Photo courtesy of Catapult Opera

Chekhov’s Law has it that if a gun is shown in Act I, it must be fired by the end of the play. By an operatic corollary, if the opening scene presents a cake on a cake stand, and the pastry is divided (or tossed, or smeared) during the first scenes of the show, somebody’s head must replace it by the finale. Catapult Opera’s production of Stradella’s San Giovanni Battista does not disappoint.

Catapult is presented the Alessandro Stradella oratorio (staged) through last Friday at The Space at Irondale, a couple of flights up the stairs within a church on the corner of South Oxford and Fulton Street in Brooklyn, a few blocks from BAM. The venue, a church attic popular for theater presentations, is the perfect size for Stradella’s music with an orchestra (largely strings—winds were rare before the eighteenth century) of a dozen and voices that curled felicitously, like a tribe of felines, around his melodies.

I mention these details because, though the staging was improbable, not to say perverse, the music is splendid, performed by a number of first-rate singers and a small, excellent band. And really, the scenario Catapult has cooked up, though it has little to do with the Biblical story Stradella was telling, is no farther from his intentions than the Met’s current Salome, focused on long-term child abuse, is wide of Oscar Wilde’s intent.

Photo courtesy of Catapult Opera

Stradella (1643-82) appears very early in operatic history, and his short, startling life could easily be the subject of an opera itself—and was so utilized by at least three nineteenth-century composers. He embezzled from the Church, fled to Venice, seduced a nobleman’s fiancée, and escaped to Genoa, where he seduced another noble lady. This time his luck ran out—the lady’s affronted relations hired a few guys to take care of him, and they did. Among talented opera composers who died before forty, it’s nice to find one who didn’t perish of untimely disease.

Stradella’s achievement has been more obscure than Monteverdi’s or Cavalli’s, if only because most of his works were of a “sacred” nature, oratorios rather than operas. But his melodic gift was striking and his stories stageworthy, especially now that the world has outgrown religion.

The basic story is that of the Bible: the Baptist is outraged that Herodias has married her uncle, then that she has divorced him and married his brother. Herodias in turn is outraged that a commoner dares criticize her. She persuades her daughter, Salome, to dance for stepfather Herod, who offers her any reward she desires. On her mother’s advice, she demands the head of the Baptist.

This tale puzzles modern audiences who are not horrified by divorce or remarriage. They want something more lurid to sing about. Poets and painters and composers have come up with all sorts of variations: that Herodias lusts for John, that Herod lusts for Salome, that Salome lusts for John. True to form, and with as slight a justification, Catapult’s stage director, Timothy Nelson, has Herod and John perform Brokeback Mountain on the Dead Sea, while Herodias is having an affair with Herod’s Councilor. There is no dance, anyway. (Ballet music does not fit in oratorios.)

Photo courtesy of Catapult Opera

Unlike the opere serie of the eighteenth century, where the star singers rarely permitted anything but solo numbers, San Giovanni has duets, trios and quartets to break up the story, and very charming they are. I especially enjoyed the duets of Herod and Salome, rival statements of purpose, Salome demanding John’s head, Herod reluctant to bestow it.

My delight probably had something to do with the excellence of the singers, Joseph Beutel a deep, suave Herod with an easy production, and the lyric soprano of Raven McMillon, whose soprano blends with his sound and gleams above it. I think we can all agree that there aren’t enough soprano-bass duets in opera, and for these two I hope there will be many more.

The title role, the Baptist, was taken by Randall Scotting, whose burly, booted and stetsoned figure made an intriguing contrast to his smooth, ornate, beautifully schooled countertenor. I have seen Mr. Scotting on many occasions, and his musical style and dramatic gifts never fail to please. The scene of his torture (whacked by a mug in the face!) no doubt plays to certain audiences.

Olanna Goudeau sang Herodias, and tenor Patrick Bessenbacher sang the Councilor with elegance and ease. But it was Ms. McMillon and Mr. Beutel whose voices I was most eager to have return. The winning ensemble, mostly strings, was led ingratiatingly by company director Neal Goren.