ambitious ‘Tesori di Napoli’ series continues unearthing works whose merit is one thing‚ but whose significance for future generations is a fascinating sideshow. Niccolò Jommelli‚ if not exactly a household name‚ was an established Neopolitan mid18th century ‘master’ whose reputation was founded on operatic successes in several major centres – enough to secure him a fine eulogy from Dr Burney in 1770. For the uninitiated (and knowing only the odd cantata and vespers settings‚ I count myself such)‚ the fluid tonal progression of the recitatives in Jommelli’s comic ‘intermezzo’‚ Don Trastullo‚ has da PonteMozart resonating with illuminating prescience.

The Montecassino Monastery recently hosted the score of this comic opera by Leonardo Leo, one of the leading Neapolitan composers of the 18th century, who introduced new stylistic elements to the genre. Cirillo shows in a very exciting way in his direction how nothing actually happens in this opera - apart from a very subtle play of the relationships between the seven protagonists. As with Marivaux, this is about the social differences when the middle class turns to the servants and vice versa, and as in a Feydeauschen comedy, they wander on stage (and leave again) to spy, to portray themselves, or to court someone until everyone is eaten away by doubt.

For more than two centuries Naples was a province of Spain, and after this ended in 1707 the remarkable cross-fertilisation of culture between them did not stop. Much of the Italian music featured here has been edited from sources in Spanish collections. The vast bulk of it is devoted to Leonardo Vinci (one of the most celebrated Italian opera composers of the 1720s). Only one short piece tacked onto the end is actually Spanish: a colourful fandango from José de Nebra's zarzuela Vendado es amor,no es ciego (1744) in which three singers mockingly compare the squabbling goddesses of classical antiquity to bickering mothers-in-law.

Opus 111 continues its collection of Treasures of Naples and this time offers us a series of Neapolitan songs performed by Patrizia Bovi, Pino de Vittorio, Rosario Totaro and some instrumental soloists from the groups Micrologus and Cappella de »Turchini. The performances, always within the rigor that characterizes these ensembles, are full of freshness and liveliness. The singers articulate the texts, witty, sparkling at times, melancholic at other times, with total clarity. The instrumental works, including a version of the beautiful and anonymous "Villanella ch" all "acqua vai", are masterfully performed.

Antonio Florio et son équipe de la Cappella de'Turchini nous ont habitués à de passionnantes découvertes dans le répertoire de leur ville de Naples, au passé musical si riche et pourtant délaissé par la plupart des musiciens.

One of the causes of the ‘crisis’ in the music industry is the fact that too many works are recorded over and over again. There are innumerable CDs with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons or Pergolesi’s Stabat mater. But once in a while someone has the imagination to perform and record a completely unknown piece by a composer hardly anybody has ever heard about. Antonio Florio is one of those creative minds who concentrates on little-known repertoire. In the last decade or so he has explored the musical past of his city, Naples. This time he presents a composition by an Italian who, for the largest part of his life, worked in Vienna. Badia was born in Verona and went to Innsbruck at a young age.

The priest Giuseppe Cavallo was Maestro di Canto of the Conservatorio de Santa Maria de Loreto from 1672 until his death in 1684. Otherwise, virtually nothing is known about the composer, and it is only due to the musical archive of the Oratorio di Napoli, a treasure trove of rare scores, that a handful of Cavallo's works survive, including Il Giudizio Universale. This sacred oratorio presents Christ and Saint Michael, a pair of angels, two mortals, and four souls–two damned, two blessed–and begins with Christ commanding the angels to bring on the Last Judgment. What follows is a finely crafted musical drama, except for the confusion caused when the otherwise immaculately presented album fails to reveal which of the seven singers (two sopranos, three tenors, and one bass) is singing which parts.