Both singers and opera lovers – and why do I cite these two categories separately? – tend to ignore Beethoven’s only opera, Fidelio. It seems, somehow, to be outside of their standard operatic and theatrical concerns. It is as if it’s not exactly opera, but just…Beethoven. This is a big mistake: For audiences, Fidelio is immensely satisfying. The music is stirring and beautiful both in its melodic invention, its form and construction, and in the aptness of its setting of the drama. Fidelio is a “rescue opera,” so from the standpoint of suspense, the story is exciting. Singers should take note because Fidelio is full of rewarding roles for nearly every voice type. The musical demands are of the bel canto and Mozart kind and give singers with a mastery of these styles plenty of chances to shine. A superb new recording of Fidelio from Naxos (8.660070-71) provides a fine way to study and enjoy this opera.
As singers are often financially challenged, at least in the early stages of their careers, even more good news is that this new Fidelio is available at a super-budget price. Even those to whom cost is no object – and I have always been one of those when it came to the quality of my recorded music, even way back when I was skipping school lunches to save up for records – would not go wrong in choosing this set.
Many of the great conductors of the opera house and the concert hall have left us recordings of Fidelio. Several, especially those of Klemperer, Maazel and Furtwangler are universally admired. However Michael Halász leads a chamber-sized orchestra, the Nicolaus Esterházy Sinfonia and the Hungarian Radio Chorus that equals them all and even surpasses them in certain respects. The quality of his remarkable leadership was revealed to me by the murky turbulence, the lurking sense of danger that occurs several bars into the overture. Unexpectedly, it triggered the hair on the back of my neck like a premonition of bad news. From that moment until the triumphant choral finale, the pace, the superb clarity of detail and of the various lines of the orchestral and vocal writing never let up. This recording has the musical neatness of a studio session combined with the energy and momentum of a live performance. Never have I heard a Fidelio at once so controlled and yet so spontaneous. His tempi are beautifully gauged. This is real music making; this performance really moves. You want legato? You want style? You want the magical synergy of a convincing, profoundly communicative live performance captured on disc? Well, look no further.
In the title role – the young wife, Leonore, disguised as the boy, Fidelio in order to find and save her imprisoned husband, soprano Inga Nielson brings all necessary qualities to the part. Her clear, well-produced and agile voice reminds me of Leonie Rysanek in its mournful, expressive sound. The Danish singer has already made a significant contribution to the catalogue with notably successful recordings of Salome and an Oberon in which she tops all the recorded competition in meeting the demands of that difficult role (Reiza). In the new Fidelio, she again proceeds from strength to strength, identifying with every aspect of the character’s predicament and projecting it with thrilling, moving results. (In spite of the soprano clarity we associate with this role, it has occasionally been sung with great effect by mezzos. In the 1820’s Maria Malibran, making several “extremely musical adjustments,” became a famous exponent of the part. In our time, and on what has been up to now probably the most acclaimed recording of all, Christa Ludwig sang it as written – although she admits that this favorite role taxed her resources to the utmost, necessitating a recuperation period after each performance. I like the boyish aspect that a lower voice gives to the character and certain of the many excellent mezzos of our time might look into pre-empting it for themselves.)
Gösta Windbergh simply lives the role of Florestan, the prisoner who is rescued in the knick of time. If his first cry from the prison cell doesn’t rip your heart out, you might consider medical intervention. His balance of the heroic and the lyric is unequalled by any recorded competition. Alan Titus serves powerful tones and chilling declamation as Don Pizarro and the Rocco, veteran basso Kurt Moll defies time, itself, in the continuing glory of his work. As an innocent but far from clueless Marzelline, soprano Edith Lienbacher sings with great beauty and clarity and an unusually acute projection of the girl’s unique predicament. While not quite up to the absolute excellence of the above mentioned singers, Herwig Pecoraro as Jaquino and Wolfgang Glashof as Don Fernando are never less than completely satisfactory.
Naxos, which is bringing about a mini-revolution in today’s classical recording market, has lavished all care on the technical aspects of the recording and come up with one of their biggest winners yet. At barely twelve dollars, this two-disc set is practically a gift.
