Following a number of stagings after its reinvention as a three-act totality, Lulu has maintained a precarious hold on the repertoire, with certain conductors – notably Christoph von Dohnányi – openly preferring the two-act torso. This live recording is actually the first to appear of that torso since Dohnányi’s 1976 account (12/78, though out of the catalogue at the moment), and prompts a partial reassessment of dramatic means and ends in Berg’s flawed but magnificent magnum opus.

Any recording of Lulu stands or falls by the potency of its eponymous (anti-?) heroine. On the basis of this recording, Anat Efraty has all the qualities necessary, even if her Lulu is as yet a provisional one. The purity and definition of the voice is undoubted, while the exacting coloratura is effortlessly projected in such emotional highpoints as the ‘Lied der Lulu’ (disc 2, track 5) – which benefits from the relaxed pacing. Elsewhere – notably in the passages of role-playing with the Painter and Alwa – there’s a tendency to level out the capriciousness; the characterisation is two-dimensional compared to the expressive fire and ice of Anja Silja on the Dohnányi set or the insinuating ruthlessness of Teresa Stratas for Boulez. Even so, comparison with such 1960s totems as Evelyn Lear (Böhm) or Anneliese Rothenberger, on the version conducted by Leopold Ludwig, reveals how far an understanding of opera’s ultimate femme fatale has come in the intervening decades.

The supporting roles are generally well taken, notably Ian Storey’s gallant but ineffectual Alwa and Doris Soffel’s mellow, stoical Geschwitz. Jürgen Linn lacks the authority (however hollow) needed for Dr Schön, his lightweight baritone insufficiently distinct from Storey’s tenor in their often-charged exchanges, but Theo Adam makes a characterful Schigolch – his asthmatic father-figure-cum-pimp a godsend for ageing baritones. Claude Pia’s Painter sounds strained vocally as well as mentally, while Bodo Schwanbeck contributes a lively if hardly suave Theatre Manager to open proceedings.

Judging by his credentials, as stated in the booklet, Stefan Anton Reck has the makings of a natural Bergian, and his conducting – attentive to detail and dramatic pacing – elicits an incisive if often raw response from the Palermo orchestra. As presented here, the Variations and Adagio (replete with Lulu’s death-scream and Geschwitz’s beatific homage) from the Lulu Suite follow on directly from Act 2 – a rounding-off no more convincing dramatically than in earlier two-act recordings. Whatever the perceived musical pitfalls of its first scene, the third act really is essential in making Lulu a wide-ranging and intensely emotional operatic experience like few others.

The sound captures the atmosphere of a live staging but also a fair degree of offstage noise, some of which interferes with Berg’s subtle rhythmic interplay. The booklet has biographies of the main singers and a serviceable synopsis, but the absence of a libretto is a severe handicap in an opera where music and words interact to such a degree. At its price, admirers of Lulu will find this worth acquiring. Newcomers should go for Karl Böhm’s impressively executed account, coupled with an even finer Wozzeck (in which format Dohnányi’s recording, still the best sounding of any, will hopefully soon be reissued) or Boulez’s recording of the three-act version – still with the finest combination of dramatic impact and musical insight that this opera has yet received.