When Wagner arrived in Paris in 1839, his primary aim was to conquer the
stage of the mighty Opéra, the principal ambition of every 19
th
Century opera composer. It was in this context and to this end that he
composed
Der Fliegende Holländer, but the new director of the Opéra
made it pretty plain to him that he would not accept Wagner’s drama. In
1841, Wagner sold the
idea of the story - not the opera itself - to
the Opéra, as he was desperate for funds. The Opéra then entrusted the tale
to two of their librettists who turned it into
Le Vaisseau Fantôme
and gave it to Pierre-Louis Dietsch to set to music. Hence we have two
versions of the same story which premiered in different cities within just a
few weeks of each other: Dietsch’s premiered in Paris on 9 November 1842,
and Wagner’s premiered in Dresden on 2 January 1843.
Marc Minkowski had the brilliant idea of uniting the two works for his
contribution to the Wagner centenary celebrations. It’s an exceptionally
welcome set for historical reasons, not just because it gives us Dietsch’s
opera for what must be its first recording, but also because we get Wagner’s
original thoughts on the
Dutchman, which include quite a few
surprises for anyone who feels they know the score. Most obviously, both the
overture and the very final scene are shorn of their redemptive endings and
end rather abruptly. On top of this, Les Musiciens du Louvre play on period
instruments giving an interesting tang to the sound.
All very interesting, but what’s it like musically? Rather unexciting, I’m
sorry to report. To start with
Holländer, I found that the period
instruments made really very little difference to my understanding of the
piece. I thought that the gut strings would affect the flavour of the music
a lot, but in fact it was the winds that made the biggest impression on me.
The storm music passes for not very much, but the first appearance of
Senta’s theme sounds unusually sweet and appealing. It’s the other less
assertive, more feminine aspects of the score that tend to come off better,
such as the hushed choruses that end Senta’s ballad, and the finest moment
in the whole work arrives with
Wie aus der Ferne. Here, partly
thanks to the singers, but also to a large degree thanks to Minkowski’s
direction of his instrumentalists, I felt that the set got right to the very
heart of the interior dialogue that characterises this music. Here are two
souls that are crying out for one another in the most intimate manner, a
prayer that calls out to whatever and whoever will listen.
Elsewhere, the rest of the performance struck me as really rather slight.
The biggest problem here is Nikitin’s Dutchman. His interpretation, either
by design or by default, comes across as much too lightweight, missing much
of the character’s scale and depth. He finds a little bit by the time of the
final scene, but his opening monologue passes for almost nothing, and I
found that the tragic grandeur of the role was almost entirely absent. Mika
Kares makes a colourful contrast as Daland, and his duet with the Dutchman
in Act 1 is very successful. There is a sweet-voiced Steersman from Bernard
Richter, more of whom below. The pick of the men is Eric Cutler whose
fundamentally light voice grows into the part after a rather underpowered
start. Ingela Brimberg also sounds rather light for Senta, and she struggles
up to her top notes in the final act. That said, she sings most of the role
with success and a rather chilly colour to the voice that tends to work
fairly well.
What of the other
Dutchman? Well, it’s interesting, but only
because you know Wagner’s version of the tale. It’s fun to chart the
parallels and differences of the story, but beyond that you get the definite
impression that the Opéra backed the wrong horse. The overture is of similar
structure to Wagner’s: a storm theme and a more lyrical "love
theme", followed by a more perky major-key section. It's
undoubtedly a pale shadow of Wagner's, though: the storm music is
polite and conventional in comparison with Wagner's sea salt that
whips into your face, while the love music is pleasant but forgettable. That
rather sets the tone for the whole work: lots of pleasing melodies that,
alas, disappear as soon as you've heard them. There are some good
things: the opening chorus is elegant if un-extraordinary, and Magnus and
Minna's not-quite-love duet is attractive, if hardly oozing
frustrated passion. Minna's main Act 1 aria is fairly impressive. It
carries with it some attractive instrumental obbligati, too, and the
ensemble that ends Act 1 is diverting. Minna's ballad, however, is a
definite let-down, especially in comparison with Senta's equivalent,
sounding rather dry and polite. When the orchestral storm actually breaks in
Act 1 it carries little conviction, and would ruffle few feathers, never
mind threaten a ship. Most damagingly, the final "apotheosis", if
you can call it that, is, frankly, pretty lame.
As for the performances, Sally Matthews makes fairly heavy weather of the
opening ballad but she grows into an impressive account of her first act
aria and cabaletta, especially in the closing roulades. Russell Braun also
makes a very impressive figure as Troïl (the Dutchman). His first address to
Minna, full of lyrical ardour, is sung with beautiful - and very French -
tone that suits it brilliantly, and he summons up the appropriate
seriousness required for his big Act 2 aria. Bernard Richter also conjures
up a very French sound for the role of Magnus, and he carries himself off
very well in the Act 1 duet with Minna, tossing off some absurdly
unnecessary high notes with impressive aplomb. He also does a good job as
the tortured priest of the final act. Ugo Rabec makes as much as he can out
of the role of Barlow, Minna's father, who is giving some pleasingly
bluff music to accompany his dreams of his daughter's marriage.
Still, I return to my original view that, while this set is a good idea,
it’s primarily valuable for historical reasons. Minkowski’s singers
are solid without being brilliant, and the period instruments don’t
add that much to the reading of
Holländer. It’s put under even
more pressure by the good competition there is out there for
Holländer,
not least from
Klemperer,
Janowski and, especially, Sinopoli. Furthermore, there
is little in
Le Vaisseau Fantôme that would make me return
to it much. So, despite the noble intentions, I suspect that this set
is principally for the historically minded.
Simon Thompson
