Below you’ll find reviews by many writers and they are not always Lotte Lehmann fans. It’s interesting to find a broad assessment of Lehmann’s achievements or lack thereof. There’s no particular order for these, not chronological nor alphabetical. There’s still a lot to enjoy.
Seven words say it all: “a treasure trove for Lotte Lehmann fans,“ which is essentially all you need to know, keeping in mind that the point here—given the vintage of this material—is not vocal perfection, but communication through music and words at a level rarely achieved so consistently by any artist. The soprano’s particular combination of artistry and humanity was a gift to us all, even to those of us who know her only from recordings.
Luckily for me—since Eklipse provides not a word of specific background information—Ralph V. Lucano wrote at some length about the 1941 radio cycle in Fanfare 12:5, after the identical material—“Forty-four newly discovered songs with commentary by Madame Lehmann accompanied by Paul Ulanowsky from 1941 Columbia radio transcriptions“—was issued by the Lotte Lehmann Archives, Santa Barbara, in a “Lotte Lehmann Centennial Album“ of three LPs. As Lucano wrote, Lehmann was featured from October 1941 through December of that year in a weekly CBS radio program designed to promote her Columbia recordings. The broadcasts were heard nationwide via transcription discs, of which the sole surviving set was used for the LP transfer (which may in turn have been used for the Eklipse CDs). To my mind, it’s as much a pleasure to hear Lehmann introduce each song as to sing them. Her greeting to the radio audience at the start of the first program is charming, inviting, and compassionate in its inclusion of “the sick and the old, and those who live in lonely places.“ After introducing her pianist, Paul Ulanowsky, she can’t resist adding: “He plays well, doesn’t he?“ At the end of her final program (“time runs away and I must hurry to say farewell to you all“), she invites the audience to sing “Silent Night“ along with her. Rather than single out some of my own favorite numbers, let me encourage you to buy this and choose your own.
The 1951 New York farewell recital, on VAI, is very special indeed. Though nowhere specified in VAI’s packaging, the actual date was February 7, and the venue was New York’s Town Hall. The opening Schumann group gives full testament to Lehmann’s powers of expression in and of itself; one soon comes to overlook matters of breath control. The recital moves ultimately to a sort of condensed Die schöne Müllerin that’s absolutely harrowing, even in this shortened form. (It would probably have been even more harrowing had the second and fourth stanzas of “Des Baches Wiegenlied“ been included.) Caught up by the emotions of the moment, the soprano is unable to sing the last few words of her encore. Those actually present at this recital were privileged to be there. We’re privileged to hear it still. In place of complete texts, VAI includes the abbreviated English translations from the original recital program. Lehmann’s farewell speech is not on the disc, but an excerpt is included in the notes. Marc Mandel
Producer Gary Hickling, a friend of Lehmann’s, the creator and maintainer of her discography, and a generous enthusiast of her art, approached Music & Arts to issue 19 previously unreleased recordings of the singer. This is the result. In all honesty, there’s nothing revelatory about the fresh material, here. The unissued live selections, in particular those recorded at a Los Angeles school auditorium in 1949 and parts of Town Hall recitals from 1943 and 1946, are a delight to hear, but not mandatory in the sense that they shed new light on her gifts, expertise, or repertoire. Indeed, two of the 19 are short speaking excerpts by Lehmann and Bruno Walter, while a third has Lehmann reading a poem of hers. But for the completist it provides yet further examples of the soprano’s intensity, radiant voice, and exceptional interpretative skill. And of course, by being extended to four very full discs, it not unintentionally furnishes an excellent entry point for the new listener curious about the singer.
The emphasis is not on opera, though we do get one selection a piece from Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, Lohengrin, and Tosca. (Hickling’s web site is the place to go to sample much more opera, from a rapturous “Alles pflegt schon längst der Ruh’” (Der Freischütz) of 1929, to a delightfully flirtatiously “Mein Herr, was dächten Sie von mir” (Die Fledermaus) of 1931.) Instead, there’s a great deal of Wolf, Schubert, Brahms, and a fair amount of Beethoven and Mendelssohn. Given that there’s so much of Lehmann available, Hickling was able to focus on some of the very best: Der Doppelgänger, Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’, a remarkable Der Wanderer, and Mendelssohn’s Schilflied in a performance that demonstrates a careful expending of breath to create a seamless legato—not a usual feature of this passionately expressive artist. We also get some choice rarities, including a test pressing of Beethoven’s Wonne der Wehmut from 1941 that was never released on 78s, a Vissi d’arte in Italian from a 1938 radio broadcast, and an early 19th-century nationalistic song, Groos’s Freihart die ich meine, which the Thousand Year Reich revived in an entirely new context.
Both Music & Arts and Hickling deserve praise for their willingness to place texts and translations on a fifth disc as part of a PDF file. This saves on the cost of what would be a fat and rather awkwardly managed booklet, as well as allowing the producer the luxury of adding numerous Lehmann images and a plethora of personal observations. Curiously, the lengthy biography preserves a myth about Lehmann’s interaction with Goering started by the singer herself, and corrected in an essay on Hickling’s Lotte Lehmann League web site. The late author of the notes may not have been aware of the detective work that assembled an accurate picture of the events, but those errors of fact could have been reasonably edited out without affecting the considerable quality of the rest of the material.
It is not relevant to the wealth of musical content on this set, however, or indeed to anything in Lehmann’s art and her legacy of recordings, students, and her extremely insightful book, More Than Singing: The Interpretation of Songs. Both Hickling and Music & Arts deserve praise for this excellent set, in very good sound, that is clearly a labor of love. Enthusiastically recommended. Barry Brenesal
It’s seldom remembered that when the electrical recording era (with its use of the microphone for a much wider frequency response) came along in the mid-1920s, Lotte Lehmann was already nearing 40 years of age. She’d made her debut at the Hamburg Opera in 1910; and while 15 years may not seem like much time in which to accumulate wear on the voice, she quickly became much in demand, establishing herself within a few years at the Vienna Court Opera. In both Hamburg and Vienna she was featured almost from the start in prominent roles: Octavian, Pamina, Countess Almaviva, Elsa, Agathe, Sieglinde, Micaëla, Elisabeth, the Composer (Ariadne auf Naxos, second version, a creator role), Mignon, Manon, Margarethe in Faust—all these and more, before 1920. Her schedule was not the kind of destructive affair Italian opera house impresarios not infrequently pressed on their latest stars, but it was an intensive schedule in a very long season, made heavier still by the interpolation of concerts in churches, and song recitals. There is no question at all that Lehmann’s many electrics provide us with a wonderful legacy, both from an interpretative and vocal standpoint. But her acoustics do provide a chance to hear her in some material she never recorded again, as well as offering a few moments in fresher voice, and others where different interpretative choices are made.
Her extremely slow 1917 version of Elisabeth’s prayer from Tannhäuser doesn’t count as interpretative reconsideration, but it does show how she could make the limitations of the acoustic recording horn literally vanish for just under four magical minutes. To hear her sing “Mach, dass ich rein und engelgleich eingehe in dein selig Reich” is to hear an instrument bowed to maximum advantage for color and dynamics, within a melting example of bel canto phrasing. Or consider her version of Mignon’s “Dort bei ihm ist sie jetz” (“Elle est là” in the original), so free and open, so agile at the top in the piece’s central section. It is not a French soprano’s voice, narrowed to a diamond point of brilliance and filigree delicacy, but it convinces with a wholly visceral thrill that some otherwise excellent French sopranos do not achieve. In “Deh vieni, non tardar” of 1918, taken at the proper unhurried tempo, Lehmann’s stylish application of appogiaturas and fine use again of tonal shading deliver all the aria’s potent mix of longing, happiness, and teasing, seductive power. This is Mozart and Da Ponte aiming with a knowing grin below the belt, and Lehmann is their faithful collaborator thanks to a deeply considered interpretation.
There’s four discs’s worth of acoustic material in this set, as well as 13 electric Odeons on the fourth disc that add a short group of Lied, as well as a selection from Korngold’s Da Wunder der Heliane, and two fine instances of her Turandot. Very occasionally a recording fails to convince as much as an electric, or a recording company’s engineering lets the side down, both figuratively and literally. (Odeon in particular had admirably close placement to the recording horn but airless studios at the time, which can introduce an opaque hardness to Lehmann’s beautiful tone—as witness much of Manon’s otherwise charmingly sung “Obéissons” from 1924, though the conclusion sounds glorious.) Nothing disappoints, however; which isn’t surprising, given that the selection of material was made by producer Gary Hickling, a scholar and student of Lehmann’s art. You may remember him from Lotte Lehmann: A 125th Birthday Tribute (Music & Arts 1279; Fanfare 38:4), a release that was drawn primarily from the singer’s electrics, and included several previously unreleased items. The care demonstrated there is continued here, with transfers by Ward Marston and J. Richard Harris that are fine examples of how to clean up old shellacs without disturbing the music—and without layering filters that, despite the best of intentions, conceal content, along with the evidence of mistreatment and age.
With extremely generous timings, fanciers of Lehmann’s art will find this volume indispensable. Strongly recommended. Barry Brenesal
I hope that I will be forgiven for not exhausting both myself and space by listing the complete contents of this set, but suffice it to say that it includes songs by Mozart, Schumann, Wolf, Brahms, and Schubert (including eleven selections from Winterreise) and several others. There also is a handful of Schumann duets with tenor Lauritz Melchior.
Lehmann’s voice already was on the decline when these recordings were made, but that shouldn’t bother anyone who hears them, since the technical demands are light and the artistic benefits are large. This set of the soprano’s complete Victor recordings from between October 17, 1935, and February 29, 1940, could be used as a remedial course in Lieder for people who hate Lieder. I spend relatively little time listening to Lieder myself, but I found these Victor recordings to be extremely refreshing and inspirational. The soprano’s communicative powers are unsurpassed, and her sincere enjoyment and understanding of what she is singing are conveyed directly to the listener without leaving the impression of archness or excessive cuteness. One only regrets that she did not record a complete song cycle over this four-and-a-half-year period. Most of these recordings were made in one take, and Victor set up two recording machines in their studios so the time between recordings could be reduced. Based on the results heard here, the spontaneity of these sessions was advantageous.
There is a helpful essay by Alan Jefferson, but no texts or translations, a fact that might put this set out of the running for the newcomer, although it is a triumph for Lehmann’s artistry that it can at least partly overcome even this obstacle. Mark Obert-Thorn’s transfers are kind to the voice, but do little to improve on the occasionally weak sound of the piano, a problem that was remarked upon even when these discs were first released.
This is essential listening for the Lieder enthusiast, and highly recommended for everyone else, too. Raymond Tuttle
These recordings by the great Lotte Lehmann, made at the very end of her career, are not easy on the ears. By that time, her never very opulent voice was worn, and its once silvery quality rather tarnished. The first selections, Schubert’s Ständchen and Brahm’s Zigeunerlieder (8), are downright painful to listen to, particularly for non-German-speaking listeners. Yet when we come to the 1947 Adeste Fidèles (sung in English as Oh Come, All Ye Faithful) a whole world of emotions is opened up. Of course a Christmas carol comes with built-in emotions, but I’ve heard only one other version to rival it—John McCormack’s. Her Stille Nacht is less impressive, not coming close to the fabulous recording by Ernestine Schumann-Heink; nor does Lehmann’s Der Erlkönig recording hold a candle to that of the great contralto. Other German Lieder are more successful—I liked Der Jungling an der Quelle. But not even Lehmann’s mastery of language can save her from disaster in The Kerry Dance and, worst of all, God Bless America, which is a complete artistic meltdown.
In Mark Obert-Thorn’s transfers, these recordings sound very mellow, accentuating the superb playing by the pianist Paul Ulanowsky. Would that Lehmann had some of that tone! The accompanying booklet has no translations—a handicap in such a release. James Camner
Like Anderson, Lotte Lehmann is a singer you can’t help love. I’m unabashedly devoted to her and can hardly bring myself to note reservations. She lacks, no doubt, a certain delicacy. Sometimes she thrusts her splendid words a bit too eagerly forward. She can’t spin out a soft, ethereal line, and she has to breathe too often. RCA’s recordings date from 1935 to 1949, and the very last ones (the Strauss, and all the French numbers except D’une Prison and Vierge d’Athènes) catch the soprano in frayed voice. The 1947 recordings—all the Schubert save Im Abendrot—are also too loose and labored. Everything else is prewar and praiseworthy. Lehmann’s great strength is the clarity of her words, in French and English as well as German. Her singing has the immediacy of spirited, naturally inflected conversation, yet she never sacrifices legato or musical syntax. It’s difficult to name favorites here and unnecessary. These recordings have been hard to come by for years, and four are first releases; so Lehmann’s fans will need no coaxing. For the uninitiated, however, I’d sooner suggest, as starting points, the Centennial Album produced by the Lehmann Archives in Santa Barbara (reviewed in Fanfare 12:5) and EMI’s two mid-priced CDs (the aria collection and Die Walküre, act I). Ralph V. Lucano
The material on this valuable Voce release is drawn from recordings made during Lehmann’s concerts in New York City for the New Friends of Music in 1946 and 1947. Because she was almost 60, one might expect a certain waning of her vocal abilities. Not so. She does, it is true, sing most of these in mezzo-soprano keys, but they all work well in that range, and her vocal production is a lesson for Lieder singers.
If the approach that you like from singers is poised beauty, floated soft tones, dreamy and hushed reverence, or classical restraint—then Lotte Lehmann is not for you. Lehmann sang everything with passion, urgency, and intense commitment. It is a wonder, in fact, that her tone remained steady and perfectly produced past the age of 60, given the way in which she sang, and the demands of the Wagnerian and Straussian roles she specialized in.
The eminent John Steane, in his book The Grand Tradition, speaks of the ways in which one can follow Lehmann “through every shade of emotion, through the devout, aspiring mood of Wolf’s ‘Zur Ruh,’ through the whole range of woman’s life and love as caught in Schumann’s song-cycle, to the high spirits and playfulness of Schubert’s ‘Die Männer sind méchant’. . . .“ Those comments apply to the singing on this record, and especially so because the older she got the wiser she became. Lehmann’s artistry kept evolving, and here she is captured at her artistic peak, with the voice in good condition, and fired up by the presence of an audience. This issue thus becomes essential for lovers of singing where real emotions are communicated without artifice.
The only complaints that can be made about the disc relate to the abrupt cut-offs at the end of some bands, jarring in the extreme, and an occasional surface crackle. The sound itself is very good for its period, and Voce supplies intelligent notes and complete texts and translations. A truly indispensible record for anyone who responds to this repertoire. Henry Fogel
Bonanza! “Forty-four newly discovered songs,“ announces the album box, “with commentary by Madame Lehmann, accompanied by Paul Ulanowsky, from 1941 Columbia radio transcriptions.“ Their history should be briefly told. From October through December 1941, CBS radio featured Lehmann in a weekly program. Its purpose was to promote her Columbia recordings, and the broadcasts were heard across the country via 16-inch, 33’/î-rpm transcription discs. Not all the promised recordings materialized, and it was thought that the original transcription discs had perished. One set survived, miraculously, to be discovered by Dr. Daniel Jacobson in the Lehmann Archives in Santa Barbara. He quickly ascertained that all of the takes were unique and previously unreleased. They include several songs Lehmann never recorded commercially, and three—Sei du mein Trost, O Tannenbaum, the Flies Wiegenlied—that not even the pirates had issued in any form.
What’s more amazing still is the quality of the sound. My album arrived just before Christmas, so I played the songs appropriate to the season first. Lehmann’s voice popped out of my speakers with pristine clarity and astonishing presence. I don’t think she could have been more faithfully recorded had it been done yesterday. The piano accompaiments do not fare so well. They’re so recessed at times that they barely get above the threshold of hearing. It’s a heartbreaking, irreversible flaw, and it would be pointless to harp on it. Let me also quickly toss aside Lehmann’s own shortcomings. It won’t surprise anyone that she takes too many breaths and that she can’t float a truly soft line. She omits the second verse of Gute Nacht, which damages the structure of the song. Two other performances fall flat: an oddly perfunctory In der Fremde and a heavy-handed Wer tat deinem Füsslein weh.
The rest is a gold mine. Lehmann introduces each song with a charming, pithy commentary. (Occasionally she converses with the announcer, Frank Gallop.) Her remarks are terse but informative enough to lend the album considerable educational value. The real lessons, however, are in the performances themselves. Lehmann can make even Der Nussbaum sound fresh and new, and Schubert’s famous serenade (“Leise flehen meine Lieder“) had such a come-hither urgency that I had to fight the impulse to move closer to my speakers. The contrasting stanzas of Frühlingstraum are tellingly differentiated, and for Der Leiermann, Lehmann adopts a dazed, other-worldly tone that freezes the blood. She’s airy and girlish in Mozart’s Sehnsucht nach dem Frühling, and she has four different voices for Erlkönig.
And she makes it all sound so easy! She chooses comfortable keys, usually a bit below the printed signatures (though she rises to a thrilling top A in Ich grolle nicht and again in the Strauss Ständchen), and she brings to life the ideal of singing as heightened speech. Lehmann confides in us, pours her heart out, tells us stories, makes us smile or weep. Her words are clearly uttered and bound firmly to the musical line, and she makes singing sound like the most natural, most immediate mode of expression anyone could imagine. Very few of her successors have matched her combination of warmth, directness, and timbrai allure. To hear Lehmann is to know suddenly what we’ve been missing.
Except for a slash across the diameter of Side 1, the record surfaces were silent. Texts and translations are provided in a thick booklet. Absolutely essential! Ralph V. Lucano
The final excerpt, Leonore’s “Abscheulischer!” from Beethoven’s Fidelio, is taken from a July 25, 1936 performance at the Salzburg Festival of the complete opera. The sound is the most compromised of any of the excerpts on this disc. And yet, Richard Caniell has once again worked his magic so that we can enjoy the collaboration of Toscanini and Lotte Lehmann, who is, perhaps not surprisingly, the most feminine, three-dimensional, and radiant of Leonores. Toscanini and Lehmann work marvelously together, and the Maestro generously allows the great soprano all the time and space she needs to sing the music in the best and most expressive manner. Ken Meltzer
Finally, back to some Austro-Germanic repertoire for Lotte Lehmann and Salzburg in a 1936 aria from Fidelio. It is clear Caniell has done everything humanly possible to bring this important document back to us. Still, there is no denying the sonics require a significant adjustment from the listener. As the aria unfolds, though, one is increasingly led to Lehmann’s mastery, every phrase heartfelt (and even a little extra flourish as her final gesture). Colin Clarke
I was first possessed by opera in the decade of the 1930s and still think of singers of that generation (such as those listed above) as “my“ singers. (In actuality I heard only Lehmann and Kiepura, though I once met Tauber, and used to see Jeritza in her box at the Met.) I vividly recall my elders in those years lamenting the terrible decline in singers from whenever the Golden Age was. Now they—the maligned singers—are immortals!
Well, I suppose they are, in that the phonograph will preserve their voices until (perhaps) the dissolution of the galaxy. Some of them were beyond question truly great—though their recordings do not always capture that greatness. I have no doubts about Kipnis or Tauber or Schumann or Lehmann (though I have never felt that her records do her justice). Slezák and Mayr are caught here in the twilight of their careers—I suppose to take advantage of microphoning. Patáky, Németh, Völker, Nissen, and Anny Konetzni emerge much better than one had remembered. Kiepura, for all his good looks and charm, was a run-of-the-mill tenor. Anday sounds blowzy. Rode and Schipper, as here represented, are god-awful.
This record amounts really to a sampler. Lebendige Vergangenheit devoted one or more LPs to (I think) each of these singers, and is likely to do so with CDs. The impassioned collector will wait. If you want a survey of the stars of the Vienna Opera in the between-the-wars era, I suppose this will do, though you should note that some of the participants were never members of the company and that others had very brief tenures there. However, the disc might make a wonderful present for some neophyte just testing the waters of vocal collecting.
Fine transfers. Good thumbnail notes (in English) and photos. No individual timings. David Mason Greene
These discs are devoted to Lotte Lehmann’s acoustically recorded records, ranging from two 1914 Pathés (Lohengrin) to a 1925 Odeon (Rosenkavalier). Other than dates, labels, record- and matrix-numbers, Preiser provides no pertinent information. (The accompanying twelve-page booklet is otherwise devoted to a few paragraphs or German-and-English gush, and some photographs.) However, it is my impression that the album includes perhaps all of the Lehmann acousticals, since the several LP collections on my shelves offer no other titles.
Suffice it to say that experienced vocal collectors will not require much more comment from this quarter. Those less familiar with the field, who may think of Lehmann as a Straussian-Wagnerian and a slightly over-the-hill Lieder-singer, need only consult the headnote to get an idea of her operatic range. (Those who never heard of Lotte Lehmann—and I’ll warrant there are many—should be ashamed of themselves.)
In my opinion Lehmann’s records never quite did her full justice. I heard her in concert in the mid 1940s, when she was in her late fifties, and was stunned by the charisma she generated in person. Nevertheless, faute de mieux, I would not want to be without this set, which catches her in the springtime freshness of her career. Even here, the voice, the style are inimitable. If some of the initial offerings seem a bit muffled, things get better and better as they go on. Some of the less familiar material—the Halévy, the Goetz, the Korngold, e.g.—I find particularly exciting, but then I find some of the familiar stuff even more so. Lehmann is for me, for example, the ideal Mignon, but I like her Puccini interpretations almost as well. Schlusnus sounds fine in the duets, and in his two excerpts Bohnen comes on like Gangbusters. (The lengthy Meistersinger scene is a classic.)
There are drawbacks. The limitations of acoustical recording will bother those unused to it. There is more record noise than Preiser usually allows. (Some of these records are rare and one takes what one can get.) And, as noted, if you don’t like your French, Italian, and Russian opera in German, you are out of luck. Nevertheless, for Lehmann fans this is a must, and it is recommended to other voice-fanciers on whom the cost will work no hardship. David Mason Greene
Lotte Lehmann’s long career (debut-1910, farewell-1951) has been well documented by the phonograph. From her first records for Pathé in 1914 to the farewell concert at Town Hall in 1951, there are few years of activity not represented by either a commercial or private recording, which is as it should be since she was, and remains, one of the most beloved singers of the 20th century. Lehmann’s professional and personal stories have been in circulation for nearly as long as her records, and so a biographical sketch is not necessary here. The soprano’s autobiographies and musicological essays are well worth reading as is Michael Scott’s concise appreciation in his book for EMI’s Record of Singing, Volume Two. More gossipy (and less flattering) Lehmann stories can be found throughout Rasponi’s The Lost Prima Donnas.
Preiser’s Lehmann retrospective began with her late electrical Odeons and has steadily worked backwards to, in this fifth volume, her very first Pathé acoustics. Of the 16 selections on this disc, six are making their first appearance on LP. They are: Elsa’s first two arias from Lohengrin (both 1914 Pathés), Marguerite’s King of Thule song from Faust (1916 Polydor), Eva’s “O Sachs!“ from Meistersinger (1921 Polydor), Sieglinde’s “Du bist der Lenz“ from Walküre (1917 Polydor) and Strauss’ “Morgen!“ (1921 Polydor). The two Freischütz selections were available on an exceedingly elusive Opera Disc LP, so they too qualify as great rarities. The remaining tracks can be found on various other Lehmann collections. At this early stage of her active career the soprano was in fresh vocal estate, but she had yet to find the remarkable interpretive skill that would later become her trademark. Her technique was faulty, but the sound of her voice and the way she used it rank her with Muzio, Tauber, Supervia, and Callas as perhaps the most individual singers on record. (Ooops! forgot Chaliapin).
Preiser’s full recording data, unfiltered transfers, and acceptable surfaces are welcome. Their continuing failure to translate the German bio,.to furnish texts, and to provide a plastic inner sleeve is downright infuriating. Vincent Alfano
These two discs preserve treasures indeed. A better title for the first might be “Lotte Lehmann Sings Puccini and Johann Strauss“: the two Tosca fragments with Kiepura (I hesitate to call them “duets,“ and the second has a fake ending, with Lehmann joining the Polish tenor on a phrase written for Cavaradossi alone) are curiosities at best (sung in Italian, they’re the only items on these discs not in German); and Tauber is just one member of a Berlin State Opera ensemble that participates in the three operetta finales. Beyond that, I’ll only say about the Johann Strauss excerpts that they virtually define the verb “sparkle“ as it applies to music. The Puccini arias are entirely convincing, even in German (the soprano was a noted interpreter of Puccini early in her career, and the composer was reportedly so moved by her Suor Angelica in the first Vienna Trittico that he was embarrassed to go backstage). Lehmann’s uniquely characteristic warmth and conviction help bring each heroine vividly to life; she projects a keen awareness of Tosca’s situation, honest innocence in “Un bel dì,“ touching plaintiveness in Mimi’s narrative, and apt wonderment at Turandot’s newfound humanity. For that matter, the Chénier aria on the second disc is equally persuasive, even as juxtaposed against the more standard Lehmann fare of Wagner and Richard Strauss. But to say “standard“ is unfair: even with the inexplicable pause before the signature change (not present, by the way, in EMI’s “Great Recordings“ transfer, there dated June 17-18, 1930 as opposed to Pearl’s June 18 only), this “Liebestod“ remains more engagingly human and rapturously triumphant than any I’ve encountered (listen to the wonder conveyed in the words “Seht ihr’s, Freunde?“). The first three Strauss songs (with orchestra; “Cäcilie,“ a 1921 German HMV—the only acoustic take on either disc, the remainder being Parlophone/Odeons recorded between 1926 and 1933—is one of those instances where there’s absolutely no problem appreciating the music through the noise) and the two Wesendonk songs are particularly fine (like the “Liebestod, “the latter are full-blooded, making the dispassionate reflection that closes “Träume“ all the more striking), but I could as easily single out other selections. I’ll say further only that the Ketelby, the last encore on the Wagner/Strauss disc, makes it seem altogether plausible (pace Charles Haynes) that Jeanette McDonald was an early pupil of Lehmann’s. And I should note that my ears were uncomfortable with the pitch of the Jensen and Von Eulenberg as reproduced here.
Pearl has done us a great service with these discs (though I’m not sure how much longer they can continue to ignore the question of surface noise, given what several other companies have by now shown us; there are also some typically curious vagaries in the printed material: “Es gibt ein Reich,“ for example, is misidentified). Though the first is specifically intended to present music for which Lehmann “is not best remembered,“ I can’t recommend either disc over the other: you’ll want both, though you should probably grab the terrific, less expensive EMI album first if you don’t already have it. (Pearl’s discs overlap EMI in five instances and RCA’s compilation of later—some too late—material in none.) Yes, the soprano’s uppermost range is occasionally taxed, but no matter: throughout there’s that particular approach to the music that makes every moment both immediate and personal, full of conviction, warmth, eloquence: this is art for art’s sake, not for the singer’s. Marc Mandel
Lotte Lehmann has been called the finest German soprano of her time, and, but for fans of Rethberg and/or Jeritza, few will argue. She had a long and distinguished career, her farewell in 1951 coming 42 years after her stage debut as the Third Genii in The Magic Flute. Of headstrong disposition, she was apparently unable to find the right teacher, and although she studied with a number of them, she was, for all intents, largely self-taught.
Her career, therefore, was not an easy one. Technical and musical bad habits remained wtih her, and her success is really a tribute to the natural beauty of her voice and her stage personality. In his copyrighted liner, Michael Scott states that her repertoire remained small. This is not quite true. In fact, he himself lists some 20 roles for which she was noted, and there were others as well, although at the Met she was limited to the Marschallin, the Wagner “E“ heroines, Sieglinde, and, unsuccessfully, Tosca. One of the roles she didn’t sing there was Beethoven’s Leonore, her favorite and, according to some commentators, superior even to her Marschallin. When the Met revived it in 1936, it was awarded to Flagstad. As Flagstad’s “senior“ with the company, Lehmann took it as a personal affront and when the role was offered to her later on, she (or so the story goes) refused. (Passing thought: did Leonard Warren never sing Posa in the Met’s Don Carloiot a similar reason? It was the only Verdi work presented at the Met during his tenure in which he didn’t appear).
Scott correctly observes her “tight“ German technique but passes over her rather careless attitude towards note values and breath markings. Years after her retirement, Otto Klem-perer, under the protective privilege of their long friendship, could tease that she now had the leisure to truly learn all those roles she tended to “swim“ through during her career. She was, however, scrupulous in matters of pitch: w’dethe Sachs-Eva scene opposite Bohnen. Too frequently, present-day interpreters tend to transform its more conversational phrases into a proto-sprechstimme, but Lehmann sings the notes. A lovely, lovely performance.
The first 5 selections of RDA 003 are by Mozart. By her own admission, Lehmann was not a true Mozartean and these 3 arias (1 for each of Figaro’s 3 principal female roles) and 2 duets in which she is called upon to withstand successively the blandishments of Almaviva and Don Giovanni (both seductively sung by Schlusnus) bear this out, due mainly to the faults previously mentioned and an annoying downward portamento. Even here, however, her personal charm and vocal beauty shine through, (in her defense, one can’t help but wonder how much of this is due to the accepted Mozart style of the period.)
Most of the other selections, including, surprisingly, those from the Italian repertoire, are more congenial. She does not take the high notes of Agathe’s aria pianissimo as do many other sopranos. (If due to inability, it might explain her less than overwhelming success as Sophie early in her career, since that role calls for a great deal of such singing.) The other Weber selection is dispatched with élan.
The Wagner excerpts, including the one from Meistersinger previously noted, show her on her best musical behavior. Eva’s third-act outburst is altogether ecstatic, and Elisabeth’s salute to the hall of song is a vibrant one. The Faust trio, despite a strange cut, is also exciting.
Of particular interest is the rarely encountered excerpt from Goetz’s The Taming of the Shrew and those from works {Manon, Onegin, Juive, etc.) not normally associated with her American career. Scott in the liner tells us she takes the high D-flat “easily and effortlessly“ at the end of Butterfly’s entrance. Maybe, but not on the version recorded here where it isn’t even attempted! I suspect he was thinking of some other recording she made of this scene; another instance of liner nonconformity to record content. Anthony D. Coggi
Four years ago Lebendige Vergangenheit issued all of Lotte Lehmann’s acoustical recordings on a three-disc set. David Mason Greene reviewed that issue in Fanfare 15:3. Thus this Nimbus duplicates sixteen of the recordings contained on the LV set, and since this CD is designated Volume One, I assume more duplications will follow.
As Greene pointed out in his review, “experienced vocal collectors will not require much more comment from this quarter. ‘ ‘ Suffice it to say that Lehmann was one of the greatest sopranos of the twentieth century, not only a great technician, but one who possessed a unique vocal timbre distinguished by its warmth and mellowness.
As was the custom at the time these recordings were made, everything is sung in German. Lehmann also rerecorded several of the solo arias electrically in the 1930s in much better sound, and with even more mature artistry. Of special interest then are the duets with the estimable Schlusnus and the sensational Bohnen. The Meistersinger duet is outstanding.
Although Greene stated that the LV transfer was afflicted with surface noise, and I confess that I have not heard that set, Nimbus’s transfer is excellent. True there is some noise as can be expected, but it is never intrusive.
The booklet contains information as to the dates of the recordings with matrix numbers, biographical information, but no texts. For those who did not want to invest in a three-disc set, this single CD offers an alternative. One cannot by any means not recommend a Lehmann disc. Bob Rose
The material on this valuable Voce release is drawn from recordings made during Lehmann’s concerts in New York City for the New Friends of Music in 1946 and 1947. Because she was almost 60, one might expect a certain waning of her vocal abilities. Not so. She does, it is true, sing most of these in mezzo-soprano keys, but they all work well in that range, and her vocal production is a lesson for Lieder singers.
If the approach that you like from singers is poised beauty, floated soft tones, dreamy and hushed reverence, or classical restraint—then Lotte Lehmann is not for you. Lehmann sang everything with passion, urgency, and intense commitment. It is a wonder, in fact, that her tone remained steady and perfectly produced past the age of 60, given the way in which she sang, and the demands of the Wagnerian and Straussian roles she specialized in.
The eminent John Steane, in his book The Grand Tradition, speaks of the ways in which one can follow Lehmann “through every shade of emotion, through the devout, aspiring mood of Wolf’s ‘Zur Ruh,’ through the whole range of woman’s life and love as caught in Schumann’s song-cycle, to the high spirits and playfulness of Schubert’s ‘Die Männer sind méchant’. . . .“ Those comments apply to the singing on this record, and especially so because the older she got the wiser she became. Lehmann’s artistry kept evolving, and here she is captured at her artistic peak, with the voice in good condition, and fired up by the presence of an audience. This issue thus becomes essential for lovers of singing where real emotions are communicated without artifice.
The only complaints that can be made about the disc relate to the abrupt cut-offs at the end of some bands, jarring in the extreme, and an occasional surface crackle. The sound itself is very good for its period, and Voce supplies intelligent notes and complete texts and translations. A truly indispensible record for anyone who responds to this repertoire. Henry Fogel
As the booklet notes state quite clearly to this release, “this set is not meant to be listened to straight through.” That’s more the reviewer’s lot (plus individual playings, of course), but let’s be clear: To hear these various female Frauenlieben in one go is a voyage in its own right, a voyage through a Golden Age, and one that it is a privilege to undertake. All credit to Immortal Performances for its stunning restorative abilities, too. Surface noises recede easily into the background of one’s consciousness; even more, the timbre of the voices is beautifully retained.
The set kicks off with Lotte Lehmann and Paul Ulanowsky, recorded in 1946, at a New York Town Hall recital. The booklet notes refer to less than perfect surfaces, but rest assured there is nothing here to detract for one’s listening enjoyment. The first song is an intimate narration; the more outgoing second (“Er, der Herrlischste von allen”) is not the hell-for-leather rapture of some interpreters. Lehmann’s girl likes to interiorize regularly, as if checking within the emotions raging in her heart. So her “Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben” oscillates in mood; only when we get to “Du Ring an meinem Finger” is there a true blossoming out. It is easy to imagine her admiring the ring as she muses onwards; the breathless penultimate “An meinem Herzen, an meiner Brust” leads on to a darkly resigned “Nun hast du mir den ersten Schmerz getan,” with its anguished cries of “Die Welt ist leer” (the world is empty) a heartfelt cry of anguish that itself inevitably, turns once more inward. This is a lovely, eminently believable account. Colin Clarke
There is a sore temptation for me simply to stop at this point and say that if you love the art of Lieder, you simply must buy this set and hear the magnificent artistry of this octet of vocal greats. That temptation is further pressed by a counsel of despair: Fanfare colleague Henry Fogel has contributed an essay of interpretive commentary to the booklet, written with such keen appreciation, penetrating insight, and wealth of illustrative detail as to leave me nothing to say. There is a strong itch simply to copy his notes verbatim and abridge them for this review. But that wouldn’t be cricket, so I will say a little something of my own and beg the indulgence of my readers.
Choosing a favorite version from this embarrassment of vocal riches risks being a churlish exercise; but if forced to do so, I would unhesitatingly plump for the opening account with Lotte Lehmann (1888–1976). Hers is a magisterial reading of the widowed subject of the poems looking back over her life, rendered with sovereign majesty over her art and unmatched degrees of subtle shading and inflection of the texts. Although she was one week shy of 58 when she gave this recital, her voice is in pristine condition, and the excellence of this rendition is heightened by the sensitivity of her longtime accompanist, Paul Ulanowsky. Richard Caniell has rightly chosen to employ only minimal filtering of somewhat noisy acetates (though these are no worse than many 78-rpm discs from the same period) in order not to impair Lehmann’s tonal coloration. Despite being a live performance, no audience noise is perceptible; applause is not included. The sound is vastly superior to that on an Eklipse release from 1995. James A. Altena
For any number of reasons, this could not be anyone’s only recording of Der Rosenkavalier. On the other hand, if this opera is in any way important to you, this is also not a recording that you should be without. Richard Caniell’s restoration of this 1939 broadcast surpasses all previous issues in quality, even including the Met’s own lavishly produced (and lavishly priced) LP set. The sound is fuller, the voices truer and more natural, the sonic grit minimized to a degree I would not have thought possible. Caniell has an approach to restoration that has stirred up some controversy on occasion, and it might do so here. Bodansky made a number of maddening cuts in Der Rosenkavalier, and one of them was so frustrating to Caniell that he edited in a few minutes of music from a 1946 Met broadcast. He never hides this—he is explicit in his notes: “…there is at least one major cut I cannot abide. This is his removal of over two minutes of music in Act III, the big moment when Ochs is surrounded by the children calling “Papa,” amidst great confusion (while a major waltz theme is heard fortissimo), and everyone goes off, leaving the Marschallin, Octavian and Sophie alone. I have interpolated this important passage from a later Met 1946 broadcast (with List as Ochs). Now, I no longer experience the shock I felt when I repeatedly heard this recording in previous years.” He has done a masterful engineering job, so the sound from the 1946 broadcast matches. Surprisingly, the performance even maintains its momentum and shape, despite the fact that it is George Szell conducting the 1946 fragment (I do wish Caniell had identified him in his notes). I too find this particular cut on Bodansky’s part infuriating, and I don’t mind this approach at all—but if you’re a purist, consider yourself warned.
Even with Caniell’s expert restoration, the sound of this broadcast is cramped and deficient in the full glory of Strauss’s orchestra. But it is now listenable to anyone with an ear attuned to “historic” recordings, in a way that it never has been. Beyond the sound and Bodansky’s cuts, the other reason that this should not be anyone’s sole Rosenkavalier recording is the actual conducting of Bodansky. He does bring energy and incisiveness to a score that can seem to drag, and he is sensitive to his singers. But there are times when the music would benefit from a somewhat more expansive approach. I am partial to the Solti/Crespin recording on Decca, though of course the Karajan/Schwarzkopf has many committed fans too.
So why can you not be without this? Primarily, but not solely, Lotte Lehmann in one of her greatest roles, caught in terrific voice and in a real performance. Her studio recording of most of the role for EMI in an abridged set (conducted decently enough by Robert Heger—reportedly EMI didn’t want to pay the fees asked by Strauss or Bruno Walter) is a classic, and has somewhat better sound. But here we have more of the role, and Lehmann motivated by the full theatrical experience of a stage performance. Her Marschallin is one of the truly great operatic characterizations, worthy of mention with Chaliapin’s Boris and Caruso’s Canio, and to have it in this form is to have a treasure. In addition we get the young Risë Stevens’s deftly characterized and beautifully sung Octavian, a relatively unknown Sophie in Marita Farell, but one who sings with the pure silver tone this music wants. Emanuel List was the Ochs of choice for many years, though I find that he slightly overdoes the boorish side of the character and his singing here is a bit rough. On the other hand, Friedrich Schorr as Faninal is luxurious casting in the extreme.
Caniell adds a bonus to the third disc: the final scene, pasted together from two different recordings. Frieder Weissmann conducts the scene that includes the great trio, and Meta Seinemeyer is exquisite as the Marschallin. Her voice sounds better here than on any other transfer I have heard of her. Then the final Octavian-Sophie duet is beautifully sung by Elfriede Marherr (Octavian) and Adele Kern (Sophie) with Julius Prüwer conducting. The join doesn’t quite work as well—the different voices and conducting work against it, but it is still a pleasure to hear these classic records from the late 1920s reproduced so well. Two interviews with Lehmann are included (after each of the first two acts), and we get some (but not all) of Milton Cross’s announcements.
This is a hugely important release to anyone who cares about this opera; even if you have the performance in an earlier incarnation, replacement is urgently recommended. Henry Fogel
Recorded in late September 1933, this collection of extended excerpts from Der Rosenkavalier is a celebrated landmark in the history of the phonograph, capturing, as it did, the artistry of the (then) three most celebrated current performers of their particular roles: Lotte Lehmann as the Marchallin, Elisabeth Schumann as Sophie, and Richard Mayr as Baron Ochs. It might have attained even more legendary status had Strauss himself conducted, but he reputedly wanted a fee that HMV was unwilling to pay. I attended a couple of Lotte Lehmann’s vocal seminars and, if there was anything she emphasized when coaching voice students, it was to get “inside” their roles. “Who are you? What has just happened? What do you think about it? Get your feelings into your singing—don’t just sing the notes” were constant admonitions of hers. In her book, Five Operas and Richard Strauss, she analyzes Der Rosenkavalier, Ariadne auf Naxos, Arabella, Intermezzo, and Die Frau ohne Schatten, with emphasis on the feelings of the leading characters and their interactions with each other. You can’t help but get some insight into the operas with her as your guide. She flavors her analyses with some interesting anecdotes. She was one of Strauss’s favorite singers. So she must be the “definitive” Marschallin, right? Not necessarily, for several subsequent Marschallins (who surely studied her recording) have staked a strong claim to the role and, possibly, even surpassed her, at least on records, namely Régine Crespin (Solti), Maria Reining (Kleiber), and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf (Karajan), all three of whom had the good fortune of appearing on outstanding complete recordings (or nearly complete, in Schwarzkopf’s case) but let’s deal with this 1933 group of selections, which constitutes about half of the opera (including all the “good” parts).
HMV’s choice for the conducting role was Robert Heger—not, perhaps, the most inspired collaborator for these singers, but he was working with the length of 78 sides and the need to not consume too many, so there are some little cuts within the big cuts (though they are smoothly managed) and some sections where he could have cut the singers a little more slack. HMV executives were probably familiar with him since he had been conducting at Covent Garden since 1925. Of all the conductors who have recorded the opera—Bernstein, Böhm, de Waart, Haitink, Karajan, Kempe, Kleiber, Krauss, Solti, and Vonk—his is, arguably, the least distinguished name, certainly the least well-known, but he had a long career. I heard him conduct in Germany in 1960 and he ended up living to be 91, dying in 1978.
The collection begins with the prelude and continues until shortly after the entrance of Baron Ochs. Then we hear some of the byplay between Ochs and the Marschallin. After this, the music starts up again after Ochs has exited and continues to the end of act I. The selections from act II begin as Octavian approaches the Faninal mansion and continues through the presentation of the silver rose and the conversation between Octavian and Sophie. We then skip to the brief little love duet between them and then skip again to the closing moments of the act as Ochs contemplates his marriage and is invited to an assignation with “Mariandel.” In act III, we get the bustling prelude and some of the scene between Ochs and “Mariandel,” followed by a big chunk of the last part of the act where the humiliated Baron flees the chaos at the inn, leaving the stage to Octavian and Sophie. The Marschallin’s closing words, “Ja, Ja,” had to be sung by Schumann because Lehmann, for whatever reason, had already left the recording session. Aside from that odd lapse, Lehmann is pretty much all she was touted to be, catching the Marschallin’s patient affection for Octavian and her polite contempt for the boorish Baron Ochs and any other nuance you’d like to hear. Never the possessor of a ravishingly beautiful voice, she was near her vocal prime at the time of the recording. Earlier in her career, she had sung Sophie and Octavian before “graduating” to the Marschallin.
As for Mayr, he’s the best Baron Ochs I have ever heard or ever expect to hear because of, believe it or not, his charm. As Lehmann put it in her book, “Mayr actually transformed the Baron into a boorish character, a boozy, dilapidated spendthrift who no one could really hate because he was so pathetically funny at heart. His was an inimitable, a onetime portrait that simply cannot be copied. No one is irreplaceable, and Baron Ochs has been sung by many others successfully, credibly, and with superb effectiveness; but to me the inimitable personal note with which Mayr managed to endow the figure of Ochs has been missing ever since and I never sang the Marschallin later on without being sadly reminded of Richard Mayr.” Strauss once said that he composed the role with Mayr in mind, though he did not sing at the Dresden premiere. Elisabeth Schumann is in good voice and soars through her performance as Sophie with considerable aplomb, but I don’t find her superior to all her recorded successors, among whom I especially admire Helen Donath (Solti), Hilde Gueden (Kleiber), and Rita Streich (Böhm). Maria Olszewska’s Octavian doesn’t always sound as if she’s thinking, “Who are you? What has just happened? What do you think about it?” Or maybe her voice was not made to suggest such nuances. She’s certainly highly qualified as far as the notes go but, to get a more vivid reading of Octavian’s sentiments, one can turn to Christa Ludwig (Karajan), Yvonne Minton (Solti), and Sena Jurinac (Kleiber), just for starters. Like the complete Rosenkavaliers, this one has a good supporting cast.
This opera has done pretty well on recordings. Leaving broadcasts aside, a studio recording of Der Rosenkavalier is not undertaken lightly: You need a very good conductor, a virtuoso orchestra, outstanding soloists (if only because of the competition) and a strong supporting cast, and thanks to some of the stereo recordings that came along, a good recording crew. Most of the studio recordings have risen to the challenge. I would recommend Solti’s as the best all-around performance and recording but Karajan’s EMI has vivid dramatic interplay between Schwarzkopf and Ludwig, good early stereo sound, the Philharmonia Orchestra (and a few theater cuts). Although recorded just before stereo came in, Kleiber’s has outstanding sonics and a strong cast. All three conductors, for all their virtuoso brilliance, are sympathetic accompanists. I might nitpick at the recordings of Bernstein (but he ravishes the score), de Waart, Haitink, and the Karajan remake, but less for their own faults than for the strength of the competition—they are good performances by almost any standard. I think that the Böhm (his DG studio version), Kempe, Kraus, and Vonk recordings have more conspicuous vocal weaknesses. Until the latest advance in 78 resuscitation comes along, I guess anyone who wants to sample the great Rosenkavalier cast of the ’30s should be content with what Pristine Audio has accomplished. James Miller
Here’s another reissue of this venerable recording, presumably to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary. The performance was recorded in September 1933 and has been studied (one assumes) with profit by several generations of Strauss singers. Elisabeth Schumann (Sophie) and Richard Mayr (Ochs) began singing their roles in 1911, shortly after the world premiere; in fact, Strauss had hoped to have Mayr create the part of the lecherous Baron. Lehmann, after singing Sophie and Octavian early in her career, became the world’s most celebrated Marschallin—she also wrote an informative book about certain Strauss operas that should be required reading for singers.
I’ve heard that EMI had hoped to have the composer himself lead the recording but settled for Robert Heger when Strauss demanded more money than the company was willing to pay in those economically depressed times. Economics may also account for the fact that the recording, originally issued on 26 78-rpm sides, was heavily cut. Although Heger was a first-class workman, the presence of the composer would have given this recording more documentary value, if nothing else, and I must emphasize that documentary value iE the principal virtue this set has going for it—as a performance of Der Rosenkavalier, per Se, it frustrates as much as it satisfies because of all the jarring cuts. It’s still a valuable link to a great tradition, but anyone who’s looking for a complete Rosenkavalier should look elsewhere, preferably in the direction of Solti.
Lehmann’s Marschallin is justly renowned but she sounds a bit old even though she was only 45 at the time of the recording, and I’ll have to say that I don’tthink she gets as much out of the role as Crespin and Schwarzkopf do… and now I might as well make a clean breast of it and confess that I have found other Sophies just as sweet and silvery-voiced as Schumann’s and many Octavians (almost all of them, in fact) superior to Olszewska’s. Mayr’s Ochs remains an incomparably good-natured rogue—he must have been marvelous in person. Most of the “Ochsen“ I’ve heard are so boorish that they make the opera a trial to sit through.
The sound of this EMI reissue is the best Heger’s Rosenkavalier has ever received even if it can’t match the stereo spectaculars of later years, but even if it were complete, there’s a strong possibility that I’d prefer Solti’s, and possibly those of Kleiber, Karajan, and Bernstein as well. But if you’re determined to have this one, I’d suggest the Seraphim reissue, which contains some interesting Lotte Lehmann material as a bonus. James Miller
This recording sometimes appears on “essential“ and “desert island“ lists and, while I think some tenors come within belting distance of Melchior and I like some Sieglindes just as much as I admire Lehmann, and even prefer some of the recorded Hundings to Emanuel List, I will concede that it may, nevertheless, deserve its apparent consensus status as the best recording of this music. Certainly, Bruno Walter’s impassioned, powerful conducting has a lot to do with the performance’s effect. He was actually supposed to conduct a complete recording of the opera and “therein,“ as the saying goes, “lies a tale.“ The notion of recording the first complete Die Walküre was hatched at EMI sometime in the early 1930s. It was to be done in Berlin with Bruno Walter presiding over some of the outstanding Wagner singers of the day. By the time they got around to making the arrangements in 1935, the Nazi regime had made Walter persona non grata, so the recording site was shifted to Vienna. Along with the first act, both of the act II scenes involving Melchior and Lehmann and the one that includes List were also recorded. Since the Hunding appearance in the closing scene of the act also requires a Wotan and Briinnhilde, Alfred Jerger, not one of nature’s Wotans, and Ella Flesch made brief appearances. By the time EMI was ready for act II in 1938, the German takeover of Austria meant that Walter was unavailable in Vienna, so the recording scene shifted back to Berlin and a new conductor, Bruno Seidler-Winkler. Melchior was on hand for the “Todesverkundigung,“ and he was joined by Marta Fuchs (Briinnhilde), Margarete Klose (Fricka), and Hans Hotter (Wotan). A slightly edited version of act II, with a few cuts, was recorded. The scenes that had already been recorded under Walter were slipped into the performance later on, how smoothly, I don’t know, since I never heard the 78s. I might point out that, when this act was put on CD, an additional cut was made by EMI so that it would fit on a single disc. The onset of World War II interrupted the project. In 1945, American Columbia finished the job when Helen Träubel, Herbert Janssen, and Artur Rodzinski recorded the third act. Thus, in 1946, you could purchase a nearly complete Die Walküre on 26 breakable shellac 78s, recorded by two companies, in three cities, on two continents, with three conductors, three orchestras (the Vienna and New York Philharmonics and the Berlin State Opera Orchestra), three Wotans, three Brünnhildes, and two Sieglindes (Iren? Jessner, doubling as Ortlinde, was the other).
Although Melchior could outbelt any tenor of his time (and ours), bis contribution to the recording goes beyond mere power—he actually creates a character—first exhausted, then intrigued by his hostess, rueful about his tribulations, and finally, passionately in love. Lehmann’s ability to go beyond the notes was never questioned, and List is certainly a strong, menacing Hunding. The sound won’t blow you away but it has ample power and clarity for 1935. At this stage of his career Walter was more virile and energetic than the kindly old philosopher promoted by Columbia toward the end of his career and one can only regret that EMI’s project languished—a 1930s Bruno Walter Ring would have been something to hear, but I would have settled for a Bruno Walter Die Walküre if this recording is an indication of what could have transpired. James Miller
Before electrical recording was developed in 1925, most of the records of Wagner’s music were of brief vocal selections. For, while voices recorded quite well, there was no hope of capturing the breadth and complexity of the Wagner orchestra. Even after the advent of electrical recording, Wagner’s major works seemed far too long and too difficult to be fitted onto 12-inch 78-rpm discs, each side of which could hold only about 4 or 4.5 minutes of music. Yet, in 1926, HMV set about recording extended excerpts from the most challenging Wagner work of all, the Ring cycle, using the best available singers and conductors, and the London Symphony and Berlin State Opera Orchestras. By the time the project was completed in 1932, the whole set, which today is available on seven compact discs (Pearl GEMM CDS 9137), consisted of 122 78-rpm sides.
There was no complete recording of any Wagner music drama. Therefore, it was decided that HMV would record a complete Die Walküre, with Bruno Walter leading the Berlin State Opera Orchestra, and a cast consisting of Lotte Lehmann (Sieglinde), Frida Leider (Brünnhilde), Emmi Leisner (Fricka), Lauritz Melchior (Siegmund), Friedrich Schorr (Wotan), and Emanuel List (Hunding). Almost all of these signers, it should be noted, took part in the 1926-32 set of excerpts.
But the Nazis had seized power in Germany on January 30, 1933, and Jewish artists were unwelcome in Berlin. Thus, the site of the recording was changed to Vienna, so that Bruno Walter could conduct, as planned, and Emanuel List could sing the part of Hunding. Schorr, who was also Jewish, had left Bayreuth in 1931 and Covent Garden in 1933, and settled in the United States. During the 1930s he often appeared at New York’s Metropolitan Opera, as well as gracing the stages of Paris, Buenos Aires, and San Francisco. He retired to a successful teaching career in 1943, and 10 years later, died in Connecticut.
Though the plan had been to record the whole of Die Walküre at Vienna, actually only act I and scenes 3 and 5 of act II—which, like act I, involve both Siegmund and Sieglinde—were recorded at the Vienna sessions on June 20—22, 1935. The rest of the recording took place at Berlin in 1938. Scenes 4 (Siegmund and Brünnhilde) and 1 (Wotan, Brünnhilde, Fricka) were recorded on September 19 and 20, respectively; scene 2 (Brünnhilde and Wotan), in November. Since Fuchs and Hotter, who were to take the roles of Brünnhilde and Wotan in Berlin, were not present at the Vienna sessions, those parts were taken in act II, scene 5, by Flesch and Jerger.
The act I recording is often singled out as the greatest of all Wagner recordings. Lehmann and Melchior, though firmly established in their careers, were both still gloriously in their primes. The playing of the Vienna Philharmonic was superb, and Walter’s conducting was free of his often-annoying mannerisms. List was a strong and menacing, yet thoroughly uncaricatured, Hunding.
The thing to listen for is the slow yet steady growth of the love between Siegmund and Sieglinde. Throughout the 70 or so minutes of act I, every word is given precisely the inflection that clearly and naturally places its meaning within the dramatic growth of the relation between the two lovers. Listening recently to the familiar music, I began to take notes, writing down each word of the text that seemed important. Though I have known (and loved) the recording of act 1 for 60 years, I found myself growing increasingly excited and moved—then I noticed that I had been scribbling virtually every important word of Wagner’s text!
Here I can give only a few examples. Siegmund stumbles into Hunding’s and Sieglinde’s house dead tired, his fatigue captured by the orchestra’s cross rhythms. Declaring that he must rest, no matter whose house this is, he throws himself down on the hearth. Sieglinde enters. She surmises that he is tired out from a journey, and wonders if he is sick—giving the word (“siech“) a plaintive tone that suggests an interest in him and his plight. As the strings play yearning phrases, she decides that he is not sick but just tired: “Mutig dünkt mich der Mann“ (“The man seems to me strong/courageous“). The difference between “siech,“ which ends a question, and “Mutig,“ which is set by an assertive, falling perfect fifth, says volumes. A little later, Siegmund mentions that he is wounded, and hence will not be a welcome guest. Sieglinde quickly blurts out: “Die Wunden weise mir schnell!“ (“Quickly show me your wounds!“) Her concern is obvious to Siegmund, and he meets it with manly nonchalance: “Gering sind sie, der Rede nicht werth“ (“They are slight, not worth talking about“).
So it goes, right to the lovers’ delirious ecstasy and their escape into the spring night. Act II is always something of a letdown—too much of it is taken up by Wotan’s argument with Fricka and his long monologue giving Brünnhilde the story of the ring. Also, it is a long act, usually lasting slightly under an hour-and-a-half. Therefore, it was decided to take several small cuts. Here they are, keyed to the Peters full score, reprinted by Dover:
From “ewige Ende“ (p. 245) to “Kunde empfing“ (p. 246);
From “verloren“ (pp. 252-3) to “Nur einer“ (p. 255);
From “Wunsch (p. 257) to “trauteste mir?“ (p. 258);
From “nur“ (p. 262) to “Ihrem Willen“ (p. 264);
From “Und fúr das Ende“ (p. 273) to Sehr breit (p. 278).
Lehmann and Melchior are just as fine here as in act I. Hotter, though only twenty-nine, has the sympathy, intelligence, and control of his beautiful voice that would make him Schorr’s successor, the finest Wotan and Sachs of our time. Fuchs is competent but rather pedestrian—how one longs for Leider or Flagstad!—but Klose is one of the great Frickas. Seidler-Winkler is fully Walter’s match. Incidentally, act III of Die Walküre did finally get recorded in 1945, giving us at last our first (almost) complete recording of a Wagner music drama.
One more thing before I close. In 1940, when Lehmann and Melchior were still singing very well indeed, the Met gave two performances of Die Walküre that were broadcast. The perfonnance of February 17 starred Kirsten Flagstad as Brünnhilde, Marjorie Lawrence as Sieglinde, and Melchior as Siegmund, while the performance of March 30, when the company was in Boston on tour, had Lawrence as Brünnhilde, with Lehmann and Melchior as Sieglinde and Siegmund. Both performances were conducted by Erich Leinsdorf. List sang Hunding both times, while the earlier performance had Julius Huehn as Wotan and Karin Branzell as Fricka, and the later one had Schorr as Wotan and Kerstin Thorborg as Fricka.
Some years ago, it occurred to a brilliant sound engineer named Richard Caniell, whose specialty is the restoration of old records, that these two performances could be combined to produce the Walküre of one’s dreams, in which the cast would include Flagstad, Lehmann, Branzell, Melchior, and Schorr. The job has now been done, and the three-CD set is available as Guild GHCD 2215/7. Other “golden age“ Wagner sets are also listed on the Guild Web site: http://guildmusic.com. Full disclosure time: for a pleasant year and a half, I provided Caniell with album notes for a number of old Toscanini broadcasts. But 1 never worked on the Wagner project, and I had heard (and admired) a tape of the amalgamated Walküre long before I had worked with or even spoken to Caniell.
I should add that the sound of the 1933/1938 Walküre discs, which was restored by Mark Obert-Thorn, is superb.
William Youngren
This is another stunning restoration of historic material by Richard Caniell and Immortal Performances, but it is one with a more specialized appeal because of the poor condition of the original material with which he had to work, and because one of its principal attractions (Melchior’s glorious Lohengrin) is available in later, better-sounding editions. But what this has that others do not is Lehmann’s resplendent Elsa and Lawrence’s galvanic Ortrud.
Caniell states up front, in the excellent “Recording Notes” that accompany this set, that the quality of the original off-the-air 1935 recording is poor. He has worked on it over many years, with earlier restorations of his being released on Archipel and Myto (not with his permission). I have the Myto version and can state categorically that this is a significant improvement.
Before we even get to sound quality, we have to examine the other problem with the original: missing material. All copies that have been located break off after the chorus following “In fernem Land” near the end of the opera. The problem is magnified by the existence of no other broadcast with Lehmann, Lawrence, and Melchior. Caniell has solved this here by bringing in some material from other broadcasts (not only from the Met) in order to keep his cast together as a whole. The work he has done is very smooth.
Whereas the Simon Boccanegra reviewed in this issue of Fanfare is a recording that I believe will appeal to anyone who loves Verdi’s music, even if not a dedicated or passionate collector of historic recordings, this Lohengrin is more for the specialist, who not only wants Melchior’s Lohengrin, but Lehmann’s Elsa as well, and who is willing to listen through some serious sonic limitations. Those willing to do that will be amply rewarded.
Even assessing Melchior’s performance, this is the very best of those that have survived. In 1935, the Danish tenor was already 45 years old, but still at his absolute peak. His other recorded performances are from 1940, 1942, and 1943, when he was in his 50s, and 1950 when he was 60. The best of them that I’ve heard is the Met’s 1943 outing, in warm sound recently released by Sony, but only available (as of this writing) in a 25-disc set of historic Met Wagner performances (though affordably priced at $74.99 at ArkivMusic and $76.39 at Amazon). Melchior in 1943 sings a more satisfying Lohengrin than any other tenor except for Melchior in 1935. The younger version sounds just a touch freer and more expansive. But the difference is slight, and the recorded sound would definitely make most listeners prefer the later performance. There is an Immortal Performances release of the 1940, but I have not heard it. If it is up to their usual standard, it should be stunning. Rethberg is the Elsa there.
Elsa in the 1943 performance is the very fine Astrid Varnay. But even her excellent performance is not the equal of what Lehmann gives us. Lehmann, two years older than Melchior, was also still in her prime at 47. The voice is positively thrilling throughout, and London Green has some very perceptive words about her realization of the character in the booklet: “Her view of Elsa is clear, and quite overwhelming, even on Elsa’s first entrance. The voice … is at once youthfully pure and nevertheless sensuous in effect: full of warmth even as she is deeply distraught. In three words (Mein armer Bruder!—My poor brother!) her expression at this point gives us a suggestion of the entire character, a feat that no other recorded performance since has done so masterfully.” Green goes on with many specific examples of Lehmann’s portrayal, comparing it with others. I will simply say here that this is a performance of nobility and humanity, which are characteristics at the core of Elsa and which are conveyed here in a wholly convincing manner, and with unfailingly glorious tone production and phrasing.
The young (26) Marjorie Lawrence, about six years before polio struck and effectively ended her career, is a splendid Ortrud. While mezzos often sing the role, and can be thrilling, they tend also to shriek a bit, particularly in the scene after “Mein lieber Schwann.” Lawrence, a true dramatic soprano with an open top, manages to convey the power and villainy of the character without ever sounding ugly. This too is an important document.
Schorr was, like Lehmann, 47 in 1935, but his voice shows a few signs of wear that hers does not. But the flaws are minor when compared with the depth of his characterization and deep musicality of his singing, and the variety of inflection and color he brings to Telramund. Emanuel List is a magnificent King Henry, and Julius Huehn’s Herald is also an important contribution.
Artur Bodanzky, who held up the German wing of the Met for many years, conducts with flexibility and drive. Conducting Wagner convincingly is difficult. Lingering over the long stretches of lyricism can allow things to bog down, but over-emphasizing the music’s drive and rhythmic tension can undervalue its grandeur and melodic expansiveness. Bodanzky gets the balance just right. The Met orchestra, not that many years from having been drilled by Mahler and then Toscanini, plays very well, though the Met chorus is a bit raw-toned and ragged. It really wasn’t until Levine’s time at the Met that resources were dedicated to the chorus to bring it up to the level the company merited.
So we come back, now, to the matter of the recorded sound. Caniell writes that he has modified his philosophy somewhat from the time he first worked on this recording. He now minimizes filtering to remove noise, because at the same time it removes vocal and orchestral color. He writes “I could certainly arrive at the relative quiet reproduced on the Archipel/Myto release of my work, but in the end, I much prefer the lifefulness, the presence of the voices that is hearable only with the least amount of filtering.” I agree, and a direct comparison of this with the Myto and the Melodram releases of the same performance demonstrate the superiority of the Immortal Performances release. However, it cannot be denied that you will still need a tolerance for the surface noise, and the occasional scenes in which congestion and distortion seem almost ready to take over. Caniell is refreshingly candid about the problems in his notes.
As filler, Immortal Performances includes the end of the first act of Die Walküre from their “Dream Ring,” a Met broadcast with Melchior, Lehmann, and Leinsdorf that is as good as it gets, and then five Schumann duets. I don’t believe a collector of operatic recordings would need a libretto/translation for Lohengrin, as this isn’t likely to be the one recording in a collection. English texts are provided for the Schumann duets. I wish the booklet indicated who did the orchestrations (I don’t believe they are Schumann’s). Having said that, the singing is as beautiful as you would expect it to be from Melchior and Lehmann. The set also includes Milton Cross’s commentary and curtain calls. I rather like that—but if you don’t, it is easy to omit it because it is separately tracked. Henry Fogel
Lauritz Melchior can be heard on six Met broadcasts, of which this is the earliest and, I assume, the worst-sounding. It is likely that, given this cast, the temptation to issue it was irresistible because of the presence of Lotte Lehmann as Elsa and Marjorie Lawrence as Ortrud. It had previously appeared on several other labels in what the producer of this release decries as highly filtered, even worse sound. Having located a better copy of the broadcast, he has attempted to preserve such high frequencies as exist. Still, be warned that, given the uneven quality of what he had to work with, the sonic end of this release will probably prove to be quite distracting at times. Given that Artur Bodanzky conducts this performance, one can expect cuts and one’s expectations will be fulfilled, but I was determined not to keep track of them even when I noticed them; people who are attracted to such a recording as this aren’t likely to disqualify it on that basis.
What makes Melchior such a dominant Wagnerian isn’t just that trombone of a voice—it’s that, despite his powerful instrument, he is no mere belter and, allowing for occasional rhythmic sloppiness, he’s an intelligent singer who projects the texts with sensitivity. I can understand why some Wagnerians might prefer a somewhat lighter, brighter voice (say, Völcker or Konya) in this role, but it’s hard to complain about a singer with such authority. I have never heard any of his subsequent Met broadcasts in the role. Lehmann isn’t the only good Elsa I’ve ever heard but she’s certainly one of them, in excellent voice and singing with her expected insight. Marjorie Lawrence and Friedrich Schorr are occasionally sabotaged by distant mike placement—you can tell when they are located toward the rear of the stage, but they do enough that one can imagine the impact they must have had in the house. Emanuel List is a solid King Henry and Julius Huehn, making his debut, is outstanding as the King’s Herald. The next time the opera was broadcast (1940), he had succeeded Schorr as Telramund.
As a bonus, we get Melchior and Lehmann in act I of Die Walküre, starting with the “Wintersturme”—not the 1935 Bruno Walter recording but a later Met broadcast led by Erich Leinsdorf. It comes from a compilation he calls “The Dream Ring,” featuring favorite singers of his and various conductors. For further information about it, check the Immortal Performances website. As an encore, he provides five Schumann duets, recorded by RCA Victor in 1939 and featuring Lehmann and Melchior with Bruno Reibold leading the orchestra. Nostalgia buffs can enjoy hearing some of Milton Cross’s contributions to the broadcast. I’m delighted that they are included. Anyone who has owned previous releases on this label knows that the annotations are impressively extensive, thorough, and quite opinionated. James Miller