Beginning High Fidelity's appraisal of all available recordings of the composer's music.
by George Movshon
BEETHOVEN STRUGGLED with opera projects and librettists all his working life- time, planning such ambitious stage works as a Macbeth, an Attila, a Ulysses, and a Romulus; but Fidelio was the only opera to get off his drawing hoard. He revised it twice ("nothing," wrote a friend, "has caused Beethoven so much vexation as this work ") but he never felt entirely satisfied with what he had wrought.
The first version of the Fidelio libretto (for the 1805 score, then titled Leonore) was adapted from a French play of Jean Nicolas Bouilly by Joseph Sonnleithner. The Vienna premiere was a failure and Stephen von Breuning reduced the opera to two acts the following year; Georg Friedrich Treitschke reshaped it again for the 1814 edition--which has remained ever since Fidelio's standard and accepted form. The story is one among dozens of similar "rescue" plays and operas that abounded at the time of the French Revolution; it was a genre as popular then as the spy movie is today. "Wedded Love" is the subtitle of Beethoven's opera and it is clear that he was deeply moved by the figure of Leonore and her selfless struggle to tree Florestan.
Fidelio--whether in the theater or on discs--cannot be considered simply as another musico-dramatic offering. Beethoven's opera is a spiritual experience and, in a unique sense, a political experience. These values do not diminish its defects or excuse them -it's too late for that anyway--but they explain why the flaws of Fidelio are not really relevant to any performance that combines both soul and skill.
The flaws, to be sure, are there. A perceptive and critical listener who approaches Fidelio for the first time may smile at Leonore's simplistic character and feel skeptical about the credibility of Marzelline's crush on the heroine. He may he embarrassed at the overt theatricality of the gun-point rescue in the dungeon. Nor will he immediately be won over by all of the music, intense and sublime as most of it is. He will note that the work has three separate identities, and gravely lacks a stylistic unity. The first act is a Singspiel, radiating sunshine and peasant charm. Then, at Pizarro's entrance, it suddenly becomes music--drama, and remains so through the dungeon scene until Florestan's deliverance, when there begins the concluding "movement" of Fidelio, a glorious cantata of brotherhood.
The sane critical appraiser will ask what these three compositions have to do with each other and, receiving no satisfactory answer, will move on to point out some less-than-proficient work in the score: bits of tum-ti-tum, reminiscent of an organ-grinder; unfeeling cruelty to tenor and soprano in their enormous dungeon scene duet; a really substandard principal aria for the soprano--"Komm Hoffnung"--with those belching horns in the coda.
Yet Fidelio breasts all such failings and overcomes them triumphantly. Fidelio endures. Indeed, it is an indispensable opera, the irresistible commitment of music to the cause of personal freedom, and vital to every music lover or, for that matter, anyone who cares about liberty and hates tyranny. It is an opera about freedom, and there is no other fit to be mentioned in the same breath. Hear it performed in any country where people are imprisoned for their political ideas and you will have no doubt that everybody present knows what Fidelio is all about, and who is intended by the figure of Pizarro.
FIDELIO COMPLETE ON RECORDS -- BUYER'S CHOICE FOR BEETHOVEN YEAR (table coming soon)
Fidelio on Records
THE EARLIEST RECORDING of any part of Fidelio seems to date from 1903 when, according to Bauer's Historical Records, an obscure and long-forgotten basso named Robert Biberti put Rocco's aria onto a seven-inch Zonophone disc.
Biberti was followed by a long line of artists who left recordings of their own conceptions of moments from the opera.
The most frequently recorded excerpts are the obvious ones-Leonore's scena, Florestan's aria, and the Canon Quartet--and each was available in a variety of interpretations during the age of 78 rpm.
There was no complete Fidelio on records, nor even an abridgement, until after World War 2, though some private (or semipublic) aircheck recordings of Metropolitan Opera broadcasts in the late Thirties and early Forties capture the important achievements of artists famous in this music: the conducting of Bruno Walter, for instance, who never made a complete recorded Fidclio; and the singing of two Leonores renowned in the interwar years, Lotte Lehmann and Kirsten Flagstad. Lehmann's "Abscheulicher!" (1927) was for a time available on Angel COLA 112, Flagstad's (of 1937) on RCA Camden 462, and Frida Leider's (1928) on Angel COLH 132; but all three records have been deletedthough we may hope for the reincarnation of Lehmann and Leider some day on Seraphim. Certainly, listeners who remember hearing these legendary artists will not wish to be without a memento of their quality.
As we enter the LP era, mention should be made of two other complete recordings of Fidelio, neither of them presently listed in Schwann and neither heard by me: they are noted here simply for the sake of completeness. One is an early postwar recording made in Leipzig, conducted by Gerhard Pflüger, and once available on the Oceanic label, now defunct; the other is a late-Fifties Moscow recording conducted by Alexander Melik-Pasheyev and starring Galina Vishnevskaya.
The chart (see below) of the versions currently listed in Schwann reveals a quite astonishing richness of choice. Together, these nine recordings encompass the work of virtually every conductor and singer who has in the last quarter-century achieved an international reputation as a Fidelio interpreter. Moreover, as I listened to each set in turn, it became clear that none of the issues could be rejected out of hand, for each contained at least one peerless slice of virtue, some uniquely excellent feature not quite equaled in the other editions. Nobody will want nine complete Fidelios, but if there is some special aspect of the opera that is important for you, then you may look for it in the following lists.
Overtures
Each recording begins with the socalled Fidelio Overture, the bumpy and brief prelude that Beethoven firmly fixed to the 1814 version of the score, after having discovered what others will find out if they try to begin the opera with the Leonore Overture No. 3: it is no overture at all, but an immense symphonic poem; any operatic performance prefaced by this music has thereafter nowhere to go but down and, certainly, the first act of Fidelio becomes a palpable anti-climax.
Gustav Mahler placed Leonore No. 3 between the scenes of Act 2, that is, after the duigeon duet and before the big choral finale; and many opera houses now observe the Mahler tradition. But even this arrangement has its critics, who point out that the audience has just experienced a vast release from tension with the deliverance of Florestan and may not be ready to be switched on again so soon.
Five of the nine sets here considered include Leonore No. 3 and in each case you will find it in the Mahler position.
Few of us would buy a Fidelio solely, or even principally, for its Leonore No 3, but it may be useful to have a brief account of these performances. Vox / Artia may be eliminated at once for its substandard sonics, Seraphim for its unbearably slow introduction and indifferent sound, Westminster for Knappertsbusch's idiosyncratic tempos and slackness. This leaves a superb Toscanini reading. which is, however, recorded in totally airless mono. The only satisfactory stereo choice: Karl Böhm's beautifully planned Dresden performance, recorded on the new DGG issue in well-sculptured stereo.
RCA VICTOR: First heard (and still unforgotten by those who were at their radios) as an NBC broadcast in December 1944, first released on discs ten years later, this remains a milestone issue. Marred by the omission of the spoken dialogue (except for the Rocco/ Leonore "melodrama" and some other essential bits) and particularly by the unyielding boxiness of Studio 8H's acoustics (which becomes less bothersome as you listen on), there is nevertheless much to admire in Jan Peerce's elevated if detached Florestan. Rose Bampton's Leonore is warmly and cleanly sung, but lacks power in the climaxes. The foursome in "Mir ist so wunderbar" sounds a mile away from a microphone. Wonderfully precise orchestral playing and, of course, masterly conducting from Toscanini-as taut and dramatic as you might wish in the climaxes but unexpectedly sympathetic to the problems of Peerce and Bampton in their big arias.
VOX / ARTIA: Repulsive sound in Artia's phony stereo-I haven't heard the Vox mono version, but Conrad L. Osborne found it grisly in a 1961 review reveals (or rather obscures) an affectionate, almost sentimental performance by Karl Böhm. Torsten Ralf is an excellent, touching, and sensitive Florestan, but Hilde Konetzni's Leonore was recorded when she was well past her best years: she huffs and puffs and goes off pitch frequently. Irmgard Seefried (whatever happened to that agreeable artist ?) sings a delectable Marzelline, but the treasure of the set is Paul Schoeffler's Pizarro, the best on records, with faultless tone and relentless dramatic power. The performance is worth having for that alone.
SERAPHIM: A 1953 recording with (essentially) the cast of the Vienna State Opera's production of that yearrather than the more prestigious company Furtwängler used to assemble for the Salzburg Festival in those days (a few years earlier, EMI might have had Flagstad for their Leonore). Whatever the flaws, it is excellent to have (and at a budget price) this conductor's immensely grand architecture of the score, a plan of the most generous and noble dimensions. Things start roughly, with an imperfect overture and a rather slow view of the Marzelline /Jacquino scene But from the quartet onward, everything is as it should be. Nor are Furtwängler's tempos anywhere near as slow as I had imagined them. Martha Mödl is a sincere and deeply moving heroine, but there are occasional rough spots and some insecurity in the climaxes. Sena Jurinac, in supreme voice, makes Marzelline a full-weight dramatic soprano, rather than a soubrette, but sings perfectly. Wolfgang Windgassen is tame but clean; Otto Edelmann makes nice sounds but no great impression of evil, as Pizarro should. Frick is here (as in his two other Rocco performances) solid and strong. The sound remains perfectly clean and acceptable, but the absence of all dialogue (except the "melodrama ") is a barrier to smooth flow and dramatic development.
DGG (1957): Leonie Rysanek was recorded at a magical moment: her artistic maturity was well-nigh complete, and she had not yet developed those vocal "varicose veins" for which she must these days compensate with her redoubled dramatic intensity. A fine Leonore, on all counts. And a fine recorded Fidelio too, planned imaginatively for the home, with a cast of speaking actors doing the dialogue and blending uncannily with their singing counterparts. Irmgard Seefried gives us another plump-voiced, nubile Marzelline, while Ernst Häfliger delivers a Florestan distinguished by fine musicianship and deep involvement. The young Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau is a wholly malevolent (and wholly effective) Pizarro. Ferenc Fricsay (a real loss, the death of that fine conductor) leads a sharply dramatic account of the score, as taut and urgent a reading as you could ask for. Sound: very advanced for its time, with subtle dynamics.
WESTMINSTER: Some fine work here but also lots of quirky tempos from conductor Knappertsbusch, who takes the duet "O namenlose Freude" at a lazy adagio instead of the allegro vivace Beethoven asks for. Sena Jurinac is not quite the Leonore she might have been eight years earlier, when she sang Marzelline in the Seraphim release; but she is warm, human, beautifully controlled K and shapely in all but the most climactic passages. Jan Peerce sings a more involved Florestan than we get in his reading for Toscanini, and sounds in excellent voice. Gustav Neidlinger somehow never gets going with Pizarró s music, though he communicates a lot of the venom. Murray Dickie and Maria Stader both do well as the youngsters.
Good stereo sound, an excellent chorus, and more than adequate orchestra; but the late Hans Knappertsbusch had some ideas about pacing that take a lot of getting used to.
----------- Klemperer's vision is one for the ages.
ANGEL: This set is going to drain me of superlatives, for it is a glory of the record catalogue. Klemperer's vision of the score is one for the ages, a secure and masterly unfolding of each flower in Fidelio's garden, and a deeply revealing traversal of Beethoven's genius. It is slow but never loses momentum, firm without a hint of brutality, supremely well judged and balanced. Christa Ludwig is a mezzosoprano, but handles most of Leonore's music with exquisite command and manages the high notes (up to a B) with entire comfort. Jon Vickers is perhaps too vibrantly alive to suggest a haggard and emaciated Florestan, but he sings with such opulence, freedom, and beautiful tone that K' p all such quibbles are banished: there can have been few Florestans to equal him in the entire history of the role.
Gottlob Frick here provides the most mature and sympathetic of his three Roccos, and Franz Crass is all plangent benison in his decree of pardon. The hand of Wilhelm Pitz is manifest in the precision and subtlety of the choral work, while the Philharmonia Orchestra's sonorities are most ably caught by Angel's microphones. One faint disappointment is Walter Berry as Pizarro, who explodes too often in his pursuit of intensity and mars the singing line. But all in all, a superlative set.
LONDON: Those Decca / London wizards of technology have created atmospheric environments and acoustic perspectives to support the dramatic action with a skill no other company can match. The moment we hear Florestan's voice, we know what his dungeon is like: a brick cavern, dark and cold. Lorin Maazel's conducting is ardent, mercurial, taut--sometimes too taut, for the lyrical passages do not breathe as they should.
But his hairline precision has its own compensations, and orchestra and chorus (Wilhelm Pitz again) keep up with him all the way. Birgit Nilsson's way with Leonore is impressive: she makes the pathos believable, hurls thunderbolts of hate at Pizarro, and is, of course, matchless in the rapturous "O namenlose Freude," where the notes sting across like so many bullets. But she does less with the words than she might, and somehow her Leonore lacks a final touch of humanity. James McCracken is frankly disappointing, yielding a thick-voiced and graceless Florestan, albeit one totally involved. Graziella Sciutti also has word trouble, losing too many of them, and proves not quite at ease in the high R music. Hermann Prey comes across as a Don Fernando of amiability and beneficence, which is just as it should be. The Pizarro of Tom Krause has lots of fire and bite, but his intensity causes an occasional dent in the vocal line. In sum, a version, often very exciting, that goes all out for drama and pays with musical shortcomings.
NONESUCH: A neat, professional, well-integrated performance with musically deft and dramatically effective direction from Carl Bamberger and fine precision from his orchestra and chorus. Chief t-interest here centers upon the Florestan I` of Julius Patzak, a legendary characterization in Vienna and elsewhere twenty years or so ago. Even here (around 1961) his work had a haunting potency, though the singing was that of a veteran guarding his resources. He managed the aria with only a little strain but was not now up to the rigors demanded by his duet with Leonore at the end of the dungeon scene. Nor, for that matter, did Gladys Kuchta measure up to those demands, though her singing elsewhere was forceful and apt, if sometimes hard-edged. Melitta Muszely's Marzelline was a pert and clear-voiced soubrette portrayal of the role and a delightful one too, while Heinz Rehfuss created a real-life Nazi Gauleiter for his Pizarro. The sound is acceptable, if not up to Nonesuch's best. And if you are looking for a budget Fidelio, then this one is the bargain of the lot.
DGG (1969): This newest recording has not been reviewed in our regular columns (and won't be), so it demands a little more detail. It contains Karl Böhm's mature thoughts on Fidelio, a conception of immense dignity, grace, and structural soundness. Böhm shapes with a more relaxed hand than some conductors, is sometimes content to let good things happen rather than to decree each event rigidly. Here he works with the East German musicians and choristers of Dresden, a city where his work has been heard and revered for nearly forty years. It may be my imagination.
but these qualities somehow come out of the records, and a gentle affinity, disciplined but generous, seems to bind all the participants together in a common musical cause.
This is not to say that standards are allowed to drop. On the contrary, the playing and singing are of the highest precision and the horns positively bloom in their moment of customary embarrassment, the "Abscheulicher! ... Komrn Hoffnung." Only Toscanini gets comparable horn performance at this point in the score.
Gwyneth Jones may some day be the Leonore your grandchildren will remember, but she is not that yet, despite sensitive characterization and a wealth of beautiful singing tone. She handles all of the quiet music with honeyed ease; but she does not negotiate the big climaxes with anything to spare. "Abscheulicher!" is powerful, indeed riveting; but there are bits that are gusty and not firmly controlled. "Komm Hoffnung" finds her again very expressive and in lovely voice.
James King sings a powerful Florestan but he too shows occasional strain, and he misses opportunities: the chance, for instance, to ease up and change direction at the line "Inv des Lebens Friihlingsragen." Vickers makes something unforgettable of this, and King does not.
Miss Jones and Mr. King combine beautifully in "O namenlose Freude" and, helped by Böhm's sympathetic hand at the wheel, produce one of the better versions of this hazardous ensemble.
Theo Adam is the Pizarro, and very good too, though his vibrato becomes bothersome on occasions. His Act I duet with Rocco is a high point of the recording, both men generating profound intensity and making it clear that a conflict exists between them that must, for the time being, remain suppressed.
Edith Mathis and Peter Schreier provide superior performances as the young couple and Martti Talvela lends his deep black bass to the finale, where he sings Don Fernando's lines with as much resonant nobility as they have ever been given.
The DGG engineers have apparently been liberated from their company's traditional conservatism, for here they assert a welcome new freedom with stereo perspectives and produce handsome and rich recorded sound.
Still, if I had the choice of only one Fidelio to take to a desert island, it would have to be Angel's.
The Songs
"Trinkets in a great workshop." That is how musicologist W. H. Hadow once described the songs of Beethoven. The lied was one of the few fields of composition where Ludwig's mighty foot passed without leaving a decisive or permanent stamp. Many of the songs are enjoyable enough: melodious, touching, moving, even masterly-but few can rightly be called great, or stand comparison with those of his younger contemporary, Franz Schubert. You may look among Beethoven's songs for bridges between Mozart and Schubert, but you are likely to find only tenuous ropeways, supported mainly by the imagination.
"I don't like writing songs," Beethoven once said, and clearly the act of grafting his music onto a poet's words made him uncomfortable. He was often brutal with his texts, insensitive not only to their meter but even to their spirit. And only rarely would he endow the piano accompaniment (as did Schubert) with its own narrative and emotional supplement to the words. In this respect the early strophic songs, in particular, can grow monotonous, and singers are wise to abridge them. Urian's Journey, for example, offers fourteen musically identical verses, punctuated by a two-line chorus.
And yet the songs are by no means negligible. It is too easy to exaggerate their demerits: perhaps they are neither diamonds nor emeralds, but is that any reason to knock honest amethysts, opals, or even garnets from a uniquely gifted hand? There are considerable pleasures to be found here, and it is fascinating to trace the development from the early years, Salieri-dominated, to the later, more romantic pieces. Compare the classical arias and hymn-tunes of Beethoven's youth (Adelaide of 1796 or the Gellert songs of 1803) with, say, Wonne der Wehmut of 1810 and you will find that the maturing process so evident in the symphonies and the sonatas had its parallel in the lieder too.
The Beethoven songs have always been a respectful if minor share of the recital repertoire: singers are happy to sing a Beethoven group, and audiences to hear one. There are no great demands on the extremes of the voice or upon the technique of the pianist. The favorites have included Ah pet-lido! (1796), a big scene for dramatic soprano and orchestra; the song cycle An die lerne Geliebte (1816): the classical aria In questa tomba oscura (1807); and a number of the Goethe settings. Among the Goethe songs is Mephisto's ballad of the flea (about 1800) which was later to get much itchier treatment at the hands of Modest Mussorgsky, and also Mignon's nostalgic Kennst du das Land (1810), the poem which was later to inspire (in turn) Schubert, Schumann, and Hugo Wolf.
But there are as many good fish still swimming about in Beethoven's sea of lieder as have so far been caught; and you might think the phonograph an ideal way to troll these waters, most specially during the Beethoven Year. But you would be wrong, for the current catalogue is notably poor when it comes to the songs of Beethoven.
The Kalmus score of the complete songs contains sixty-four entries, if you omit the two items from Egmont and the three early (and superseded) versions of Sehnsucht (1808). Of these. only twenty-three are presently available on domestic releases--which means that almost twothirds of the Beethoven lieder literature is outside the easy reach of the American record buyer. Others are to be had as imports-notably in DGG's European catalogue, more of which may possibly be released here as the bicentenary unfolds--but short of waiting or sending overseas or grubbing in your dealer's back room for cut-outs or deleted items, the following represents the total presently accessible. Only Ah per-lido! and An die ferne Geliebte exist in competitive versions, so the other songs are treated under their performing artists.
-------------- Definitive singing by Fischer-Dieskau.
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone: Jiirg Demus, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 139197. In Europe this disc is part of a three-record album containing almost every song Beethoven wrote suitable for the male voice (there is apparently a possibility that the other two discs may appear soon). The contents are: An die ferne Geliebte (1816); Schilderung eines Mädchen (1783); Als die Geliebte sich trennen wollte (1806); Se/,n ucht (1815); Ruf vom Berge (1816); An die Geliebte (1812 version); Adelaide (1795); Andenken (1809); Zärtliche Liebe (also known as Ich liebe Diclt, 1803); Dimmi, ben mio (1810); T'intendo, si mio cor (date unknown); L'anuatte impaziente (two different settings, dates unknown); Vita felice (pub. 1803); La partenza (1798); In questa tomba oscura (1807). This is definitive singing. as confident and artistically accomplished as can be imagined. Everything has been planned to a hair: the precise weight of each song, the shading of tempo and dynamics, the exact relationship of singer and accompanist. Both artists fit together temperamentally, and the total result sets the standard in this music by which other performances must be judged. There is an occasional feeling that it is all too smooth, homogenized, and processed: but objections are swept aside as Fischer-Dieskau and Demus devotedly reveal the freshness and individualism of each succeeding song. The baritone's way of shaping words is marvelous for the German songs, perhaps not quite so apt for the Italian ones: the sounds aren't quite sufficiently open to he completely natural. But that is the sheerest quibble. An indispensable record.
Gerard Souzay, baritone: Dalton Baldwin, piano, World Series PHC 3-019.
This three-disc opera and lieder recital contains the following songs by Beethoven: Aus Goethe's Faust (about 1800); Mailied ( 1792); Wonne der Wehmut (1810); Neue Liebe, neues Leben ( 1800). Souzay's voice is less smooth. perhaps a trace more individual, than Fischer-Dieskatr's and this recording (actually made in 1963) catches it as it began to darken. This is perceptive singing, a bit more intense than the opposition but not quite so well proportioned: Souzay tends to push now and then. This works well enough in the Faust song (about the flea) but not quite so aptly in Neue Liebe. Highly recommended.
Fritz Wunderlich, tenor; Hubert Giesen, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 139125.
This record contains Schumann's Dichterliebe and five Schubert songs in addition to the following Beethoven songs: Adelaide ( 1795 ); Resignation ( 1818 ); Zartliclte Liebe (1803): Der Kuss (1822). Recorded a year or so before the death of this fine tenor, Wunderlich reveals himself as a rather less ingenious lieder singer than his operatic achievements might have led one to believe. There is a certain matter-offactness about these performances. a perfunctory air that may appeal to some: but there is certainly more to these songs than Wunderlich conveys. Very smooth and-as sheer vocalism-satisfactory; but naïve.
Strange to relate, these three listings comprise the only substantial groups of Beethoven songs to be found presently in Schwann. But a few odds and ends deserve mention, occasional Beethoven items tucked into recorded recitals of other music. Thus Der Kuss and the flea song are sung with excellent humor by Walter Berry in the collection shared with Christa Ludwig ( "A Most Unusual Song Recital ") on Seraphim S 60087.
Hermann Prey records two of the Gellert songs. Die Ilimmel riih,nen and Bitten, in effective arrangements with chorus and orchestra on London OS 26055 ("A Festive Evening "). An die ferne Geliebte (1816). The six disparate poems which Beethoven linked together with a continuous piano accompaniment were written by a Viennese physician, Alois Isidor Jeiteles. They are held by some to refer to the "immortal beloved" whose identity has never been established. The cycle is perhaps Beethoven's most thoughtful and elaborate presentation in the lieder field: the music is certainly among his better efforts for the voice, and the closing reprise of the first melody gives satisfying unity to the entire cycle.
Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Jörg Demus include the cycle on their Beethoven disc described above. The only other currently available version is by tenor Ernst Häfliger with Erik Werba on Heliodor HS 25048 (with Schumann's Dichterliebe). Both discs offer sensitive and thoroughly masterful singing. excellent recording, and fully proficient accompaniments. For sheer beauty, the Fischer-Dieskau version must be preferred; but Häfliger shows fine imagination and marvelous spirit.
Ah perfido! (1796). She hates him, she loves him, she hates him. Beethoven's full-scale double recitative and aria is perhaps the most operatic vocal piece he ever wrote and has long been a showpiece for powerful sopranos. It was written in Prague for Josepha Duschka, the lady for whom Mozart had composed several concert arias: Ah perfido! in fact, is a close kin to Elvirá s aria "Mi tradi" in Don Giovanni. The catalogue presently lists the following performances: Maria Callas ( Paris Conservatoire Orchestra, Nicola Rescigno. Angel S 36200); Régine Crespin ( New York Philharmonic, Thomas Schippers. CBS 32 11 0040); Birgit Nilsson (Philharmonia Orchestra, Heinz Wallberg. Angel SCB 3745); Teresa Stich-Randall ( Vienna Radio Orchestra, Brian Priestman. Westminster WST 17140); Gwyneth Jones ( Vienna Opera Orchestra, Argeo Quadri. London OS 25981). Five very potent ladies, and five different responses to the challenge. For tonal beauty, choose between Gwyneth Jones, where some of the dramatic force is sacrificed in the search for delectable sound, and Birgit Nilsson (recorded in 1959), where the words go for very little but the imperious tone is invincible. Stich-Randall starts off well, but after a while seems to lack thrust; however, the adagio (the main body of the aria) is very well delivered. Crespin has an ideal voice for this music and her intensity is welcome, but she turns whiny and loses dignity in the adagio-so much so that one begins to guess the reason the lady was jilted.
The Callas is something else again.
Recorded around 1964, the voice shows extreme wear-but the intensity she mobilizes in both the "hate" and the "love" passages is unequaled. The whole experience is rather like biting into a fresh onion: raw, intense, vibrant, not entirely pleasurable-but quite capable of bringing a tear to the eye. Rescigno is, to my taste, the best of the conductors, changing his styles sensitively at the required places. All versions are adequately recorded, with CBS and London outstanding in this respect.
Oldies, deletions, and imports. No discography of Beethoven lieder would be complete without some mention of recordings that were once available but are no longer listed, or without indicating what treasures may be available in the catalogues of other countries.
There were some superb performances in the days of 78 rpm, notably of An die ferne Geliebte by Gerhard Hüsch on Victor and Heinrich Schlusnus on Polydor. Other songs were memorably recorded by Lotte Lehmann. Aulikki Rautawaara. and Kirsten Flagstad. We are unlikely now to see these transferred to LP, but specialist shops may be able to help.
Special mention should be made of an Ah perfido! recorded by Kirsten Flagstad with Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1937, and once available on RCA Camden 462. Even in something less than supreme voice she gives a vaulting interpretation of the scena. A Frida Leider version of the same song survives on Scala 835, but 1 haven't heard it. Other versions of this scena have flamed during the mono era and since disappeared, among them interpretations by Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (Angel), Astrid Varnay (DGG), Inge Borkh ( London), Gre Brouwenstijn (Philips), and Eileen Farrell ( Columbia). Collections of substantial groups of the songs have been in and out of the catalogue at various times; some of them are still available as imports. The arists have included Walther Ludwig (HMV), Alfred Poell (Westminster), Max Lichtegg (London), Herta Glaz (M-G-M), Aksel SchiOtz (whose Geliebte cycle was once on Columbia), and Kim Borg (DGG). Fischer-Dieskau was at work early, recording his first Beethoven batch for HMV in 1953 (with Gerald Moore at the piano) and a later group, also for HMV, with Hertha Klust in 1956.
Among current. stereo-age imports, the most valuable is the complete Fischer-Dieskau /Demus three-disc collection on DGG 139216/8 which contains forty of the songs. There is also an entire Electrola disc (ST 80635) devoted to Beethoven songs, as performed by Hermann Prey and Gerald Moore in 1963.
Auld Lang Syne, The Pulse of an Irishman, et al. In 1813. Beethoven embarked on an unusual activity, something akin to moonlighting (if you'll excuse the term). The Edinburgh publishing house of George Thomson commissioned him (as they had earlier contracted with Haydn) to make arrangements of Scottish, Irish, English, and Welsh folk songs, "songs of such a meager, vulgar, and indelicate character as could no longer be sung in good company." Over the next four years, Beethoven turned out no fewer than 126 of these arrangements, providing cosmopolitan accompaniments for a trio of violin, cello, and piano.
Only a handful of the Irish melodies are at present in the catalogue, exquisitely sung by Fischer-Dieskau and Victoria de los Angeles, with Gerald Moore, Eduard Drolc, and Irmgard Poppen as the instrumentalists (Angel S 35963). You may still be able to find a deleted DGG disc (138706) where the ubiquitous and indefatigable Fischer-Dieskau sings six of the Beethoven Scottish folk songs, together with other Scottish melodies arranged by Haydn and Weber.
Neat month: Part II, The Choral Music by H. C. Robbins Landon.
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( High Fidelity magazine)
Also see:
Beethoven's American Boswell: Alexander Wheelock Thayer
BEETHOVEN'S WRITTEN CONVERSATIONS in Books