"Made wise through empathy, the pure fool" -- is Parsifal even more, er, "innocent" than Siegfried?

"Seeking his wife he flew up --
to circle with him over the lake
and gloriously to hallow them both."
-- Gurnemanz, deep into Scene 1 of Act I of Parsifal

[We hear first Donald McIntyre, with Reginald Goodall conducting (in 1984), then Hans Hotter, with Hans Knappertsbusch (in 1962). We'll be hearing a bit more of these performances later in the post. Sorry the second clip is so conspicuously louder; I don't know how to adjust that.]

__          __          __          __          __

GURNEMANZ: A blessed radiance emanated from the Grail;
a holy vision clearly spoke to him [i.e., Amfortas]
this message in words of fire:
"Made wise through empathy, the pure fool;
await him, the one I have chosen."
ESQUIRES: "Made wise through empathy, the pure fool --"

Ludwig Weber (bs), Gurnemanz; Elisabeth Rutgers (s), Sieglinde Wagner (ms), Erich Majkut (t), and Hermann Gallos (t), Esquires; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Rudolf Moralt, cond. Myto, live concert performance, [Oct. 1?] 1948

Franz Crass (bs), Gurnemanz; Elisabeth Schwarzenberg (s), Sieglinde Wagner (ms), R. A.  Hartmann-Griffke (t), and Heinz Zednik (t), Esquires; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Eugen Jochum, cond. Live performance, July 24, 1971

Kurt Moll (bs), Gurnemanz; Regina Marheineke (s), Claudia Hellmann (ms), Helmut Holzapfel (t), and Karl-Heinz Eichler (t), Esquires; Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Rafael Kubelik, cond. Recorded for broadcast, May 1980

Kurt Moll (bs), Gurnemanz; Heidi Grant Murphy (s), Jane Bunnell (ms), Paul Groves (t), and Anthony Laciura (t), Esquires; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, James Levine, cond. DG, recorded 1991-92

Cesare Siepi (bs), Gurnemanz; Loretta Di Franco (s), Ivanka Myhal (ms), Leo Goeke (t), and Robert Schmorr (t), Esquires; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Leopold Ludwig, cond. Live performance, Apr. 3, 1971

by Ken

We'll come back to the very first morsel we heard above, regarding the murdered swan's flight. The bit we just heard immediately above precedes the chunk we heard last week in the second of our pair of post "teases" ("Two case studies in ignorance -- Siegfried and Parsifal" and "Tease 2: Case studies in ignorance -- Siegfried and Parsifal (continued)," from the later stage of the first scene of Act I of Parisal but as part of a larger chunk of this scene from the later stages of the first of the two scenes of Act I of Parsifal. For all the difficulty I've had figuring out how to proceed from those teases, not to mention the amount of menial labor that will go into executing the provisional new roadmap, there was never any question that one thing we would need to do is to backup into this earlier part of the scene, and shortly we're going to hear a fuller context for these crucial lines.

I also realized that I needed to make clearer that labeling Siegfried and Parsifal as "ignorant" isn't meant as any kind of judgment but merely as a statement of fact -- both of our heroes have come to strapping young-manhood without any significant opportunity to learn the basics of life most of us take for granted, learning them as we do from a combination of normal socialization and instruction.


BEFORE WE PROCEED, LET'S HEAR A LITTLE MUSIC
TO HELP GET US INTO A "PARSIFAL FRAME OF MIND"

On this initial pass at this post, the most we'll be able to do is set out the bare bones, to be filled in tonight and tomorrow with more performances, better context, and more comment. And I do think it'll help if we use the pairing of the Prelude to Act I and the "Good Friday Spell" from Act III to orient ears and brains to the Parsifal sound world. The Jochum recording we've heard before; I don't believe we've heard the Bruno Walter one.

Parsifal: Prelude (Act I) and "Good Friday Spell" (Act III)


Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Eugen Jochum, cond. DG, recorded December 1957

Columbia Symphony Orchestra, Bruno Walter, cond. Columbia-CBS-Sony, recorded Feb. 25, 1959


ANOTHER THING I DIDN'T DO LAST WEEK . . .

Post tease 2: Case studies in ignorance -- Siegfried and Parsifal (continued)

Gottlob Frick as Gurnemanz -- in 1960, when he was 54; would
you believe the recording we're about to hear was made in 1971-72?
(Later we're also going to hear him from about the time of the photo.)

GURNEMANZ [to PARSIFAL]:
You could murder, here in this holy forest,
where tranquil peace surrounded you?
Did not the woodland beasts tamely come near
and innocently greet you as friends?
What did the birds sing to you from the branches?
What harm did that faithful swan do you?
Seeking his mate, he flew up
to circle with it over the lake
and gloriously to hallow the both.
This did not impress you? It but tempted you
to a wild, childish shot from your bow?
He was pleasing to us; what is he now to you?
Here -- look! -- here you struck him,
the blood still congealing, the wings drooping lifeless,
the snowy plumage stained dark,
the eyes glazed -- do you see his look?
[PARSIFAL has followed GURNEMANZ with growing emotion; now he breaks his bow and hurls his arrows away.]
Now do you appreciate your misdeed?
[PARSIFAL passes his hand over his eyes.]
Say, boy, do you realize your great guilt?
How could you commit this crime?
PARSIFAL: I didn't know.

-- translation by Lionel Salter

Gottlob Frick (bs), Gurnemanz; René Kollo (t), Parsifal; members of the Vienna State Opera Chorus, Vienna Philharmonic, Georg Solti, cond. Decca, recorded 1971-72

by Ken

In the earlier "tease" for this week's post, I noted the connection I typically feel from the difficult-to-conceptualize ignorance of the young Siegfried and that of his Wagnerian comrade-in-arms Parsifal (even if the "arm" in question in the latter's case is a bow and arrows), but without so much as a note of the latter's music. This follow-up tease aims to set that right.

NOTE: On present schedule, look for the main post tomorrow. (I don't rule out the possibility of additions to, or other tamperings with, one or both of the teases.)


NOW WE HAVE A FULLER VERSION OF THIS EXCERPT

Post tease: Two case studies in ignorance -- Siegfried and Parsifal

Siegfried meets Fafner: Oh joy, Fafner's turned into a murderous dragon!

by Ken

One issue that's extensively tested in Wagner's Ring cycle, and that has been quietly bedeviling us in our enquiries, is whether we really know how to deal with innocence: recognizing it, understanding it, coping with it. I thought that at this point, as we're meeting Siegfried at perhaps his most exposed, we needed at least to drag it out into the open -- as it were, outside the opening to the cave where the giant Fafner, since murdering his brother Fasolt at the end of Das Rheingold and taking sole possession of the Nibelung hoard, including the all-power-conferring Ring and the Tarnhelm that enables the wearer to transform into any form desired, has Tarnhelmed into a murderous dragon and taken up solitary (he hopes) residence in a remote deep-forest cave, where he mostly sleeps on top of the hoard, guarding it against any would-be hoard-snatchers.

We're in Act II of Siegfried, earlier in the act than we were last week ("Not just a tease for next week's post: A little birdie told him"), when we heard Siegfried actually hearing and understanding tidings shared by a newsy Woodbird. Those mutually antagonistic lordlings Alberich and Wotan have just met for the first time since the final scene of Das Rheingold, when Wotan stole the Nibelung hoard from Alberich (who is of course "the Nibelung" of The Ring of the Nibelung) and Alberich, powerless to do anything else, placed a curse on the Ring -- as if that order of wealth didn't come with its own built-in curse. Or maybe Alberich was aiming his curse at some kind of certainty of enforcement of the curse implied by acquisition of all that treasure?


IT'S BEEN OCCURRING TO ME THAT THE THEME
OF SIEGFRIED'S HOPELESS IGNORANCE . . .

Not just a tease for next week's post: A little birdie told him

by Ken

As usual, some of you will know right away what this clip is, and perhaps who, maybe even when (in this case a tad harder than usual). For both those who know and those who don't, if your first reaction is, "That's about as beautiful a half-minute of singing as I've ever heard," we're on the same page.

Now consider these versions of the same excerpt, one of which has a close connection to the version we heard above:



Or if you hanker for a super-speedy bird:



NEW! NEW! (since the earlier version of this "tease"): There's one more clip -- no, make it two -- we might listen to, which from the vocal standpoint are even briefer. For identification purposes, in anticipation of the "clip reveals" to follow in the jump of this post, let's log these in as Clips 5 and 6.




Now if we left it at this, I'd say that this is really a tease. As readers of the earlier version of this "tease" -- when I still thought it was going to be a tease for this week's main post -- know, I always planned to beef it up, though I always worried that the thing might spin out of control. (I refer you to the scheduling note in the jump of this version of the post.)

In that earlier version I proceeded to offer some more music, and even provided proper discographic identification.


Philharmonia Orchestra, Francesco D'Avalos, cond. ASV, recorded Oct. 22, 1987


NOW, BEFORE WE GET BACK TO OUR SINGING BIRDIES

On the pleasures of getting lostin Götterdämmerung: revisiting the path to here, Part 2

SUNDAY 8:30pm UPDATE: After the earlier fillings-in, mostly around the Götterdämmerung and Walküre selections, I've added some Siegfried performance notes, and barring some likely (hoped for?) post cleanup, that should be about it!

OH WAIT! The missing "Norn Scene" audio clip is found -- and is now in place below! It's from the Met, March 1974: the beautiful (and beautifully cast) Götterdämmerung broadcast conducted by Rafael Kubelik during his sadly brief time as music director.

Brünnhilde (Deborah Voigt) has been awakened by Siegfried
(Jay Hunter Morris), at the Met, 2013. [photo by Ken Howard]

After being kissed by SIEGFRIED, BRÜNNHILDE opens her eyes. SIEGFRIED stands up and stands before her. BRÜNNHILDE slowly rises to a sitting position. She raises her arms in solemn gestures, greeting the heaven and earth that now she sees again.

BRÜNNHILDE: Hail to you, sun! Hail to you, light!
Hail to you, radiant day!
My sleep was long; I am awakened.
Who is the hero who awoke me?
SIEGFRIED [deeply moved by her look and her voice, stands as if rooted to the spot]:
Through the fire I struggled, which blazes around the rock;
I broke you out of your tight helmet;
I am Siegfried, who awakens you.
BRÜNNHILDE [sitting straight up]: Hail to you, gods!
Hail to you, world!
Hail to you, shining earth!
My sleep is at an end.
I am awakened: it is Siegfried who awakens me!
SIEGFRIED [breaks out in ecstasy]:
I bless my mother, giving me birth!
bless the earth that gave me my strength!
Now I behold those eyes,
bright stars which laugh on my joy!
BRÜNNHILDE [overlapping, in impassioned accents]:
I bless your mother, giving you birth!
bless the earth, that gave you your strength.
Your eyes alone could behold me,
my heart to you alone wakes!
[Each remains in radiant, rapt contemplation of the other.]

Deborah Voigt (s), Brünnhilde; Plácido Domingo (t), Siegfried; Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Antonio Pappano, cond. EMI, from a Voigt-Domingo Wagner CD recorded January 2000

[kind of scrunched to fit the 78 side] Frida Leider (s), Brünnhilde; Rudolf Laubenthal (t), Siegfried; Berlin State Opera Orchestra, Leo Blech, cond. EMI, recorded Aug. 27, 1927

Kirsten Flagstad (s), Brünnhilde; Lauritz Melchior (t), Siegfried; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Artur Bodanzky, cond. Live performance, Jan. 30, 1937

Helen Traubel (s), Brünnhilde; Set Svanholm (t), Siegfried; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Fritz Stiedry, cond. Live performance, Feb. 10, 1951

Birgit Nilsson (s), Brünnhilde; Wolfgang Windgassen (t), Siegfried; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Philips, recorded live, July 1966

by Ken

For a post that flaunts Götterdämmerung in the title -- and doesn't it seem to go on for inches and inches? -- we're going to be hearing precious little of it today. There will be a little, though, coming up in just a moment, as we revisit, in somewhat expanded form, the first two of the three iterations of what we're calling "the 'Awakening' music," from the "Second Day" (Siegfried) and "Third Day" (Götterdämmerung) of Wagner's Ring of the Nibelung.

So no, there won't be any trace this week of the third iteration, which comes so, um, dramatically in the next-to-last scene of Götterdämmerung. We've still got too much ground to cover before we might logically come to it. Nevertheless, even though it wasn't part of my original plan, I'm thinking that maybe we do want to get there at some point, but for sure not this week, or likely even next.

My thinking for this week is that, considering that last week ("On the pleasures of getting lost in Götterdämmerung: revisiting the path to here, Part 1") we were poking around the actual awakening of Brünnhilde, in Scene 3 of Act III of Siegfried, why not start with the awakening itself? And as long as we're awakening her, why not revisit the great succession of Brünnhildes, from Frida Leider to Kirsten Flagstad to Helen Traubel (maybe not unequivocally part of this line of succession, but so close, I think, to rating a place in this line of succession) to Birgit Nilsson?

By the way we're not done with this scene, which is on today's itinerary. But before we come back to it, I thought we might have another reminder of the point we're aiming to get back to, which is the second of the three "Awakening" iterations, in such strikingly altered musical form. Trust Wagner to begin the vastest of his operatic creations in such seemingly understated, and yet such richly detailed, form. And so, without further ado --

WE'RE BACK AT THE START OF GÖTTERDÄMMERUNG, AND NOW (AS PROMISED) WE'RE GOING JUST A BIT DEEPER IN

On the pleasures of getting lostin Götterdämmerung: revisiting the path to here, Part 1

Siegfried tries to awaken Brünnhilde

[As SIEGFRIED approaches the sleeper again, he is again filled with tender emotion at the sight of her. He bends over her.]
Sweet and quivering, her lovely mouth.
A gentle gladness charms fear from my heart!
Ah! how enchanting her warm, fragrant breath!
[As if in despair] Awaken! Awaken! Holiest maid!

-- from Siegfried, Act III, Scene 3 (singing translation by
Andrew Porter, used in the Remedios-Goodall performance)

[in English] Alberto Remedios (t), Siegfried; Sadler's Wells Opera Orchestra, Reginald Goodall, cond. EMI-Chandos, recorded live, August 1973

Lauritz Melchior (t), Siegfried; Berlin State Opera Orchestra, Robert Heger, cond. EMI, recorded May 12, 1930

Lauritz Melchior (t), Siegfried; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Artur Bodanzky, cond. Live performance, Jan. 30, 1937

Günther Treptow (t), Siegfried; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Rudolf Moralt, cond. Myto, live recording of a 1949 concert performance of the act

Set Svanholm (t), Siegfried; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Wilhelm Furtwängler, cond. Live performance, Mar. 23, 1950

Wolfgang Windgassen (t), Siegfried; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Philips, recorded live, July 1966

Siegfried Jerusalem (t), Siegfried; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Daniel Barenboim, cond. Teldec, recorded live, June-July 1992

[Note: We'll be hearing a fuller version of this scene in Part 2 of this post, when we'll talk a little about the performances. Meanwhile, I hope you're storing up your impressions of them! -- Ed.]

by Ken

As I explained in last week's still-unfollowed-up-on "post taste," "This is where we'd really like to start this week, but --," our inquiry into that starkly mysterious and foreboding character Hagen has led us back to the start of Götterdämmerung. Because what precedes in Wagner's Ring cycle is such a vast expanse of meticulously detailed music drama, it can be easy to forget how massive its final leg is in its own right -- at least until we're buckled in for the nearly two-hour expanse of Götterdämmerung's Prologue and Act I.

Götterdämmerung: Prologue: Orchestral prelude


Bavarian State Orchestra, Wolfgang Sawallisch, cond. EMI, recorded live at the Bavarian State Opera, November 1989

This two-minute prelude is the low-keyed and nevertheless magisterial opening of Götterdämmerung, aka Twilight of the Gods, the "Third Day" of The Ring of the Nibelung -- or by normal counting standards the fourth opera, since Wagner counted Das Rheingold, a massive expanse in its own right (running an uninterrupted two and a half to two and three-quarters hours), strictly as a prologue to the three "days" that follow.

What I'm trying to give a feel for is the way Wagner's unique operatic method enables him to create such finely detailed moments -- and there are no moments in the entire expanse of The Ring (let's call it roughly 14-15 hours; even among the handful of recorded Rings I spot-checked there were outliers: Böhm-Bayreuth 1966-67 at the quick end, at 13:39, and Goodall-English National Opera,1973-77, at the gradual end, at 16:03) that aren't finely detailed -- that are nevertheless bound musicodramatically to countless other moments in that vast expanse. In a bit we're going to hear the little Götterdämmerung orchestral prelude again and this time continue on a bit in the Prologue, taking in just a little of the chillingly awesome Norn Scene.

For now, though, let's just note that the music out of which this two-minute orchestral intro is fashioned is what I'm going to call "the 'Awakening' music," the music to which we witness Brünnhilde awakening from her long sleep in the final act of Siegfried, the "Second Day" of The Ring.


AS YOU'VE PROBABLY GATHERED, ONE OF OUR DESTINATIONS
TODAY IS THE "AWAKENING" ITSELF, BUT NOT BEFORE . . .

Post taste: This is where we'd really like to start this week, but --

UPDATE: The usual thousand apologies, but the promised continuation of this "post tease" is now up for viewing:
"On the pleasures of getting lost in Götterdämmerung: revisiting the path to here, Part 1."

LIKE IT SAYS ABOVE, THIS IS WHERE WE'D LIKE TO START:


All clips: Bavarian State Orchestra, Wolfgang Sawallisch, cond. (1989, live)

ONLY, FROM THERE WE'D NEED TO GO STRAIGHT BACK TO:



And if we're going back, maybe we should go back a bit farther?



by Ken

Come to think of it, once we get to that hoped-for starting point (pushing ahead from last week's post, "About the Nibelung I recently heard a rumor . . . ") we'll have to do an even farther-backwards jump, to get to this:

Whoever fears the tip of my spear
shall never pass through the fire!

with Robert Hale, bass-baritone

Come to think some more, once we did that first jump-back, wouldn't we also want to do this crucial jump-ahead?

Brünnhilde! Holy bride!
Wake up! Open your eyes!

with René Kollo, tenor

Which, if we continued, would take us to this famous orchestral setpiece:




WE'LL GET THIS ALL SORTED IN DUE TIME.
FOR NOW, IF THIS IS ALL TOO HYPOTHETICAL ---

You can click through to hear these clips properly identified.

"About the Nibelung I recently heard a rumor . . . "

TUESDAY NIGHT UPDATE: Progress is made. We've got the Götterdämmerung Prologue-to-Act I texts in place, and the cleaning up and filling in of the post text has begun.

It all started with Alberich (here, Eric Owens at the Met) and his discovery of the superpower he could enjoy if he managed to get hold of the Rhinegold and shape it into a ring.

by Ken

FIRST, A FEW EXPLANATORY NOTES

(in case you're wondering what the heck this is you're looking at!)

Explanatory Note No. 1: Last week we met the character who for me is one of the most engrossing not just in opera but in any theatrical or for that matter any fictional medium: Hagen, one of the final trio of characters Wagner presents to us in The Ring of the Nibelung, in the company of his half-siblings Gunther and Gutrune. We meet them chatting in their home, the Hall of the Gibichungs, as the curtain rises on Act I of the final installment of The Ring, Götterdämmerung (Twilight of the Gods) -- following, that is, the 40-minute-or-so Prologue, which together will form one of Wagner's super-acts, clocking in at not a whole lot less than two hours.

I pointed out that we were not meeting Hagen at the point of his actual presentation to the audience, though I promised we'd eventually get back to that. Instead we met him at a stunningly personal moment: as he is left alone to sit watch over the hall while Gunther heads off on a mad adventure with their recently arrived guest Siegfried -- a scheme of Hagen's devising, aimed at bringing within his reach the much-sought-after superpower-giving Ring of the Nibelung.


JUST TO REFRESH OUR MEMORIES --

Ladies and gents, meet Hagen[in fullest and final(ish) post form]

TUESDAY MORNING (FINAL) UPDATE: I did finally add some extra thumbs-up versions of our chosen scenelet, but this still leaves loads of stuff undone, as summarized in the note at the end.

Let's eavesdrop -- for now just a bit --
on Hagen, left alone with his thoughts

"Hier sitz' ich zur Wacht": William Wildermann as Hagen

"sits watch" over the Hall of the Gibichungs in Seattle, 1975.

You sons of freedom,

joyful companions,

merrily sail on your way!

Though you may scorn me,

you'll serve me soon,

the Nibelung's son.

-- singing translation by Andrew Porter,

used in our English-language recording

[1]

[Suggestion: Dial back the volume on [1]; my source is loud (and noisy).]
[2]

[3]

[4 (in English)]

Patience, Hagen fans! Credits for the performances will appear in due time.

by Ken

Not a "whistle a happy tune" kind of guy is our Hagen.

One of the above performances is very much not like the others, and I'm not thinking about the difference in language between our first performance and the others. I've intentionally omitted identification of the performances so we can focus on the performances themselves, but be assured that eventually they'll be fully identified, when we'll also clarify another, even more obvious trick embedded in the layout of the performances. For now, I'm just curious whether the difference I have in mind will be as obvious to other listeners.

Now, this isn't literally our meeting with Hagen, as might have been assumed from the post title. That occurred roughly 40 minutes earlier in Götterdämmerung, at the start of Act I -- and we need to remember that Act I isn't the start of Götterdämmerung, inseparably attached as it is to the roughly 40-minute Prologue, counting the extraordinary orchestral bridge known as "Siegfried's Rhine Journey," which takes us from the ecstasies of Brünnhilde's sendoff to her beloved Siegfried, as he sets out on his journey on the Rhine, to the more workaday world of the Gibichungs, specifically the king and queen of the Gibichungs, the brother and sister Gunther and Gutrune, and their half-brother (same mother, different fathers) Hagen.

(According to present plan -- and for those of you who are new to these parts, "plans" hereabouts have a way of, er, mutating -- we are eventually going to hear our initial encounter with Hagen.)

Let's hop on the boat with Siegfried for his "Rhine Journey"!

A closer look at, or anyway listen to, "persondom" at play in Act I of Die Walküre

Furtwängler rehearses with the Vienna Philharmonic on tour in London's Royal Festival Hall, 1948.

by Ken

For all sorts of reasons, this week's sights are set low: We're not going to do much more than cover the same ground we did last week ("If we're aiming to focus on Hunding -- and we are -- then first we need to get him onstage"), the chunk of Act I of Die Walküre from the start of the pounding orchestral prelude through Hunding's reply to Siegmund, with a small tack-on, the stage business as Hunding sends his wife off off to prepare a meal for himself and their uninvited guest, including his startled observation of the physical resemblance between his wife and the stranger, and with two changes of "reference":

* attention-wise, as close consideration as possible of what I described last week as the characters' "persondom," which is to say the way the writing for them connects to our experience of being human, and --

* performance-wise, listening to a set of recordings I've hankered for some time to butt up against one another: the four recorded performances of this seminal act we have by that unique Wagner conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler.

Of course "persondom" is easier to detect in Die Walküre Act I than in much of the rest of The Ring. This doesn't mean it's any less important in the rest of The Ring, as I hope has been clear in the considerable assortment of excerpts we've heard over the years. I'm thinking that maybe if we pay due attention here, it'll be more apparent elsewhere.

(Next week, according to plan, as we finish up with Hunding we're slated to eavesdrop on the chilling and yet riveting Hagen in Götterdämmerung. And you know, it might be interesting at some point to dive into the SC audio archive and, from this perspective of "persondom," revisit the Ring excerpts we've heard. Think of, say, the giants Fasolt and Fafner in Rheingold fighting to get fair payment for their labors, and then fighting with each other, or the Nibelung Mime, arguably the least sympathetic character in The Ring, grappling with his humongous problem in the singularly tormented opening of Siegfried.)


WHAT, FOUR FURTWANGLER RECORDINGS?

If we're aiming to focus on Hunding -- and we are -- then first we need to get him onstage

BUT FIRST WE'LL NEED TO GET OUR OTHER
WALKÜRE ACT I PRINCIPALS ONSTAGE

The "oil sketch" for Walküre Act I by the Austrian painter

and scenic designer Josef Hoffmann (1831-1904)

Revivified by the drink of water provided by Sieglinde,
Siegmund sings, "Kühlende Labung gab mir der Quell"

SIEGMUND: Cooling relief
the draught has given me;
the burden of my weariness
is lightened;
my courage revives;
my eyes enjoy
the pleasure of sight.
Who is it who has so restored me?

Lauritz Melchior (t), Siegmund; Vienna Philharmonic, Bruno Walter, cond. EMI, recorded June 20-22, 1935

Ramón Vinay (t), Siegmund; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Joseph Keilberth, cond. Testament, recorded live, July 25, 1955

Siegfried Jerusalem (t), Siegmund; Staatskapelle Dresden, Marek Janowski, cond. Eurodisc, recorded Aug. 22-29, 1981

Plácido Domingo (t), Siegmund; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Giuseppe Sinopoli, cond. Live performance, July 27, 2000

by Ken

Right off the bat you're probably suspicious, and not just because this week's Sunday Classics offering is now slipping out late-ish of a Sunday that's already a full week overdue. You're thinking, "No, wait! If our announced goal is to get Hunding onstage, how come we're listening here to Siegmund?"

A fair question, to which the simple answer is that before we can get Hunding onstage, we've got to get Siegmund onstage -- and, really, Sieglinde as well. Technically speaking we managed in the last post ("Probably next week we'll hear what higher-class singing can mean for even a grim character like Hunding -- this week we've got some other business"). We could read in the stage directions about Siegmund making his appearance, stealing wordlessly into Hunding's house before collapsing by the hearth, but I ended the relevant audio clip just before we would have heard him.

We're going to fix that in a moment, but for now, if you think it would help get us on track -- I mean, to hear a bit of Hunding -- we can do that!


SURE, WE COULD HEAR A BIT OF HUNDING --
WE'LL JUST NEED TO JUMP AHEAD IN ACT I

Probably next week we'll hear what higher-class singing can mean for even a grim character like Hunding -- this week we've got some other business

STORMY WEATHER -- AS IF SIEGMUND DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH
TROUBLES! NO WONDER HE'S SO DESPERATE FOR SHELTER

Inside a dwelling. In the middle stands a mighty ash tree, whose prominent roots spread wide and lose themselves in the ground. The summit of the tree is cut off by a jointed roof, so pierced that the trunk and the boughs branching out on every side pass through it, through openings made exactly to fit. We assume that the top of the tree spreads out above he roof. Around the trunk of the ash, as central point, a room has been constructed. The walls are of rudely hewn wood, here and thre hung with plaited and woven rugs.

In the foreground, right, is a hearth, whose chimney goes up sideways to the roof; behind the hearth is an inner room, like a store room, reached by a few wooden steps. In front of it, half drawn, is a plaited hanging. In the background, an entrance door with a simple wooden latch. Left, the door to an inner chamber, similarly reached by steps. Further forward, on the same side, a table with a broad bench fastened to the wall behind it and wooden stools in front of it.

A short orchestral prelude of violent, stormy character introduces the scene. When the curtain rises, SIEGMUND from without, hastily opens the main door and enters. It is towards evening; a fierce thunderstorm is just about to die down. For a moment, SIEGMUND keeps his hand on the latch and looks around the room; he seems to be exhausted by tremendous exertions; his raiment and general appearance proclaim him a fugitive. Seeing no one, he closes the door behind him, walks to the hearth, and throws himself down there, exhausted, on a bearskin rug.

-- translation by Andrew Porter

This storm has more menacing weight:

Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Daniel Barenboim, cond. Teldec, recorded live, June-July 1992
While this storm has more slashing drive:

Cleveland Orchestra, Christoph von Dohnányi, cond. Decca, recorded 1992

by Ken

The above should provide a gentle reminder that coming off last week's post ("Last week I stuck up for Josef Greindl as Wagner's Daland, and this week too, as both Daland and Hunding -- but only up to a point"), we're lodged in Act I of Die Walküre, with particular focus on that shrouded-in-darkness householder Hunding, into whose house we have just slipped, mere minutes in advance of Siegmund. The idea for this week was that we were going to listen closely to Hunding's contributions to the grisly little domestic scene. We're looking to see what singing of real vocal distinction, allied with seriousness of purpose, of course, can add to the character's dimension.


I STILL WANT TO DO THAT -- JUST NOT RIGHT NOW

Last week I stuck up for Josef Greindl as Wagner's Daland, and this week too, as both Daland and Hunding -- but only up to a point

"Ich weiss ein wildes Geschlecht" ("I know of a wild race") -- Josef Greindl as Hunding, from the video of the June 1963 Knappertsbusch-Vienna Philharmonic concert performance of Act I of Die Walküre (with Fritz Uhl as Siegmund and Claire Watson as Sieglinde)

"Ich weiss ein wildes Geschlecht"
HUNDING: I know of a savage family [race?]
who hold nothing sacred
that others honor.
Everyone hates them, as I do.
I was called to vengeance
to make amends
for family blood.
I came too late,
and now, returning home,
the tracks of the villain who fled
I discover in my own house.

"Mein Haus hütet, Wölfing, dich heut' "
[He walks upstage.]
My house will shelter you,
Wolf-Cub, for today;
for this night I put you up.
But with stout weapons
arm yourself tomorrow.
I choose the day for fighting.
You must pay me for those deaths.
[SIEGLINDE walks anxiously between the two men.]
[to SIEGLINDE] Leave the room!
Don't dally here.
Prepare my night drink
and wait till I come to bed.
[SIEGLINDE remains standing and undecided for a time. Then she moves slowly and with dragging footsteps to the store room. There she pauses again and stands lost in thought, her face half turned away. Quietly but firmly she opens the cupboard, fills a drinking horn, and sprinkles spices into it from a pot. Then her eyes turn to SIEGMUND so as to meet his, which are continually on hers. She realizes HUNDING is watching her and at once goes towards the bedroom. On the steps she turns round again, looks passionately at SIEGMUND, and with a fixed, eloquent glance indicates a spot on the trunk of the tree. HUNDING rises and drives her away with a violent gesture. After a last glance at SIEGMUND, she goes into the bedroom and closes the door behind her. HUNDING removes his armor from the tree.]
With his armor a man protects himself.
[Turning to SIEGMUND as he goes]
You, Wolf-Cub, I will meet tomorrow.
You heard what I said.
Take good care of yourself.
[He goes, with his armor, into the bedroom and is heard closing the bolt on the other side.]

["Mein Haus hütet, Wölfing, dich heut' " at 1:01] Josef Greindl (bs), Hunding; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Hans Knappertsbusch, cond. Live performance, Aug. 14, 1956

by Ken

Hunding's exit leaves us right at the start of Siegmund's monologue, which we happen to have been listening to recently (as sung, twice each, by Jon Vickers, James King, and Plácido Domingo). And we happen also to have heard Hunding's "Ich weiss ein wildes Geschlecht" sung (in bass mode, and closer-cropped) by bass-baritone Gerd Nienstedt, while also hearing him (in baritone mode) clearing the mists with his hammer as Donner in Das Rheingold, both from Philips's 1966-67 live Ring cycle from Bayreuth conducted by Karl Böhm.


["Mein Haus hütet, Wölfing, dich heut' " at 0:47] Gerd Nienstedt (bs-b), Hunding; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Philips, recorded live at the 1967 festival


NOW I'D MUCH RATHER LISTEN TO GERD, BUT ESPECIALLY
AFTER WATCHING JOSEF G. IN THE 1963 CONCERT VIDEO . . .

Here it is: our Garrulous Old Moneygrubbers' Week bonus -- and now it's a double bonus!

THURSDAY UPDATE: The second part of the bonus isn't just ready but now has additional circumventions and digressions.

I tried like heck to find an image that might be taken as somehow relating to a ship's crewman falling asleep while sitting watch. This is as close as I got.

After the worst of the storm in Act I of The Flying Dutchman --

The STEERSMAN, having been left on deck to stand watch while captain Daland and the rest of the crew, exhausted by their exertions coping with the near-fatal storm, rest below deck. He made one more round of the deck, then sat near the rudder. Now he yawns, then rouses himself as sleep comes over him.

Steersman's Song
Through thunder and storm, from distant seas
I draw near, my lass!
Through towering waves, from the south
I am here, my lass!
My lass, were there no south wind,
I could never come to you:
ah, dear south wind, blow once more!
My lass longs for me.
Hoyohe! Halloho! Yoloho! Hoho!
[A wave breaks against the ship, shaking it violently. The STEERSMAN starts up and looks around. Having satisfied himself that no harm has been done, he sits down again and sings, while sleep gradually overcomes him.]
On southern shores, in distant lands,
I have thought of you.
Through storm and sea, from Moorish strands
a gift I have brought for you.
My lass, praise the fair south wind,
for I bring you a golden ring.
Ah, dear south wind, then blow!
My lass would fain have her gift.
Hoyohe! Halloho! Hoyohe! Halloho!

The STEERSMAN struggles with his fatigue and finally falls asleep. The storm begins to rage violently; it grows darker. In the distance appears the ship of the "Flying Dutchman" with blood-red sails and black masts. She rapidly nears the shore, on the side opposite the Norwegian ship; with a fearful crash, she casts anchor. -- DALAND's STEERSMAN starts up from his sleep; without leaving his place he glances hastily at the helm and, reassured that no harm has been done, murmurs the beginning of his song,

My lass, were there no south wind --

and falls asleep again. -- Mute and without making the slightest noise, the spectral crewmen of the DUTCHMAN furl the sails.

-- translation by Lionel Salter

Fritz Wunderlich (t), Steersman; Staatskapelle Berlin, Franz Konwitschny, cond. EMI-Deutsche Schallplatten, recorded 1959

Harald Ek (t), Steersman; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded live, July-Aug. 1971

Ernst Häfliger (t), Steersman; RIAS Symphony Orchestra (Berlin), Ferenc Fricsay, cond. DG, recorded 1952

Uwe Heilmann (t), Steersman; Vienna Philharmonic, Christoph von Dohnányi, cond. Decca, recorded March-Nov. 1991

by Ken

I didn't see how it could be done: to get as close as we got, in this week's post ("Ohmygosh, it's turned into Garrulous Old Moneygrubbers' Week here at Sunday Classics -- or has it?"), to the Steersman's Song in Act I of The Flying Dutchman and not hear the song itself. At any rate, I don't know how to do it. And since, as I mentioned, we had a fine sampling of performances in the Sunday Classics audio archive, I gave up trying to resist.

Actually, we're going to significantly more: something I've long longed to hear. Again, I can't help myself. For now, though, here we are, with the sea captain Daland's little ship anchored offshore after being blown violently off course by a sudden storm that attacked it just as it was within sight of home -- Daland could literally see his house. The little Act I excerpt we heard took us right up to the point of the Steersman is left alone on deck, just as he was about to break into song in an effort to keep himself awake.


READY TO JUMP TO THE SECOND HALF OF OUR BONUS?

Ohmygosh, it's turned into Garrulous Old Moneygrubbers' Week here at Sunday Classics --or has it?

NOTE: If the audio clips don't all load, try refreshing the post -- more than once if necessary. They're all ready and waiting.

His chance encounter-at-sea with the mysterious -- and rich as all get-out -- Dutchman (Darren Jeffery) gives Daland (Steven Gallop) ideas about his marriageable daughter's future, in Melbourne's 2019 Flying Dutchman.


CAUTIONARY NOTE ABOUT THIS SET OF AUDIO CLIPS: They're all, er, special, in a particular way, and are here for a reason. (Okay, okay: We might call these "Garrulous Old Moneygrubbers' versions.") If your ears and brain are screaming, "Yuck, I can't stand it!," farther down we've got a heap of clips, of both selections, that are special in a way different way. -- Ed.

BEETHOVEN: Fidelio: Act I, Rocco, "Hat man nicht auch Gold beineben" ("If you don't have money too")

[FOR ENGLISH TEXT, SCROLL DOWN IN POST]


Kurt Böhme (bs), Rocco; Vienna Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel, cond. Decca, recorded March 1964

Herbert Alsen (bs), Rocco; Vienna Philharmonic, Wilhelm Furtwängler, cond. Live performance from the Salzburg Festival, Aug. 3, 1948

WAGNER: The Flying Dutchman: Act II, Daland, "Mein Kind, du siehst mich" ("My child, you see me") . . . "Mögst du, mein Kind" ("Might you, my child")

[FOR ENGLISH TEXT, SCROLL DOWN IN POST]


["Mögst du, mein Kind" at 1:43] Josef Greindl (bs), Daland; Annelies Kupper (s), Senta; RIAS Symphony Orchestra (Berlin), Ferenc Fricsay, cond. DG, recorded 1952

["Mögst du, mein Kind" at 1:45] Josef Greindl (bs), Daland; Anja Silja (s), Senta; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Wolfgang Sawallisch, cond. Philips, recorded live, August 1961

by Ken

We've got so many balls hanging precariously in the air that I was really hoping we snatch and ground one or two this week. Instead we're tossing up another.

The obvious follow-up to the "post-taste" I offered earlier today (or maybe it was yesterday -- you know, one of those days in there), which included performances of Beethoven's Creatures of Prometheus Overture, would have been something I've had in mind for several weeks, for some point in the future: a look into the mystery of the master's overture-making skills, as reflected in the four specimens he created over that nine-year period for Fidelio, which include two gems and -- yes, I'm going to use the word -- two duds.

First page of the Fidelio Overture

The mystery becomes a little less mysterious when we factor in that, as I pointed out in the post-taste, while by 1805 the 35-year-old Beethoven had already have produced a large body of music of a high level of mastery in a wide variety of genres, as an overture-writer he was still a novice, whereas by 2014, when he sealed the deal with the fourth and final overture for the opera, the one we know as the Fidelio Overture, he was one of music's all-time master overturists. What may be most amazing is that in his second attempt at an operatic overture, as early as 1806, he gave us what may not be a useful operatic curtain-raiser but nevertheless is one of the great masterpieces of music. And then he produced a real dud. Maybe it just goes to show that by and large "easy" wasn't in Beethoven's working vocabulary.

Again, though, this was a subject for the future -- no way it was going to be doable on the spot, even if I curtailed the plan I'd roughed out, which would have included hearing all of the canonical Beethoven overtures.

Similarly, I didn't see any way of jumping from where we are to the lesson of Fidelio.


WHAT WE'RE DOING, THOUGH, ISN'T UNRELATED

Today's "post-taste": Yes, we're finally gonna have a guide box to the "Lesson of Fidelio" posts (oh, and we've got some music too)

Before Beethoven set out in 1805 to write an overture for the opera we know as Fidelio, the only overture he'd written -- at least that I've ever encountered -- was the bracing one for his 1801 ballet The Creatures of Prometheus. (Above we see Prometheus, god of fire, at Rockefeller Center, as rendered in gilded cast bronze by Paul Winship in 1934.)

BEETHOVEN: The Creatures of Prometheus, Op. 43: Overture


Berlin Philharmonic, André Cluytens, cond. EMI, recorded c1957

Utah Symphony Orchestra, Maurice Abravanel, cond. Vanguard, recorded c1964

Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. EMI, recorded Nov. 25, 1957

New Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. EMI, recorded October 1969

by Ken

Ever since the second or third post in this series of posts on "The Lesson of Fidelio I've known we were going to need a listing guide. I've also known, as the series lumbered along, that to be at all useful this guide box was going to have to include some description of the post contents, and I knew that it was going to be a long and tedious job, resulting in a long and probably impenetrable "guide box." (Even I'm kind of shaky on what exactly has been included in the published posts and what hasn't, which has made it increasingly difficult to try to sort through the assortment of post-drafts clogging the Sunday Classics blog dashboard, a problem I've mostly solved by kind of not looking back or peeking at the unpublished post-drafts.)


AS YOU'LL SEE IF YOU CLICK THROUGH, THE
FAMOUS GUIDE BOX IS NOW ACTUALLY BEGUN

Getting it done is today's principal order of business. I figure there's bound to be some music too.

UPDATE: If you'd like, you can now click through to the main post.

We hear Beethoven reference Florestan and Leonore in his first overture for Fidelio, and we hear Leonore make a crucial decision

"Fidelio" (Christine Brewer) and Rocco (Arthur Woodley) in Act I of Fidelio, San Francisco, 2005 (photo by Terence McCarthy)

ROCCO: Make haste, dig on;
it won't be long before he comes.
LEONORE [trying to view the prisoner, aside]:
Whoever you may be, I will save you,
by God, by God you won't be a victim!
For sure, for sure I'll loose your chains;
I will, you poor man, free you!

Kirsten Flagstad (s), Leonore; with Alexander Kipnis (bs), Rocco; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Bruno Walter, cond. Live performance, Feb. 22, 1941

Sena Jurinac (s), Leonore; with Gottlob Frick (bs), Rocco; Covent Garden Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. Testament, recorded live, Feb. 24, 1961

Helga Dernesch (s), Leonore; with Karl Ridderbusch (bs), Rocco; Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. EMI, recorded 1970

Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; with Gottlob Frick (bs), Rocco; Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra, Erich Kleiber, cond. Broadcast performance, June 1956

Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; with Oskar Czerwenka (bs), Rocco; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Live performance, Feb. 13, 1960

Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; with Kurt Böhme (bs), Rocco; Vienna Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel, cond. Decca, recorded March 1964

Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; with Franz Crass (bs), Rocco; RAI Rome Symphony Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. Broadcast performance, Mar. 17, 1970

by Ken

In last week's post, "What's that, a trumpet? We hear two Great Moments in Act II to prepare to root around further in Beethoven's overtures for Fidelio," I explained that we were originally going to hear not two but three "Great Moments in Act II" of Fidelio. The deal was going to be to have you reckon which of the three were referenced in any of the four overtures Beethoven composed for the opera, when in fact only two of them were: No. 1, the imprisoned Florestan grappling with his past in his dungeon; and No. 3, the assistant jailer "Fidelio" revealing "himself" as the secret prisoner's wife in a desperate attempt to save her husband from the revenge of his enemy Don Pizarro.

This week, as I mentioned in the earlier "Taste of this week's post," in addition to continuing our investigation of those overtures, we fill in Great Moment No. 2, which I've summarized above as "Leonore makes a life-changing decision that really doesn't require much thought." Above we've heard the critical moment, and eventually we're going to hear the whole of this little "melodrama and duet," immediately following Florestan's Act II-opening monologue. It's another in a series of moments Leonore has worked so hard to achieve in the long time that she has been searching for her vanished husband Don Florestan. I don't believe we're told how long she has been searching, but it's long enough that everyone except Leonore believes he's dead.


I'D SAY THIS IS THE "CLIMAX" OF THE SCENE, EXCEPT
LEONORE STILL DOESN'T KNOW WHETHER IT REALLY IS

A taste of today's post -- coming soon, I swear! (Yes! See the link below!)

(1) A QUICK REFRESHER:

"In des Lebens Frühlingstagen" ("In the spring days of life")

Jon Vickers (t), Florestan; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Live performance, Feb. 13, 1960

James McCracken (t), Florestan; Vienna Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel, cond. Decca, recorded March 1964

James King (t), Florestan; Staatskapelle Dresden, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded c1968

Plácido Domingo (t), Florestan; Staatskapelle Berlin, Daniel Barenboim, cond. Teldec, recorded 1999

Julius Patzak (t), Florestan; Vienna Philharmonic, Wilhelm Furtwängler, cond. Live performance from the Salzburg Festival, Aug. 3, 1948
[Yes, I've reordered the clips. Why not have McCracken second? For a while I even had him first. Then for kicks I relistened to Vickers on that ever-so-happy Saturday afternoon in February 1960, and my goodness! Then I relistened to King, and he's pretty fine too, but I didn't change the order again. -- Ed.]

(2) AND NOW:

Example 1

Example 2

Which we can hear at, respectively, 00:45-3:24 and 6:32-7:04 --

Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. EMI, recorded Nov. 5-6, 1963

by Ken

A thousand pardons, but this has proved incredibly, multifariously laborious. To give you a taste of what's to come, this is one part of what we're going to be up to in today's post, picking up more or less where we left off in last week's post, "What's that, a trumpet? We hear two Great Moments in Act II to prepare to root around further in Beethoven's overtures for Fidelio."

And no, we haven't heard the eponymous trumpet yet. Well, we have and we haven't. Tune in later and all will be clear. Okay, clearish. (Word of caution: I'm finding audio clips loading not-so-great just now. Busy Sunday at Internet Archive? If necessary, try reloading, and if necessary retry -- they're all there. This doesn't exactly bode well for the main post.)


WAIT, WHILE WE'RE AT IT, WE SHOULD PROBABLY
CHECK OUT THE TRUMPET CALL IN LEONORE NO. 2

Because that, of course, is what we're listening to: Leonore No. 2, the overture Beethoven wrote for the rousingly unssuccessful original (1805) version of Fidelio.

So here's the plan. We're not going to get as far as I would have liked with the four Fidelio overtures, but in the main post we will check out Leonore No. 2 a bit more. And we're going to tend to the other major piece of business left over from last week: regarding Leonore herself: her Act II dungeon scene with Rocco, immediately after Florestan's monologue.

CLICK HERE FOR THE MAIN POST --
"We hear Beethoven reference Florestan and Leonore in his first overture for Fidelio, and we hear Leonore make a crucial decision"

#

What's that, a trumpet? We hear two Great Moments in Act II to prepare to root around further in Beethoven's overtures for Fidelio

"Töt' erst sein Weib" ("First kill his wife"): In this presumably, er, staged shot featuring the stars of Decca's 1964 Fidelio recording, Birgit Nilsson and James McCracken (with Lorin Maazel conducting), Leonore shields Florestan from his would-be executioner.

Do you hear a trumpet?

We pick up deep into Act II of Fidelio, in the secret deep-underground dungeon where the prison governor Don Pizarro has been keeping his old enemy Don Florestan. Pizarro is about to take his final revenge on the dastardly truth-teller (it's hard to believe, but there were olden times when certain depraved villains regarded truth-telling as subversive to the proper order of things). At the last moment the young assistant jailer Fidelio, present in the dungeon with his boss, the head jailer Rocco, steps in front of the prisoner to shield him, and makes a startling revelation.

LEONORE [shielding her husband]: First kill his wife!
DON PIZARRO: His wife?
ROCCO: His wife?
FLORESTAN: My wife?
LEONORE [to FLORESTAN]: Yes, here see Leonore!
FLORESTAN: Leonore!
LEONORE [to the others]: I am his wife,
I have sworn comfort for him,
destruction for you!
DON PIZARRO: His wife?
ROCCO: His wife?
FLORESTAN: My wife?
DON PIZARRO: What incredible courage!
FLORESTAN [overlapping]: My blood stands still with joy!
ROCCO [overlapping]: My blood stands still with fear!
LEONORE [overlapping, aside]: I defy his rage!
Destruction for him,
I defy his rage!
DON PIZARRO: Ha, Shall I tremble before a woman?
Then I sacrifice them both to my fury!
You have shared life with him,
now share death with him!
LEONORE [overlapping]: Death I have sworn you,
first you must stab this heart. [Suddenly brandishes a pistol.]
One more sound -- and you are dead!
The trumpet sounds from the tower.
LEONORE: Ah, you are saved! Almighty God!
FLORESTAN [overlapping]: Ah, I am saved! Almighty God!
DON PIZARRO [overlapping]: Ha! The Minister! Death and damnation!
ROCCO [overlapping]: O! what is that? Righteous God!
[PIZARRO and ROCCO stand dumbfounded. LEONORE and FLORESTAN embrace.]
The trumpet sounds again, but louder.
[JAQUINO, two oficers, and soldiers bearing torches appear at the uppermost opening on the staircase.]
JAQUINO: Father Rocco! Father Rocco! The Lord Minister has arrived!
ROCCO [joyful and surprised, aside]: Praised be God!

[1st trumpet call at 0:53, no following spoken dialogue] Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; Paul Schoeffler (bs-b), Don Pizarro; Gottlob Frick (bs), Rocco; Hans Hopf (t), Florestan; Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra, Erich Kleiber, cond. Broadcast performance, June 1956

[1st trumpet call at 0:46] Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; Hermann Uhde (bs-b), Don Pizarro; Oskar Czerwenka (bs), Rocco; Jon Vickers (t), Florestan; Charles Anthony (spkr), Jaquino; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. Live performance, Feb. 13, 1960

[1st trumpet call at 0:57] Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; Tom Krause (b), Don Pizarro; Kurt Böhme (bs), Rocco; James McCracken (t), Florestan; Donald Grobe (spkr), Jaquino; Vienna Philharmonic, Lorin Maazel, cond. Decca, recorded March 1964

[1st trumpet call at 0:59, no following spoken dialogue] Birgit Nilsson (s), Leonore; Theo Adam (bs-b), Don Pizarro; Franz Crass (bs), Rocco; Ludovic Spiess (t), Florestan; RAI Rome Symphony Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. Broadcast performance, Mar. 17, 1970

by Ken

The next post here was supposed to be "Fidelio by the numbers: How do Three Great Moments in Act II go into four overtures?" -- as forecast in last week's tease-post. However, even though most of the elements for that post have been pretty much ready to roll all week, as soon as I figure out how to do it, my revised thinking is that maybe we better stick closer to the overtures, the four of them, that Beethoven wrote for his only opera. We're going to start by re-presenting the overtures in the same form we heard them last Sunday, despite what I believe I described as two quite different kinds of "temporal anomalies" in this seemingly straightforward-as-can-be presentation of them.

Quick nomenclatural note: It's well known that Beethoven preferred Leonore as the opera's title, which is how the first three overtures her wrote have come down to us as Leonore whatever. I happen to think Fidelio is a better title, referencing not Leonore personally but the character she has invented and impersonated for the long, arduous, and seemingly hopeless search for her husband, missing and presumed dead by everyone except her. But my preference aside, the finally revised version was presented as Fidelio, and since 1814 Fidelio it has been.

THE FOUR OVERTURES FOR FIDELIO

Leonore Overture No. 1, Op. 138

Leonore Overture No. 2, Op. 72a

Leonore Overture No. 3, Op. 72b

Fidelio Overture,  Op. 72c

Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis, cond.

A tease for this week's post: "Fidelio by the numbers: How do Three Great Moments in Act II go into four overtures?"

by Ken

This has been nuts. All week I've been trying to figure out what we can cover in a single post -- not only which elements but what would go into them -- and subconstructing the modules, to the point where there are pieces of the thing all over the damned place, all of them still works in progress that not only have had to be completed individually but at some point in some way fitted together.

So while I've had lots of musical bits and pieces I thought of as candidates for "pre-posting" or "tease-posting," I really couldn't think of one that would make sene on its own.

At a certain point, though, to heck with sense! I actually know (sort of) where this little module is going to fit into the actual post, but I think it will stand well enough on its own. As everyone knows, we have a total of four overtures that Beethoven wrote for his only opera, at one point intending each to raise the curtain on it. I think it's well settled that the overture we know as Leonore No. 1 was never actually performed as part of the opera (and presumably not performed in Beethoven's lifetime?), that Leonore No. 2 was the overture for the highly unsuccessful 1805 premiere, and Leonore No. 3 was popped into its place the following year for the heavily revised and even less successful version. The version of the opera we know didn't come into existence until 1814, at which point the reordering of Act I required an overture in a different key from the previous efforts, and for that occasion Beethoven produced the overture we know as the Overture to Fidelio.


THAT SAID, WHY DON'T WE LISTEN TO THE FOURSOME?

Julian Bream (1933-2020)

LATE TUESDAY UPDATE: After I attempted some fixing and updating and amplifying of this post, which I'd thought had otherwise come out surprisingly okay, I discovered that important parts of it had gotten mangled or simply lost. So I went back in and repaired it as best I could, and while I was at it attempted some additional fixing and updating and amplifying. Goodness only knows what more has gone wrong now. Note: We've now got our own Django Reinhardt audio clip! -- Ken


Julian plays one of his Spanish staples, "Sevilla" from Isaac Albéniz's Suite española. (You can hear "Granada" here.)

by Ken

We'll be back to Beethoven next week, I expect. But since I got word that Julian Bream died at home in Wiltshire on August 14 at 87, it's been on my mind, and even though I'm poorly equipped for a proper commemoration, as I'll explain in a bit, I decided I didn't want to let another week go by without doing something.

During my college years (I'm horrified to have to note that we're talking about more than 50 years ago) Julian came to town and gave a recital that I imagine was very much like countless other recitals he gave in countless other places: He played the guitar, played the lute, and talked. My goodness, did he talk! His knowledge and passion reached out directly and grabbed at least this audience member, and I was hooked. As I must have mentioned here before, I'm not exactly a guitar enthusiast -- I don't mind it, but I don't go out of my way to hear it, except in the hands of a select few guitarists, starting with the greatest of them all, the Spaniard Andrès Segovia, and continuing with the other master, Julian B. (Whenever I say this, I also like to put in a good word for the guitar-playing Romero I know best, Angel R.)


SO YOU WANT TO PLAY A FUGUE -- ON A GUITAR?

Here's a case in point. Playing Bach on the guitar had been one of Segovia's great passions, and it became one of Julian's too. If you can play a fugue on a violin, why not on a guitar?




THE DIFFERENCE FOR ME BETWEEN ANDRÈS AND
JULIAN (AND ANGEL) vs. MOST OTHER GUITARISTS . . .

Annals of serendipity, Beethoven edition: Wouldja just listen to these horns go?

And that's some spiffy clarinet-playing too!
[With assorted UPDATEs]

No, not these particular horns, I mean the ones on the recording --

I wish I knew who our horn players -- and clarinetist -- were so I could credit them. (The regular recording credits are coming up momentarily.)

by Ken

What we just heard -- and I'll sort-of-explain in a moment how we got here -- is the Trio section of the minuet, or I should probably say the Tempo di Menuetto (not quite the same thing; what we have is a tempo marking, not necessarily a simple declaration that what follows is a minuet), of the Beethoven Eighth Symphony. It's nestled inside this performance:

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 8 in F, Op. 93:
iii. Tempo di Menuetto

London Symphony Orchestra, Carlo Maria Giulini, cond. EMI, recorded November 1972

What's happened is that, in the course of our pursuit of the "lesson" of Fidelio, following our pursuit of the "lesson" of Don Giovanni, we are finding outselves knocking around Beethoven's workshop. As readers of recent installments may recall, our path to Fidelio is also leading us beyond, to Beethoven's seeming repository of all musical and perhaps human knowledge, his Ninth Symphony. Which has naturally had me scouting assorted musicscapes for the musical signposts we'll want to pass by.

One of which is a recording of the Beethoven Ninth that Carlo Maria Giulini made for DG, with the Berlin Philharmonic, in 1989, which is lodged in my memory as an especially powerful and personal statement. (For some reason I feel a compulsion to mention that I reviewed it in the New York Times, even though this really isn't here or there, except as it underlines the powerful effect the performance had on me.) It occurred to me that I have an earlier Giulini Beethoven Ninth, done with the London Symphony for EMI, and I was pretty sure I even had it on CD, and mightn't it be interesting to rehear both performances?


IT TURNED OUT THAT IT WAS INTERESTING,
AND NOT IN QUITE THE WAYS I EXPECTED

Here's a tease, or maybe a tiny bit more than a tease, of a sort-of-post that should be coming up soon

Here's a catchy old tune:

by Ken

The blog horror I reported last week, the imposition of a radical and near-catastrophic new interface by Google's Blogger bloghost, has taken an enormous toll, requiring limitless reserves of energy and determination to accomplish basic things that used to be fairly routine, making it that much more difficult to try to conceive a workable blogpost. I've got something that's not much of a blogpost but does advance us a little in some of our current inquiries, which have taken us from Mozart's Don Giovanni to Beethoven's Fidelio and onward to the Beethoven Ninth Symphony, but I still haven't been able to get even that stopgap thing posted. Monday, I hope?

Meanwhile, let me make good at least a little on the tease above.

To put it another way:

Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Berlin Philharmonic, Ferenc Fricsay, cond. DG, recorded Dec. 1957-Apr. 1958

Franz Crass, bass; Vienna Singverein der Gesellschaft der Freunde, Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. Live performance from the Vienna Festival, June 6, 1960

Watch for further developments.

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