Bartók Bluebeard's Castle
View record and artist detailsRecord and Artist Details
Composer or Director: Béla Bartók
Genre:
Opera
Label: DG
Magazine Review Date: 8/1998
Media Format: CD or Download
Media Runtime: 58
Mastering:
DDD
Catalogue Number: 447 040-2GH
Tracks:
| Composition | Artist Credit |
|---|---|
| Duke Bluebeard's Castle |
Béla Bartók, Composer
Béla Bartók, Composer Chicago Symphony Orchestra Jessye Norman, Judith, Mezzo soprano László Polgár, Duke Bluebeard, Baritone Nicholas Simon, Prologue, Speaker Pierre Boulez, Conductor |
Author:
One of the principal differences between Boulez’s latest Bluebeard’s Castle and his 1976 analogue recording for Sony relates to dramatic action, or the relative lack of it. Here, Jessye Norman and Laszlo Polgar take their positions relatively close to the microphones and stay put, whereas Sony had Bluebeard (Siegmund Nimsgern) and Judith (Tatiana Troyanos) enter from the far right of stage, much as they might have done in the opera-house. Another difference is that this new recording includes the original spoken prologue (an impassioned rendition, in Hungarian, by Nicholas Simon), which was omitted before.
Troyanos was an earnest, even defiant Judith, whether shocking or shocked, seductive or petulant. Norman is regal, insistent, authoritarian; a formidable lady, not to be messed with. Witness her amazonian command at the beginning of track 3, at the point where she notes the seven doors and asks why they are bolted. Had I been Bluebeard, I would have thrown her the keys at the outset and run to the nearest town for cover; but Polgar boldly stands his ground. He is among the most convincing Bluebeards on disc, powerful and patient, a fine foil for any Judith. Norman often sings beautifully (in her duet with Bluebeard on track 2, for example) but hers is an external portrayal. Not once does she enter Judith’s soul.
Boulez opts for a swifter overall tempo than before (though in this instance speed hardly guarantees tension), and the recorded balance is occasionally idiosyncratic: the excited lead-up to the fifth door finds horns kept well back (3'54'' into track 7); the raging string lines that echo Judith’s demands to have all the doors opened (1'04'' into track 11) lack tonal body; the organ at the close of the work is too distant (though to be fair, it was far too loud on the Sony recording), and string-lines throughout experience subtle shifts in perspective. On the other hand, the fifth door itself flies open to a mighty welter of sound, strong enough in fact to momentarily distract one’s attention from Norman’s somewhat unsteady sustained C. Thereafter, and this Judith rather seems to lose interest: her response at 2'28'' into track 8 – “Fair and spacious is your country” – sounds irritably offhand, and her singing at the lake of tears (track 9, from 0'37'') is uncharacteristically tremulous.
The playing of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra mixes steel and velvet, often to impressive effect; and although I have my reservations about the sound, very little detail goes for nothing. Still, when the chips are down I have to confess a marked preference for Boulez’s more forceful first recording, mainly because Troyanos was such a credible – and vocally winning – Judith. I note from the booklet (a handsome, 70-page production with an excellent note by Paul Banks) that the present recording was made as long ago as December 1993. One wonders – even speculates – why it has taken so long to reach us.
Tomlinson, von Otter, Haitink and the Berlin Philharmonic remain a compelling first digital choice, with the older Boulez recording a strong mid-price runner-up. Kertesz (with Ludwig and Berry) is more comfortable than either; Dorati (with Szonyi and Szekely) more earthy, but this latest production is recommended primarily to Boulez aficionados, who might profitably compare the old with the new.'
Troyanos was an earnest, even defiant Judith, whether shocking or shocked, seductive or petulant. Norman is regal, insistent, authoritarian; a formidable lady, not to be messed with. Witness her amazonian command at the beginning of track 3, at the point where she notes the seven doors and asks why they are bolted. Had I been Bluebeard, I would have thrown her the keys at the outset and run to the nearest town for cover; but Polgar boldly stands his ground. He is among the most convincing Bluebeards on disc, powerful and patient, a fine foil for any Judith. Norman often sings beautifully (in her duet with Bluebeard on track 2, for example) but hers is an external portrayal. Not once does she enter Judith’s soul.
Boulez opts for a swifter overall tempo than before (though in this instance speed hardly guarantees tension), and the recorded balance is occasionally idiosyncratic: the excited lead-up to the fifth door finds horns kept well back (3'54'' into track 7); the raging string lines that echo Judith’s demands to have all the doors opened (1'04'' into track 11) lack tonal body; the organ at the close of the work is too distant (though to be fair, it was far too loud on the Sony recording), and string-lines throughout experience subtle shifts in perspective. On the other hand, the fifth door itself flies open to a mighty welter of sound, strong enough in fact to momentarily distract one’s attention from Norman’s somewhat unsteady sustained C. Thereafter, and this Judith rather seems to lose interest: her response at 2'28'' into track 8 – “Fair and spacious is your country” – sounds irritably offhand, and her singing at the lake of tears (track 9, from 0'37'') is uncharacteristically tremulous.
The playing of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra mixes steel and velvet, often to impressive effect; and although I have my reservations about the sound, very little detail goes for nothing. Still, when the chips are down I have to confess a marked preference for Boulez’s more forceful first recording, mainly because Troyanos was such a credible – and vocally winning – Judith. I note from the booklet (a handsome, 70-page production with an excellent note by Paul Banks) that the present recording was made as long ago as December 1993. One wonders – even speculates – why it has taken so long to reach us.
Tomlinson, von Otter, Haitink and the Berlin Philharmonic remain a compelling first digital choice, with the older Boulez recording a strong mid-price runner-up. Kertesz (with Ludwig and Berry) is more comfortable than either; Dorati (with Szonyi and Szekely) more earthy, but this latest production is recommended primarily to Boulez aficionados, who might profitably compare the old with the new.'
Bartók Bluebeard's Castle
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