Beethoven's Fidelio
Beethoven's Fidelio
Gramophone Choice
Inga Nielsen (sop) Leonore Gösta Winbergh (ten) Florestan Alan Titus (bar) Don Pizarro Kurt Moll (bass) Rocco Edith Lienbacher (sop) Marzelline Herwig Pecoraro (ten) Jaquino Wolfgang Glashof (bass) Don Fernando Péter Pálinkás (ten) First Prisoner József Moldvay (bass) Second Prisoner Hungarian Radio Chorus; Nicolaus Esterházy Sinfonia / Michael Halász
Naxos 8 660070/1 (115' · DDD · S/T) Buy from Amazon
Naxos has an uncanny knack for choosing the right artists for its operatic ventures. On this occasion, four of the singers are among the better known in the field, each judiciously cast. Halász projects every facet of the score, inspiring his forces to live every moment of the plot in words and music. This isn’t an interpretation in the romantic, quasi-philosophical mode of Furwängler or Klemperer, rather one that alerts the mind and ear to the human agony of it all.
Nielsen’s Leonore is no projection of subservient femininity but a tormented wife seeking to save her husband, her plight expressed in every key phrase. She doesn’t provide the heroic sounds of a Nilsson (Maazel) or all the warmth of Rysanek (Fricsay), but her slimmer, more compact tone exactly fits this performance. Winberg is a Florestan equal to his Leonore in vocal and interpretative assets. Not even Heppner (Davis) or Seiffert (Harnoncourt), among modern interpreters, sings the role better. His voice poised between the lyrical and the heroic, his tone warm, his technique firm, Florestan’s scene can seldom have been so satisfyingly sung and enacted. As Marzelline, Edith Lienbacher is something of a discovery, catching the eagerness, also the sense of nerves a-jangle predicated by the part.
The dialogue, rather drastically foreshortened, is well spoken by all and intelligently directed. The orchestral and choral singing need fear no comparisons, and the recording has plenty of presence, no tricks. This is a performance that fulfils almost all the demands made on its principals and at the price should be eagerly sought after: its most notable predecessors are matched, if not surpassed.
Additional Recommendations
Sena Jurinac (sop) Leonore Jon Vickers (ten) Florestan Hans Hotter (bass-bar) Don Pizarro Gottlob Frick (bass) Rocco Elsie Morison (sop) Marzelline John Dobson (ten) Jaquino Forbes Robinson (bass) Don Fernando Chorus and Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden / Otto Klemperer
Testament mono SBT2 1328 (143' · ADD · T/t) Recorded live 1961. Buy from Amazon
Here is the first night of Otto Klemperer’s legendary 1961 Fidelio, from the Royal Opera House, to challenge his noted studio set from a year later. This confirms the Achilles heel of Walter Legge, EMI’s leading mogul at the time, in his unwillingness to record live occasions, probably because he liked to have every aspect of a recording under his control. In this case there is more to it than that. Klemperer wanted, in the studio, to retain his Covent Garden cast; Legge preferred to make changes with two exceptions (Jon Vickers and Gottlob Frick). On the evidence of this magnificent issue, Klemperer was right. Not only are the singers, by and large, better equipped for their roles, but given the electricity of the occasion the conductor’s interpretation is more vital (often faster tempi) and even more eloquent. For his own staging, Klemperer decided to include far more dialogue than is usually heard so that we have as much a play with music as an opera. The singers speak and act with such feeling and immediacy, most particularly Jurinac, Hotter and Frick, as to justify the added text. Add to that the dedication on all sides to Klemperer, and you can imagine why this was such a special occasion.
Compared to Christa Ludwig on Klemperer’s studio version, Sena Jurinac creates a more believable and vulnerable Leonore. Her heartfelt sympathy with the role is evident in every line she speaks and sings, most notably in key phrases in her duet with Rocco near the end of Act 1 and the melodrama in Act 2. Once past some first-night nerves evident in ‘Abscheulicher!’, she proves an ideal Leonore. Vickers, even in these early days of his career, is inclined to sentimentalise his Florestan with scoops and lachrymose effects, but all is forgiven when he provides the heroic thrust and inner feeling which the part demands and which is so notably absent from the Florestan on the Rattle version (EMI). Frick’s Rocco is, if possible, even more admirable than on the studio set, expressing the jailer’s terrible dilemma in the kind of incisive, warm tones few other basses on disc match.
It is incomprehensible that Legge preferred as Pizarro the too-comfortable sounding Walter Berry to Hans Hotter. Hotter, usually known for his noble roles, is here the epitome of evil, a threatening force of nature, his voice and diction full of menace so that he can be forgiven one or two wobbles in his aria. The young lovers are personably sung and enacted by Elsie Morison and John Dobson, and another Royal Opera stalwart, Forbes Robinson, is a dignified Don Fernando. There was a fuss at the time about Klemperer’s inclusion of Leonore III, but he fully justifies it by his electrifying interpretation. He insisted on placing the wind in the middle of the orchestra spectrum, and the balance is improved throughout as a result. His reading overall has the stature and sense of the work’s philosophical basis which will be familiar to those who know his discs of the symphonies.
Charlotte Margiono (sop) Leonore Peter Seiffert (ten) Florestan Sergei Leiferkus (bar) Don Pizarro László Polgár (bass) Rocco Barbara Bonney (sop) Marzelline Deon van der Walt (ten) Jaquino Boje Skovhus (bar) Don Fernando Reinaldo Macias (ten) First Prisoner Robert Florianschütz (bass) Second Prisoner Arnold Schoenberg Choir; Chamber Orchestra of Europe / Nikolaus Harnoncourt
Warner 2564 69125-2 (119' · DDD · T/t) Buy from Amazon
Everything Harnoncourt touches leaves a sense of a country rediscovered: we listen to the piece in hand with new ears. So it is again here. Beethoven’s sole but intractable opera has seldom emerged from the recording studio, or indeed the theatre, with such clarity of texture, such promptness of rhythm, such unity of purpose on all sides. This is a reading that gives full play to winds and horns, making you aware, whether it’s in the Overture, Pizarro’s aria, Leonore’s big scena or the Prelude to Act 2, just how important they are to the structure and character of each movement. Where tempi are concerned, Harnoncourt is almost bound to be controversial somewhere. If many speeds are to their advantage just on the measured side of the customary, as in the Dungeon quartet, allowing us for once to hear every strand of the argument, that for ‘O namenlose Freude’ is uncommonly moderate. At this pace, Leonore and Florestan seem to be conducting a gentle exchange of deeply felt emotions on an interior level rather than allowing their pent-up emotions to burst forth in an explosion of joy, as is more usual.
The dialogue is delivered in an understated fashion. Two vocal interpretations stand out for excellent singing and pungent characterisation. Once Leiferkus’s Pizarro takes centre stage the action lifts on to a new, more tense plane. This vicious little dictator with his incisive diction, spoken and sung, and his biting, vital voice is a commanding presence. But Evil is up against an equally arresting advocate of Good in Margiono’s gloriously sung and read Leonore. Hers isn’t the quasi-dramatic soprano usually associated with the part, but she never sounds strained in the context of a more lyrical, smaller-scale performance. Seiffert fills Florestan with more refulgent tone than any other tenor on recent recordings – the high tessitura of his aria’s close causes him no distress at all – but it must be admitted that there’s little of the Schmerz in the tone found, quite differently, in the recording of Vickers (Klemperer). In that sense, though, he fits into Harnoncourt’s well-ordered scheme of things. The only piece of miscasting is Don Fernando: a role that needs a solid bass with strong low notes has been given to a high baritone who sounds anything but authoritative. Harnoncourt has opted for a professional chamber choir to second the superb Chamber Orchestra of Europe. By the side of the superb Teldec recording, the Klemperer and Maazel sound less than immediate.
Anja Kampe (sop) Leonore Lisa Milne (sop) Marzelline Brindley Sherratt (bass) Rocco Peter Coleman-Wright (bar) Don Pizarro Andrew Kennedy (ten) Jaquino Torsten Kerl (ten) Florestan Henry Waddington (bass) Don Fernando Nathan Vale (ten) First Prisoner Anthony Cleverton (bass) Second Prisoner Glyndebourne Chorus; London Philharmonic Orchestra / Sir Mark Elder
Glyndebourne Festival Opera GFOCD004/6 (121’ · DDD · T/t). Recorded live 2006. Buy from Amazon
Fidelio, so difficult to bring off in the theatre, is an ideal opera for listening to at home. In this recording we have the best of both worlds: all the intensity of stage performances without the irritations of Deborah Warner’s production.
As one expects from Glyndebourne performances, the teamwork of the singers is impeccable. But the highest praise must be reserved for Sir Mark Elder. Whereas his predecessor, when the production was first staged in 2001, raced through the score as though he had a train to catch, Elder paces it almost to perfection. He instils confidence from the start with a weighty account of the Overture. The opening scene, before Fidelio appears, has the right lightness of touch. The mood darkens when Don Pizarro enters (after much stage clatter). His vengeance aria works up to a terrific climax, albeit with understated horns at ‘in seiner letzten Stunde’ (compare Klemperer’s Philharmonia!). Elder’s steady speeds, his close attention to crescendos and sforzandos, reflect the drama in the most wonderful way. There are just two places where it seems that his instinct deserted him: the lingering at the beginning of ‘Euch werde Lohn’ (and at the reprise), and the speedy, almost perfunctory response to the first trumpet-call. Against that, one could cite numerous examples of his sensitivity, such as the dying fall of the Act 1 finale.
That finale, of course, includes the Prisoners’ Chorus: the Glyndebourne Chorus sing it beautifully and it’s Beethoven’s fault, not theirs, if they sound improbably robust. The Act 2 finale, where the prisoners are joined by ‘the people’, is another matter: a jubilant outburst, gloriously sung.
The cast is excellent: especially Torsten Kerl, deeply moving in his aria. Minor drawbacks include an editing slip that adds a half-bar to the Act 2 quartet and a not wholly accurate translation of the libretto. The competition is formidable, but Elder can hold his head high in their company.
Hildegard Behrens (sop) Leonore James King (ten) Florestan Donald McIntyre (bar) Don Pizarro Kurt Moll (bass) Rocco Lucia Popp (sop) Marzelline Norbert Orth (ten) Jaquino Nikolaus Hillebrand (bar) Don Fernando Friedrich Lenz (ten) First Prisoner Hans Wilbrink (bass) Second Prisoner Bavarian State Opera Chorus and Orchestra / Karl Böhm
Orfeo d’Or C560 012I (141' · ADD) Recorded live 1978. Buy from Amazon
At 84 this was to be Böhm’s last Fidelio, and he knew it. Yet absolutely no allowances have to be made for his age in this life-enhancing, dramatically alert reading, quite on a par with his earlier versions of the work on disc. Indeed this now joins those other legendary live performances by great conductors of the past – Böhm himself in 1944 in Vienna, Bruno Walter at the Met in the same year, Toscanini at a concert in New York in 1945 and Furtwängler at Salzburg in 1950. But, of course, this one is vastly superior in sound. Everyone seems determined to give of their best. None more than Hildegard Behrens, the very epitome of the dedicated, highly strung wife on a rescue mission and singing her heart out at all the important moments, not least in her ‘Abscheulicher!’. She far surpasses her performance for Solti on Decca a year later. By her side throughout is the sterling, warm, authoritative Rocco of Kurt Moll in a reading that surpasses his own high standards on other versions. James King, though his voice had dried out a little by 1978, sings a Florestan imbued with anguish.
As Pizarro, McIntyre, in powerful voice, is evil personified. For all the vocal glories, Böhm remains the evening’s hero. Above all, he makes the opera living drama. Were this Fidelio his only work that survived for us to judge him by, it would be enough to clinch his reputation as a great conductor. There’s more dialogue than we usually hear either in the theatre or on disc. There’s also a deal of stage action. None of that should deter you from hearing such a truthful enactment of this masterpiece.
DVD Choice
Gabriela Beňačková (sop) Leonore Josef Protschka (ten) Florestan Monte Pederson (bar) Don Pizarro Robert Lloyd (bass) Rocco Marie McLaughlin (sop) Marzelline Neill Archer (ten) Jaquino Hans Tschammer (bass-bar) Don Fernando Lynton Atkinson (ten) First Prisoner Mark Beesley (bar) Second Prisoner Chorus and Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden / Christoph von Dohnányi
Stage director Adolf Dresen
Video director Derek Bailey
ArtHaus Musik DVD 100 075 (129‘ · NTSC · 4:3 · PCM stereo · 2 & 5). Recorded live 1991. Buy from Amazon
‘Triumph! Triumph! Triumph!’ as nasty Pizarro exultantly cries. He’s in for a disappointment, of course. Not so the listener and viewer of this performance, which is caught in fine sound and skilfully filmed. Pizarro will, for instance, have no place in the great festival of light that is the finale. Here the rejoicing is so powerful that we switch off the DVD player and go to bed with the surge and sequence of inspired creation fully in possession, convinced that in the whole of opera there’s nothing to match it. That’s the sign of a great Fidelio, and it means that, throughout, the proportions, structure and balance of the work have been rendered with clarity and conviction. That in turn means that the opening scene – the
Marzelline-Jaquino duet and the solos which might seem to be from some other opera – has been integrated, so that the work is a journey from light into the blackest tunnel and out again into an infinitely greater light.
A prime contribution to the success of this process is made by the portrayal of Rocco, the jailer. Instead of the bumbling, coarse-grained character of convention, Robert Lloyd presents a full human being, a man with a rueful-realistic twinkle, and above all a loving father. This of itself guards against the alien introduction of comic opera, and helps to fashion the role so that even here our concern is with real humanity. Leonore is the radiant Beňačková, and she presents a problem. The camera reveals unsparingly a disguise which just possibly might pass in the theatre. It says much for her singing, and for something in the spirit of her performance, that the willing suspension of disbelief can prevail as well as it does. In all other respects the visual element satisfies well; and musically, under Dohnányi’s direction, this is a memorable and moving Fidelio.
