To describe Zoroastre as one of Rameau's most uncompromising music-dramas may seem strange when you consider that when it was revived in 1756, seven years after its premiere had met a rather lukewarm reception, it was in a heavily revised version in which the love interest had been stepped up. The story is of the endless struggle between good and evil which dominates the religion Zoroastre himself has founded.
Rameau's prime concern isn't with Zoroastrianism, but the elemental magic scenes and the intensely human emotions of love, jealousy, vengeance and rage thrown up by the story.
Even so, there's a concentrated seriousness of intent about this work which sets it apart from standard tragédie lyrique. The French practice of blurring the distinction between recitatives and arias is intensified, so that choruses and snatches of melody fly past in a breathless, flexible flow of incident. And Rameau's music conjures massive dramatic contrasts, ranging from ineffably tender love scenes for Zoroastre and Amélite in Acts 3 and 5 to the almost oppressive demonic power of the subterranean incantations of Act 4, led by the strongly drawn characters of Abramane and Erinice.
The cast is in the best Les Arts Florissants tradition of dramatic commitment and intelligent treatment of text. Mark Padmore has the perfect high tenor for Zoroastre, able to charm in tender moments yet rage in the confrontational scenes without losing any of its essential sweetness, while Nathan Berg makes a strong and fearsome-sounding Abramane. Even more impressive, however, are the two principal sopranos: Anna Maria Panzarella gives her all as the tormented Erinice, while Gaëlle Méchaly is wonderfully bright and clear as Amélite. There are odd moments of vocal weakness among some of the other roles, but they cause no serious damage. The chorus and orchestra both perform for Christie with great vigour, the former contributing memorably to the underworld scenes, and the latter performing delightfully in the opera's many dances.