Rare and unusual operas

Whilst browsing the opera bin at the library I came upon a real rarity: La Fiamma by Ottorino Respighi, conducted by Lamberto Gardelli on Hungaroton in the 1985 (!) premiere recording. I didn’t even know he had composed an opera. Of course I do not currently own any CDs dedicated to just his music, so I cannot be counted as a big fan of his works. (Just how many times can someone listen to the Roman Trilogy? Twice was good for me) I went in expecting to hear some heavy albeit well-crafted orchestral writing married to a perhaps melodramatic plot. I was not disappointed.

First the music. It’s pretty clear who wrote the work. There are some passages that sound suspiciously familiar. There is the lush string writing, the sometimes opaque wind and brass writing, the overbearing textural thickness. On the plus side, there are some passages of quite striking beauty and mysterious if amorphous “orientalism,” if you will. Echoes of Verdi, Puccini, and Strauss reverberate through the work. Wagner even makes his influence known. While the music is neither distinctively original nor especially profound, it does more or less suit the work. While the opening and concluding movements tend to bore, the second movement actually works quite well, maintaining a high level of dramatic tension along with some involving music.

As to the story and the text, well, let’s just say that the music is the high point. The story is set in 9th Century Ravenna, and involves the persecution of witches. Or are they really witches? One woman tries to protect an accused witch, to no avail, and then it is revealed that the young woman herself is the daughter of a witch! Hilarity ensues. The plot is convoluted and the text somewhat jumbled at times. That may just be the translation. I can summarize by saying that Wagner wrote much better texts.

Overall, the work is not horrible – I can certainly think of some other operas I have heard that I like a lot less – but nor is it a masterpiece. The early digital sound of this recording has all of those hard, glassy, and bright traits that everyone loves so much. I can now say that I have heard a Respighi opera. Once was definitely enough.

Contemporary opera. I feel compelled to seek out and listen to operatic works of the past couple of decades. Some opera buffs may opt to focus almost exclusively on past works, but since I live today, I want to hear what is written today. Or at least in the relatively recent past. That poses a problem, of course. Not too many contemporary works are recorded, and many are on obscure, hard to find labels. Thomas Ades is fortunate enough to be recorded by EMI. So when I found an opportunity to buy his opera Powder Her Face on the cheap, I figured why not?

I have previously reported that I liked the EMI disc of an assortment of Ades’ works. His decidedly modern, though clearly pastiche approach makes for some fine listening. So it is with the opera. The short chamber opera covers various parts of the sordid life of Margaret, Duchess of Argyll. Four singers cover all of the roles, with three of the singers filling multiple roles. Only Jill Gomez does single duty as the naughty aristocrat. All concerned singers and players, alike, do a fine job singing and playing their parts. The libretto tries to be appropriately naughty given the Duchess’ oral fixation, but it is neither shocking (how could it be, really?) nor too harsh. It is actually rather sympathetic to the Duchess who was apparently so scandalized in her life.

The music is the strong point here. As in the few other works by Ades that I have heard, this is heavy on non-traditional orchestration. There are plenty of percussion- and wood-dominated passages, and the string quintet is merely a part of rather than the dominant musical voice. Musical allusions abound. One can pretty easily hear Berg and Stravinsky in the score, and some Weill, too. The notes actually make mention of the “similarities” between this work and Lulu and The Rake’s Progress, and throw in the fact that this is a chamber opera like The Turn of the Screw. This work is in no way the equal of any of those works. Not even close. No, Ades was a young man in his early 20s trying to find his voice and to provoke. This is a very good first attempt at opera, but it is not a masterpiece. To be quite honest, it resembles something Frank Zappa might have written, but Zappa would have penned more humorous, outlandish, and intelligent words and music.

All told, a good work that I will revisit from time to time, but not a great work. For a great modern opera I’ll have to revisit St. Francois d’Assise or Aleksis Kivi. I do want to hear Ades’ more recent foray into the genre, and I think he may have some great operas in him. We’ll see.

Todd, - any thoughts about Andre Previn's 'A Streetcar Named Desire'? There are a couple of performances coming up at the Barbican [with Renee Fleming!!], and I was wondering whether to give it a whirl. My local library hasn't bought it, but I seem to remember that in the U.S. it had a generally favourable reception. What d'you reckon?

Powder Her Face was a commission for TV here, and I watched it when it was on. Slight it is - but was still interesting viewing, and it's at least encouraging that it was attempted. Modern opera does seem to get a fair crack of the whip over here, considering its minority appeal. Have you come across 'The Silver Tassie', by Mark-Anthony Turnage? There's a cheap live recording on the ENO Alive label [£11 [double]or so here, maybe slightly more on import]. The second act, set in WW1 trenches is absolutely beautiful, and is the sort of thing that could be performed in isolation - echoes of Britten's War Requiem, but rather spikier, although still intensely lyrical. I was less convinced by the rest of the opera, although it is incredibly accomplished. Turnage has a fantastic orchestral vocabulary, which becomes more apparent on repeated listenings. 'Greek', his first opera [Oedipus in E.End London, available on EMI] was more dramatically engaging live, but musically The Silver Tassie is more rewarding. Either, I think, would interest you.

throb

quote:

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Originally posted by throbnorth:
Todd, - any thoughts about Andre Previn's 'A Streetcar Named Desire'?

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I've yet to hear the work, either, so I can't opine on its quality first-hand. Previn is relatively reliable from what I have heard from him - as either performer or composer - so it may very well be worth hearing. I don't know if I would expect anything great, necessarily, but I doubt it would be bad. The press on his opera has been good from what I have seen, too, so who knows? Were I in your position I'd attend the work, if only to hear Ms. Fleming sing.

Turnage does indeed sound interesting. I've never heard anything by him (that I am aware of), so I will keep an eye out. Thanks for the tip.

Right, I think I'll book. There are only three performances, and what with Ms. Fleming, I might well be too late. May try for El Nino as well....

throb

Think of all of the “What if?”’s in classical music. What if Mozart had lived another ten years? Schubert another twenty? What if Mahler would have kept his position in New York? What if better treatment would have been available for Dinu Lipatti? What if Simon Rattle were more talented? How about this one: what if Modest Mussorgsky would have gained more support from his peers and not found solace in the bottle? For one thing he may very well have completed Khovanshchina. One can only wonder what if.

Fortunately for opera fans, there was a glut of opera recordings before the current dearth of them. One the fruits of that magical recording period of the late 80s and early 90s is Gergiev’s 1991 recording of Khovanshchina. While browsing the used CD store I just happened across a used copy, though at the not quite stellar price of $30. (For only three discs. Egads!) Being a big fan of Boris Godunov, especially Gergiev’s recording of the original 1869 version, I snapped the rather pricey used fare up. What a bargain!

I will start by saying that this is an absolutley wonderful recording, bordering on the magical at times. Here is an opera that really should not work. Some of the Acts had not even been finished. Much orchestration was incomplete, some music not written. The libretto, penned by the composer, meanders at times, and certainly is not the most coherent text written. Yet it works splendidly.

As to the story, well, it’s a tad convoluted. The Old Believers stage something of a coup attempt to prevent the final ascension of Peter the then not-so-Great. Obviously, they fail. The figure head in all of this is one Ivan Khovansky, which prompts Peter to dub the whole series of incidents the Khovansky Affair, or Khovanshchina. There are a number of people involved, and many aristocratic, religious, and political entanglements. It’s all quite complex. Add to that the fact that Mussorgsky apparently mixed a number of unrelated historical events together to come up with his plot, and this can become somewhat difficult t follow. And of course Mussorgsky was not a born playwright. (Neither was Wagner, but that didn’t stop him.) But this is opera. It need not be accurate or simple. It must be dramatically and musically effective. That it is.

As to the dramatic aspect: while the story seems to jump around a bit, it is quite compelling. Much like Boris, this is more a collection of scenes than a standard opera. Here Khovansky and Golitsyn discuss what is to happen, there Khovansky’s son declares his love for the (gasp!) Lutheran Emma, and then here’s Marfa predicting Khovansky’s doom. And that’s just a part of disc one. As convoluted as it can become, it never fails to compel. One just cannot wait to find out what happens next. The occasionally silly dialogue is a minor price to pay. (And some of that may be attributable to translation.) Okay, so Mussorgsky is ultimately no Hofmannsthal or Da Ponte, but his writing makes for effective drama, and sets the basis for the music.

And what music. In a word it is glorious. The opening prelude is undeniably great; much of the rest of the work is even better. Rarely in my experience is there such a perfect marriage of music and text; the cadence and rhythm of the Russian language is expressed perfectly in music. When the characters sing of love, the music is beautiful; when they sing of intrigue, the music is mysterious; when they sing of Russia, the music is glorious. There are so many stellar parts to this work, it really is hard to detail many of them. The choral music – and there is quite a bit of it in this work – can easily stand comparison to the best that Bach or Szymanowski can offer.

This recording further benefits from using the Shostakovich completion. With an unfinished work such as this, the conductor must choose a path. Here Gergiev could have used the Ravel or Stravinsky completions, too, or even a mixture of all three. (There were other completions, too, but since Rimsky-Korsakov apparently chopped up the work and the other composers who undertook the task were not very talented, only three solid choices seem plausible.) Gergiev chose wisely. There is no excess or melodrama, which Dmitri could have resorted to using. This is most tastefully completed and orchestrated. There are only a few times when one can hearing more Shostakovich than Mussorgsky. A few times there are some little touches – the bassoons blurting out a little melody, say, or a biting trumpet fanfare – but they are quite appropriate. The dance of the Persian slave girls is very much a Shostakovich piece (and ironically I longed for Rimsky here), and some of the tuttis near the end seem a bit heavy for a 19th Century composer, but overall Shostakovich obviously loved and respected the score and it shows. In the last two (of five) acts, one can easily hear the inspiration for some of Shostakovich’s 11th symphony in the march of Peter’s troops as well as the 13th in the concluding music. Yes, there is much to relish in the score.

As to the performance, it is fully up to the task. The all-Russian cast is extremely strong, and obviously delivers a completely idiomatic performance. The orchestral playing is top-notch, the choral contributions pretty much perfect, and Gergiev’s conducting is all one could hope for. Sound is excellent, but the Kirov is not the ideal location to make the most detailed recordings.

So, Khovanshchina is obviously a complex work to evaluate. It was never properly completed, and it has some flaws. But that means nothing. This is a great work. It is a flawed masterpiece to be sure, but it is undeniably a masterpiece. This is one my favorite operas.



"The universe is change, life is opinion." Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Speaking of Gergiev...

This afternoon we were at a Rotterdam performance of the Kirov Orchestra, part of the local Gergiev Festival (which partly is an attempt to keep the conductor happy those few weeks he spends in the Netherlands).

Today was the ballet day of the two-week festival. (We'll be hearing the 1st, 7th and 6th Symphony later this week.) Today's big offering was The Prodigal Son, the score Prokofiev wrote for Diaghilev's last (1929) Ballet Russes season.

I will not bore you with the dance stuff (it was great), but I was suprized how good Prodigal Son was, for mid-career Prokofiev. Generally I'm not too hot about the Fiery Angel period. This is different. It's good. Yet it seems there are very few recordings of this piece, apart from a dutiful Järvi disc in the Chandos series. Does anybody know of any other recordings?

Herman

A Tale Of Patience Rewarded

In opera as in other genres I am especially interested in modern works. After all, it was Wozzeck that got me into opera to begin with. My experience with other operas of the first half of the last century has generally been positive. Blessedly, Decca saw fit to produce the Entartete Musik series for a while and both Schulhoff’s Flammen and Haas’ Sarlatan tickle my fancy. I also rather like Krenek’s Karl V. So imagine getting a mix of both.

I refer, of course, to Krenek’s 1926 opera Jonny spielt auf. I read about this work before I even began listening to opera, and so it was high on my list after I started my expensive expedition. I searched high and low but, alas, no copies were to be found. I finally spied a used copy at a local CD hut and I promptly looked into it. Though $19 used, I thought this would be my last shot, so I bought it. I opened up the package, and – and – scratches. Gobs of ‘em. Hell no. Back it went. I was sad. Happily, a few months later I ambled back into the same store, and besides buying the great Khovanschina, I caught a glimpse of a new copy. For $20! I snapped it up.

Was it worth the wait? Yep. While Khovanschina is undeniably the better opera, Jonny spielt auf is definitely a keeper. The work centers around a composer named Max and his anguished love affair with the soprano Anita, who performs in his opera. But Anita is unfaithful and has an affair with the violinist Daniello. As a sort of just revenge, Jonny – a black jazz musician enamored of the Amati – steals the fiddle so as to make music. But poor Max is distraught and wants to kill himself. Fortunately, hearing his beloved’s voice singing his work on the radio dissuades him. They reconcile and want to leave for America, but Daniello accuses Anita and the maid Yvonne with stealing the violin and mayhem ensues.

The libretto, penned by Krenek himself, is a bit lack-lustre at times though it does have some fine moments. And much of the music is clearly contrived. Krenek obviously borrows different musical styles freely and patches them together. The jazz elements in the score seem forced and most certainly not improvised. (He’s definitely no match for Schulhoff in this regard.) Some of the “modern” elements are overdone. But yet it works. Krenek’s ability to mimic or imply musical styles is quite amazing. The work literally jumps from style to style in a matter of minutes. While his (symbolic) presentation of the characters is somewhat reliant on cliches – especially in the case of Jonny – they nonetheless work. And some of the devices he uses are quite effective. How many other operas can you think of with a singing glacier? That’s right, a singing glacier! All the disparate musical styles make for a fun listen. Combine great sound and superb playing from (of all orchestras) the Leipzig Gewandhaus orchestra under Lothar Zagrosek, and this here’s a keeper. Not a masterpiece perhaps, but worth consideration for the adventurous.



"The universe is change, life is opinion." Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Always one to look out for a good modern opera, I decided to go for Luigi Nono’s opera Al gran sole carico d’amore (“In the Bright Sunshine Heavy With Love”), as conducted by Lothar Zagrosek on Teldec. Well, okay, I guess it’s not an opera: it’s a “stage action,” as the composer liked to call it. Ah, Nono: he was quite the radical, huh? As befits something that is supposed to transcend a traditional genre, this work defies simple description. It most definitely is not an opera as generally understood. It is a two-parter, the first part a lamentation on the failed Paris Commune, the second a mish-mash of garbled messages. There is no linear plot and no standard libretto or dramatic text. No, no, there is a cobbling together of quotes and historical statements from a variety of important communist personages throughout history. Yes, yes, one reads Che Guevara’s words, one reads Louise Michel’s words, one reads Vladimir Ulyanov’s words. And what communist-loving work would be complete without some words from Papa Marx? Not this one! The text is solely in Italian (fortunately, my wife helped out with part of it), but one does not really miss anything. It’s pretty basic stuff. Er, I mean, it’s pretty radical stuff. (Radical as in radical, not radical as in really cool.) The pictures from the staging show some typically over-the-top, neo-expressionistic images of the excesses of capitalism (complete with famous US name brands!) and so forth. Really, it’s quite tired stuff. Do artists no longer remember how to use understatement, irony, and subtlety to get their message across?

Anyway, while the content and presentation leave something to be desired, the music fares a little better. There is no question who wrote this work: it has that chaotic, sometimes quiet, sometimes noisy cacophony I associate with Nono. There is something of value here that cannot be adequately described. Either one likes or one hates it, I’m afraid. Alas, the music does not sustain interest in the work. It’s as though a few good ideas are brought forth in the beginning, and then they are rehashed throughout. Even though the work is less than 100 minutes long, it seems long. A number of times I looked at the clock to see how long I had been listening. And that was during disc one. There were enough musical high points to keep me going, but I doubt I’ll spin this set very often. This is one mostly for Nono devotees and serious-minded radicals. If you don’t fall into those categories, pass.


"The universe is change, life is opinion." Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

Two from Alexander von Zemlinsky:

Der Traumgörge

Whereas my previous experience with Zemlinsky has been limited, and I found the sole large-scale work I heard - the Lyric Symphony - enjoyable if not exactly profound, this offering has far more meat on the bone. As with the symphony, I could easily hear influences, and one name was ubiquitous: Richard Strauss. Der Traumgörge smacks of the greatest works written by that operatic Dynamic Duo – Dick and Hugo – with a special resemblance to the great Die Frau Ohne Schatten. There’s just one little problem: Der Traumgörge was mostly written by 1907! Yes, this is a late Straussian opera written when Strauss was still shocking the world with the two crazy lady operas.

What does that mean? Opulence, opulence, and a bit more opulence, as well as a good bit of decadence. There are plush ‘n’ lush string passages aplenty, and the entire orchestra is most deftly handled. But after a short while one notices something else. While this opera is most certainly rooted firmly in pre-Great War Vienna, with all that means, there is something strikingly modern about it. Namely, there’s nary a hummable tune anywhere to be heard, and the entire piece moves along without overtly returning to any specific thematic material. This work is a constantly unfolding, finely woven musical tapestry. The sonorities are rich, the orchestration simultaneously dense, delicate, and forceful (quite a feat), and the whole thing moves inexorably forward at all times.

And did I mention that the orchestra is deftly handled? That’s really something of an understatement. The piece moves effortlessly and seamlessly from nearly translucent chamber scoring in more contemplative scenes, to swelling, heaving tuttis in heated climaxes. Zemlinsky routinely will move a brief musical idea around the orchestra, handing off from one instrument to another, transfiguring it in the process, or he may have multiple ideas swirling together at once. He was in his mid-30s when he wrote the work, but the score is handled as though he was a pro with decades of experience.

Okay, so enough of the wonderful, luxuriant, beautiful, enticing score, what’s it about? Oh, well, here’s where the deliciously incoherent world of opera comes to the fore! The plot is really quite silly and hard to follow. Görge is, well, he’s a dreamer (hence the title!), and he’s in love with Grete, and has her father’s blessing to marry her, because by so doing, her father – the miller – will have the mill’s heir as his son in law. Huh? Hold on! Grete doesn’t really love Görge. (Surprised?). Well, a Dream Princess appears before the Dreamer, and he falls in love and decides to chase after her, leaving Grete and everyone else behind. Act II finds Görge simultaneously being pursued by a group of socialist rabble-rousers to become there mouth-piece and trying to convince the shunned, accused witch Gertraud that she should live. A big plot twist: Görge and Gertraud fall in love! Then the villagers threaten to kill her, but Görge fends them off with a knife! The concluding Epilog finds Görge and Gertraud happily married and back in Görge’s old village. Grete and her husband Hans are happily married, though not as happily as Görge and Gertraud, and, for no particular reason, they decide to lead the village in song praising the Dreamer and the Witch. Hmmm? Yes, it’s silly, but it is opera.

But don’t let its silliness trick you. The libretto was written by Leo Feld, brother to another librettist, Victor Leon, who penned The Merry Widow. Despite the work’s hijinks, the text is really surprisingly modern, with biting social criticism in Act II, some startlingly (purposefully) banal and vicious dialog here and there, and really very little in the way of poetic beauty. Hofmannsthal Feld is not. But his text is very good. And supporting it all is that score. Truth be told, it’s just under two-and-a-half hour span is too short. I wanted more music. As it is, the piece moves forward almost breathlessly at times, as was the intent, I’m sure. The Epilog is a bit slower and softer, but it’s brief.

What of the cast and conducting? Uniformly superb. The cast is youngish and in strong, fine voice. Patricia Racette is especially fine as Gertraud, and David Kuebler makes a swell dreamer. James Conlon leads his now more familiar Gurzenich-Orchestre Kolner Philharmoniker through the score fearlessly and with all of the polish one could ask for. Okay, so in some of the passages I could have lived with the BPO’s string tone, but they are definitely shown to be a fine ensemble. EMI lavishes SOTA sound on the proceedings, and the packaging is very good. It even includes little blurbs about Zemlinsky’s trouble life in Vienna – he had to work with Mahler, you know. Apparently, the real cunning little vixen was Alma Schindler Mahler Gropius Terfel, as she dated Zemlinsky before hooking up with Gus, and before Al she dated Gustav Klimt! All this romantic tomfoolery apparently inspired young Mr Zemlinsky to carefully select some of the works he wrote. Interesting stuff.

Anyway, all things considered, this is a superb opera that really surpassed my expectations. Alexander von Zemlinsky rates higher in my book now. Perhaps I should investigate more of his operas. Yes, that sounds like the thing to do. Highly recommended. Very highly.



Der König Kandaules

So impressed was I with Alexander von Zemlinsky’s Der Traumgörge that I decided to hear at least one of his other operas. But which one? Well, I was mightily impressed with the Prelude to Act III from Der König Kandaules, so the decision was easy. The opera is not.

First the facts. Zemlinksy never finished this opera. He worked on it during the ‘30s while living in Austria in exile from the Nazis. After the Anschluss, he went to America taking the incomplete work with him. He sought advice about staging the work from Artur Bodanzky who apparently thought it would be difficult to stage because of a racy bedroom scene. Despite trying to create one last big hit for the stage, his hopes were dashed on the commercial and social shoals of the American music scene of the late Depression. So it remained complete only in short score, though Zemlinsky did complete the first 846 bars of Act I and left some meticulous orchestration instructions. Fortunately, Antony Beumont undertook to complete the work, and the brave folks at the Hamburg State Opera put on a production in 1996 under the baton of Gerd Albrecht. Capriccio recorded it. I listened to it.

Second the story. André Gide took the ancient myth of King Candaules and his wife Nyssia and his friend Gyges and changed it a bit. In this version, the king is extraordinarily rich and, well, lucky, and loves to flaunt it. Chief among his possessions is his incredibly beautiful wife, who normally hides behind a veil. The king orders her to reveal her beauty to his friends at a banquet, which she reluctantly does. All are impressed. Gyges, who caught the fish for the banquet, is not present, even though the king invited all to his feast. After the guests find a magic ring in the fish (a magic ring in an opera, what a new idea!), the king wishes to speak with Gyges and summons him. Gyges explains that he caught the fish and explains his dire straits – his only possessions are his poverty and his wife now that his straw hut has burned down. At the party, Gyges discovers that his wife had an affair with another guest and kills her on the spot. The self-absorbed king is shocked, but less at the murder than at the feeling of jealousy Gyges felt, because the king himself never felt anything like it. So he befriends the lowly, homeless fisherman and showers riches on him. When the magic power of the ring is discovered – it renders the wearer invisible! – he invites Gyges to stay in the royal bedroom so as to revel in the full beauty of Nyssia. Gyges reluctantly agrees to watch. Through operatic story-telling, Gyges ends up sleeping with the beautiful Nyssia, and the king ends up feeling a tinge o’ jealousy. When Nyssia discovers the truth about the night of the greatest sex of her life, she orders Gyges to kill Candaules, which he does, and Gyges becomes king and Nyssia his wife. As should be evident, humor is absent from the story, and as presented in the opera the story becomes a dark moral tale. (One of my favorite lines from the libretto comes when the king utters to his wife during the now downtrodden banquet: “Let your wit heal the disaster that your beauty inflicts on them.”) Derive whatever moral you want from the story.

Third comes the music. It fits the story perfectly. It is dark-ish, with not a bit of humor or lightness to be heard anywhere. The sound world can best be thought of as a mix of late Strauss and Berg, with a variety of other late-Romantic and early Modernist Germans thrown in. Examples? Well, one can hear the influence of Mahler, as in the quivering strings in the Prologue that directly recall the opening movement of Mahler 2; of Schoenberg, in the pungently dissonant string and percussion writing and alignment of voices and instruments in amelodic passages; of Strauss, in his swooning strings and incredibly complex yet never gaudy nor unruly orchestral tuttis; of Berg, in the raw emotion evoked by the orchestra. None of this is to say that in this work Zemlinksy cobbled together a mere pastiche. Far from it. I cannot imagine Schoenberg, Mahler or Berg, let alone Strauss ever having written this. While the sound world and technique all betray with unusual clarity the work’s source – it unmistakably emanates from post-Great War Vienna – it nonetheless sounds different enough from other works of that era to remain powerful and unique. Of course, part of the credit must go to Beumont and his light touch; one always feels as though one is hearing what Zemlinsky intended. The first part of the opera that Zemlinsky finished blends right in with the rest. Nothing jumps out and screams that another artist completed the work. Some of the touches are so specific and unique that one can only surmise that specific instructions existed in the short score, as when a muted trumpet is used. As I worked my way through the work, it struck me that this is really a rather quiet opera. The orchestration and music are quite light and unobtrusive, allowing the excellent text to be spoken, sung, and delivered in Sprechstimme with the utmost clarity. Rarely does one get to hear the orchestra unleashed. The end of Act II (during the implied sex scene), and a few times during Act III are about it. But it works. Splendidly.

Something else (at least somewhat) unique to Zemlinsky also reveals itself: despite resorting to all-out sensuousness and beauty at times, this work unfolds in a continuous exploration of sound. There are no set pieces, no hummable tunes, no overtly repeated themes and melodies. Much like Der Traumgörge, the entire work moves inexorably forward, never really letting one absorb and reflect on what came before, and it doesn’t offer one the chance to grab onto any musical trait that may linger in the memory. I mean this in the most positive way possible. The earlier opera contains even more unalloyed aural beauty, to be sure, but this opera commands one’s attention throughout its just over two hour length. Again, as with the earlier opera, I wanted more music. Ultimately, I find the earlier work’s more exotic and decadently late-romantic sound world more appealing, but this fits in well with other, more modern operas (Lulu and Moses und Aron spring to mind) quite well, so I shall keep it and listen again.

Last but certainly not least are the performers. Gerd Albrecht had previously made his presence known in my collection with the 1980 staging of Krenek’s Karl V and Schnittke’s adaptation of the Faust legend, and here he conducts ably. I can’t rate him among the top conductors out there, but he never makes any major errors. I guess he’s sort of a Kapellmeister for 20th Century music. The singers all do reasonably well. I’d be lying if I said they had especially beautiful voices or really grabbed my attention away from the work as a whole, but all do a fine job. James O’Neal plays the lead, Monte Pederson plays Gyges, and Nina Warren sings Nyssia. The other characters are relatively minor and take up relatively little time. The Hamburg State Opera Orchestra play very well indeed. (But I would love to hear this – or other Zemlinsky music – played by the BPO and recorded in the Jesus Christus Kirche that has served so many recordings so well.) The live recording is clear, bright, and has great dynamic range.

Just when I figured I should be happy with only one version of this opera, what did I find but a newer production! Kent Nagano led a revival at the 2002 Salzburg Festival, and though the recording is currently available at an outrageous price ($68 for two discs!), there is another choice. Really, I just need to hear one version, though, right?

"The universe is change, life is opinion." Marcus Aurelius, Meditations