Solomon

Solomon, one of Handel’s most sumptuous oratorios, is more popular today than when it was launched in 1749. Eighteenth-century audiences may have been put off by the dearth of dramatic action and, despite enthusiastic praise of God, its lack of Christian spirit (it doesn’t embody timeless moral truths like Jephtha). This pantheistic masterpiece, brimming with pageantry, is a celebration of the prosperity of the Jews during the Golden Age of wise King Solomon—metaphorically a glorification of Georgian England. The orchestration is exceptionally lavish and inventive and, as a counterbalance to the weight of the choruses, the casting favours high voices: even the part of Solomon himself was intended for a female mezzo-soprano (just like opera, where heroic male parts were always sung by high voices—castrati or women). Throughout, the libretto provided Handel with the vivid imagery of the natural world that triggered his imagination: half the 21 arias (and all Solomon’s) draw their inspiration from nature or the seasons, including the Queen of Sheba’s sensual “Will the sun forget to streak”. The choruses are among Handel’s finest, demonstrating the vast range of his technique, from massive double-choir pieces like “Praise the Lord” to the delicately evocative “May No Rash Intruder”, in which Solomon and his Queen retire to bed lulled by nightingales (flutes) and zephyrs (low murmuring strings).