Béla BARTÓK (1881-1945)
Bluebeard’s Castle - Opera in One Act, Op 11 / BB 62 (1911, rev 1912,
1917-18)
Libretto by Béla Balázs
Mika Kares (bass, Duke Bluebeard)
Szilvia Vörös (mezzo, Judit)
Géza Szilvay (Narrator)
Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra/Susanna Mälkki
rec. public performances and additional sessions in Jan 2020 at Helsinki
Music Centre, Finland
Hungarian text and English translation included
Reviewed as a digital download with pdf booklet from
eclassical.com.
BIS-2388 SACD
[59:54]
After over a century, it has become a truism that this one-act masterpiece
focusing on the nature of human experience, love and partnership, and the
relentless thirst for knowledge is now recognised as a ground-breaking
“opera of the mind”. The compelling journey of questions-and-answers and
door-opening revelations explored by its six performance ‘participants’ in
a single hour consistently belies its brevity.
A brief, but essential introductory hook is delivered by an anonymous
narrator, followed by an extended vocal dialogue between Duke Bluebeard and
his fourth wife Judit cast as Everyman and Everywoman. The minimal stage
action and all-important sequence of behind closed-door scenarios are
depicted with an ear-tingling energy of mood, movement and timbre by the
orchestra. Only in their final dialogue do the two main characters briefly
engage together in duet, but by then it’s too late for Judit as she joins
Bluebeard’s three silent, but still ‘living’ previous wives.
All the questions are answered with the return of oblivion and total
darkness, or are they? What of a potential seventh ‘participant’ – the
recurrent strange reverberating sigh that Bartók specifically asks for in
his score? It seems to emanate from the walls and corridors of the castle
itself, but eventually falls silent as Judit acquires more keys to the
doors and answers to her questions. Could this be the warning chorus of the
three previous wives, coincidentally behind the seventh sealed door, or
something else?
Any performance of the opera stands or falls by the quality of the
vernacular enunciation and understanding of the text delivered by the two
main protagonists. As with other contemporary vocal works, particularly
those of Janáček, Debussy, and the Sprechstimme works of the
Second Viennese School, Bartok’s lyrical tailoring of the rhythmic and
accented inflexion of spoken Hungarian has to sound assuredly authentic
throughout. No amount of grand guignol from Bluebeard or vampish hectoring
from Judit can compensate.
Szilvia Vörös and the narrator Géza Szilvay are both to the manner born.
The Finn Mika Kares as Bluebeard clearly worked with a superb language
coach for the performances from which this live recording is taken. He
savours the text as a natural, delivering the slow release of information
to Judit with masterly control and insinuation. Within the overall dramatic
context of the role, however, he’s not always so convincing at conveying the
underlying ambivalence of his character’s growing frustration with Judit’s
persistent and increasingly obsessive questioning. But as the last door
reveals his previous wives, his description of each of them is supremely
eloquent and moving – full of ardour, pain and regret. The sadness of his
closing eulogy resounds with a sense of loss that seems to bear the weight
of the world’s sorrows upon his shoulders. This is thrown into even starker
relief by the avoidance of hysteria from Szilvia Vörös’ Judit. Despite
ever-growing insistence, her composure retains vulnerability and doubt even
as she succumbs to being unsettled, then very afraid and finally terrified
as the realisation dawns that she is irretrievably out of her depth with
Bluebeard and about to become another ‘living’ part of history.
The other main contributor is the orchestra, with Susanna Mälkki coaxing
playing of liquid gold to support her singers. The phrasing and interaction
of the wind section, especially the solo clarinet, oboe, and horn, are
consistently voiced with a subtlety of nuance and colour to match that of
the singers. Every facet of the imagery beyond each door is conjured with a
palpable and kaleidoscopic sense of detail, magic and wonder.
Come the opening of the fifth door onto the vistas of Bluebeard’s realm,
some may find the full organ-supported added trumpets and trombones not
quite as telling as in other recordings. Cannily, however, Mälkki keeps her
powder dry for the two huge climaxes that bookend the opening and closing
of the seventh and last door. Here, the trombone section’s delivery of
Judit to her fate, and by implication Bluebeard to his, is as implacable
and overwhelming as I’ve ever heard – the dynamic range of the sound
readily capturing the full impact and slow-motion breaking wave effect of
the music with spectacular clarity and depth of perspective. All light is
extinguished, leaving Bluebeard alone in total darkness and silence to
contemplate oblivion, or perhaps the arrival of another potential wife …
There are many magnificent recordings of the work, most notably those
conducted by the Hungarians Antal Doráti (Presto special Mercury CD, or
download 4343252), János Ferencsik (Hungaroton HCD11486 or HCD11001 or
HCD12254, with different soloists – see Ralph Moore’s 2018
Survey), and Iván Fischer (Channel Classics/Philips, now Decca 4706332, download
only: Recording of the Month –
review). But no matter how many alternatives you have, Susanna Mälkki’s
performance brings special qualities in abundance and is not to be missed.
Ian Julier
Previous reviews:
Dan Morgan
~
Ralph Moore
