Before Handel frenzy sweeps through the composer's adopted city next year as London celebrates the 250th anniversary of his death, the Barbican invited the French period-instrument ensemble Les Talens Lyriques and the mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato to present a prologue in the form of an evening of Furore: Handel's Scenes of Madness.

If the title sounds familiar, it's because this was the concert of the CD. But this was no dutiful replication: it was an electrifying revelation of Handel's theatrical genius, and a celebration, under the direction of Christophe Rousset, of some of the finest Baroque playing in Europe. With Stephane Fuget's harpsichord twinkling away between the strings' slow heartbeat, DiDonato relished every poised syllable in the Dolce riposo before the storm, as Medea revelled in the fleeting serenity of love in Handel's opera Teseo. But not for long. Anger, scorn and fury arose in her breast, as DiDonato, now poisoned by jealousy, hardened her tone through every biting vowel in O stringero nel sen. She still imagined a dream of love, though, floating hope high in her head voice and colouring the word “adoro” in luxuriant coloratura. On to the fury of vengeance in Moriro, ma vendicata - and here DiDonato bared her teeth, snarled through every trill and turn and then, in her final resolve to die, let breath expire through exquisitely controlled vocal tone.

There can be problems in presenting a programme themed on one emotion alone. Would we tire of seeing DiDonato relentlessly psyching herself up for yet another outpouring of furore? Far from it. After the interval, she tirelessly searched for every conceivable variant of self-torment and torture. For Scherza infida from Ariodante, mortified disbelief was voiced in grieving bassoon and the ebbing pulse of plucked basses - and a single vowel “o” shaped into searing lament in DiDonato's voice.

Her final tour de force was Where shall I fly? from Hercules. Never have the furies of the mind been more physically present, in the whiplash of the violin bows, the sibilance of scorpions and snakes, and a vocal re-creation of spiritual disintegration in which nothing was spared.

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