Any new recording of
Tristan und Isolde – especially
a studio made one – has to make some
exceptional claim on the listener’s
attention to warrant comparison with
the great performances of the past.
Fortunately, this new recording does
exactly that; in almost every respect
(and most notably one) it is a formidable
achievement. For many, the main interest
of this set will be in Plácido
Domingo’s Tristan and for a singer who
was 63 when he went into the studio
to set down this most heroic of tenor
roles his singing is indeed remarkable.
Do not expect to hear Domingo attempt
to equal the likes of Jon Vickers or
Windgassen because he doesn’t, but there
are moments when he is simply stunning.
At the end of his long Act III monologue,
"verflucht sei, fluchtbarer Trank!/Verflucht,
wer dich gebraut!" (the end of
track 6, disc 3), he is totally believable
as an accursed and desperate man. It
is one of many moments where Domingo
shades his Tristan with a mortality
and humanity that is breathtaking. That
this Tristan is also more lyrical than
usual adds a warmth to the phrasing
that subverts the occasional toughness
and wiriness that other singers (Vickers,
especially) have brought to Tristan
in the past. This works wonderfully
in the Act II love duets with Isolde
(their first duet "O sink’ hernieder"
is as seductive as any on record); it
is less convincing in Act III where
Tristan’s madness needs rather more
colour in the voice than Domingo is
sometimes willing to acknowledge; and
at times it is sometimes difficult to
distinguish Domingo’s voice from that
of his Kurwenal, Olaf Bär. But
even here, Domingo has some surprises
in store. At "Kurwenal, siehst
du es nicht" (end of track 5, disc
3) Domingo summons up enormous reserves
of vocal power to counter Pappano’s
swelling orchestral intensity. Domingo,
moreover, does seem more willing than
many Heldentenors to evoke a sense of
dreaminess – as opposed to pure delirium
- to Tristan’s hallucinatory rantings.
If Domingo’s tones are not quite as
burnished as some they do not diminish
the effect of this most human and humane
of performances.
His Isolde, the Swedish
soprano Nina Stemme, whom I rather disliked
in the role at Glyndebourne some years
back, has grown into the role magnificently.
As with her current Bayreuth Isolde,
this is a voice that has both youthfulness
and a self-evidently taut vibrato. Yet,
she can be piercing where needed, especially
in Act II where she sings with a range
and accuracy that contrasts effortlessly
with the gloominess and high drama of
her Act I curse. Bill Kenny, reviewing
her Isolde at Royal Swedish Opera in
March
2004, described her voice as being
"lyrical and powerful, completely
free from strain throughout its entire
compass and her acting is both subtle
and persuasive". All of this comes
through on this recording, and she and
Domingo make a formidable pair with
the range of their emotions emerging
with not just great clarity but also
humanistic detail; listen to them together
in Act I, track 10, 2’00 to 4’21 and
both singers achieve quite wonderful
symmetry of passion. On first hearing,
though, some may be slightly disappointed
with her Liebestod which at times
seems to be something of a struggle
for her given Pappano’s overwhelming
orchestral domination. Diction certainly
seems somewhat rushed at times, but
the crystalline beauty of her top notes
is fantastically assured, even against
the orchestra’s electrifying playing.
As with its two leads
the rest of the opera is cast from strength,
extravagantly so in the case of the
small roles of the Shepherd (Ian Bostridge),
the Steersman (Matthew Rose) and the
Young Sailor (Rolando Villazón).
As with a remarkable Act II of Tristan
done at Lucerne last year, René
Pape sings an utterly convincing and
noble King Marke, one which is both
mesmerizing and in which Pape gives
an example of disciplined legato phrasing
that is unrivalled among singers of
the role today. The way he shades his
voice to reflect the playing of the
bass clarinet in his plaintive tribute
to Tristan’s former love (Act II), or
with the ’cellos and the violins in
his tribute to Isolde (again Act II),
convey a very private sense of inwardness.
Mihoko Fujimora is a languid Brangäne,
but one who is also capable of getting
beneath the notes she is singing. There
is a certain fallibility to her tone,
which works well with her characterization
of Brangäne as a clear subservient
of Isolde, but at the same time there
is also a sense of awe in her steady
voice which works to good effect. Jarod
Holt takes his biggest role on disc
to date (as Melot) and he is growing
into a wonderfully assured singer.
One of the problems
with all recordings of Tristan und
Isolde is that none are absolutely
ideal, and this recording is not an
exception to that, outstanding though
it is. What Domingo and Stemme bring
to the roles of the lovers is something
very much of our time (Domingo particularly
has no obvious predecessor) but even
if one does warm to their impassioned
and lyrical singing of their roles one
always looks for just that something
extra. Just as Nilsson could be somewhat
cold in her assumption of the role of
Isolde, and Vickers somewhat overly-subjective,
so Domingo and Stemme lack a complete
apotheosis of what these complex roles
demand. Stemme has one advantage over
Domingo in that she has sung the role
on stage, yet Domingo’s forty years
on the opera stage, and the last fifteen
or so in Wagner, especially as Siegmund,
bear uncommon fruit. He is undoubtedly
inside the role of Tristan and uses
his voice to both sensuous and cathartic
effect. There is no question that his
Tristan is a unique and compelling performance.
Yet, the single most
impressive contribution to this recording
is by the conductor and orchestra, and
it is this which makes the set so indispensable.
Antonio Pappano has sometimes been accused
of lacking the ‘Wagnerian line’, notably
in his recent performances of Die
Walküre. Yet, this Tristan
is stunningly conducted and played.
Swift as it is, with no cuts, what emerges
is a performance of natural pacing,
one which gives the illusion of being
longer and broader than its timings
suggest. Orchestrally, it comes closest
to the recordings of Leonard Bernstein
with the Bavarian State Orchestra (1983)
and Herbert von Karajan with the Berliner
Philharmoniker (1971-2), both of whom
treat this opera as an incandescently
scored symphonic music drama. Pappano
is quicker than either, though he emphatically
misses none of the detail the score
throws up. His Act I Prelude, for example,
clocks in at 11’45 (Karajan takes 12’32
and Bernstein 13’58) yet the detail
is wonderfully drawn: tempi are articulated
as Wagner directs, with no sudden rush
in stringendo towards the Prelude’s
central climax, and the all-important
timpani and the underlying bass line
are beautifully drawn out as they should
be, but which so rarely happens. Hear
Pappano at the Prelude’s central apotheosis
(disc 1, track 1, 7’32 to 8’25) and
you are listening to one of the great
performances of this music. But, if
Pappano encourages his singers towards
an elemental, intuitive lyricism, he
is not necessarily kind to them (as
Goodall invariably could be). Pappano
takes a volcanic view of the score;
climaxes thunder and rage like in few
other recordings, and in this his recording
owes most to Karajan’s studio performance.
His singers struggle, and EMI have not,
as they did for Karajan, made too many
allowances for this. After the lovers
have drunk their potion Pappano encourages
his orchestra to soar above them with
a lushness that almost suggests the
dreaminess of a drug. In Act II, both
Domingo and Stemme are consumed by a
plushness of orchestral sonority that
almost suffocates them. Unlike Vickers,
who for Karajan fought back against
the formidable onslaught of the Berliner
Philharmoniker, Domingo is sometimes
swamped by the Covent Garden forces.
Yet, where Karajan saw beauty only in
the orchestral playing of the Liebesnacht
in Act II, Pappano sees the orchestra
as an extension of the libretto and
as such offers a near ideal balance
between the eroticism of the voices
and the orchestra. Act III opens with
one of the darkest and most spectacularly
despondent performances of the Prelude
I have heard. The sense of desolation
is palpable, and Pappano treats the
long cor anglais solo which follows
it as a single human voice. Throughout
Act III Pappano elicits power surges
from the orchestra that are overwhelming:
Isolde’s arrival is a real climax, for
example, and during the Liebestod
he evokes elemental drama and passion.
None of this would
be possible without the magnificent
playing of the Orchestra of the Royal
Opera House; on this form the greatest
opera house orchestra in the world.
Surprisingly few studio recordings of
Tristan use opera house orchestras
(Goodall’s is the most notable exception),
and yet the advantages of using them
are so obvious when one hears a truly
great performance of this opera. Playing
with an uncanny ability to listen to
each other, the Covent Garden orchestra
are like instrumental voices permeating
the vocal transfiguration. A solo cello
(disc 1, track 3, 1’41, for example)
has a ‘voice’ one simply does not experience
with a symphony orchestra. Similarly,
in Act II Pappano deliberately evokes
individual oboe solos to conjure the
image of Isolde during the first duo;
it’s radiance is utterly human. With
dynamics taken as widely as possible
the sheer beauty of this recording becomes
self-recommending.
Whatever the shortcomings
of this recording - and they are far
fewer than on many rival performances
- there is no question that this is
an important and compelling performance
of Tristan und Isolde. If, as
rumour has it, this will be the last
studio recording of a major opera, then
EMI have ended the history of studio
opera on a very high note indeed.
The bonus DVD contains
the complete opera in 5.1 Surround Sound
audio and an on-screen libretto in German,
with English and French subtitles.
Running time of the DVD is 227 minutes.
Marc Bridle
Royal Opera House Chorus, Covent Garden
