"Ah! Du wolltest mich nicht deinen Mund küssen lassen"
(Final Scene) from Salome (1905)
by Richard Strauss
(Final Scene) from Salome (1905)
by Richard Strauss
An Overview Analysis of recordings: 1921 - 1995
1921 Barbara Kemp *
1929 Göta Ljunberg*
1933 Maria Jeritza (exc) *
1934 Marjorie Lawrence *
1937 Rose Pauly *
1942 Elsa Schulz (exc)*
1943 Maria Cebotari *
1944, 1949, 1952, 1955 Ljuba Welitsch *
1948, 1951, 1954, 1955 Christel Goltz *
1952 Walburga Wegner *
1953 Astrid Varnay *
1954, 1961, 1965, 1972 Birgit Nilsson *
1951, 1955, 1958 Inge Borkh *
1929 Göta Ljunberg*
1933 Maria Jeritza (exc) *
1934 Marjorie Lawrence *
1937 Rose Pauly *
1942 Elsa Schulz (exc)*
1943 Maria Cebotari *
1944, 1949, 1952, 1955 Ljuba Welitsch *
1948, 1951, 1954, 1955 Christel Goltz *
1952 Walburga Wegner *
1953 Astrid Varnay *
1954, 1961, 1965, 1972 Birgit Nilsson *
1951, 1955, 1958 Inge Borkh *
1961 Ingrid Bjoner1962 Margaret Tynes
1966 Leontyne Price *
1968, 1978 Montserrat Caballe *
1970 Gwenyth Jones*
1971, 1972, 1974 Leonie Rysanek *
1965, 1974 Anja Silja*
1977 Hildegard Behrens*
1983 Julia Migenes Johnson
1985, 1990 Eva Marton*
1989 Josephine Barstow*
1990 Cheryl Studer*
1990 Karen Huffstad*
1990, 1994 Catherine Malfitano*
1994 Jessye Norman*
1966 Leontyne Price *
1968, 1978 Montserrat Caballe *
1970 Gwenyth Jones*
1971, 1972, 1974 Leonie Rysanek *
1965, 1974 Anja Silja*
1977 Hildegard Behrens*
1983 Julia Migenes Johnson
1985, 1990 Eva Marton*
1989 Josephine Barstow*
1990 Cheryl Studer*
1990 Karen Huffstad*
1990, 1994 Catherine Malfitano*
1994 Jessye Norman*
Film: 1974 Teresa Stratas
* = Available on Compact Disc
The above listing is not meant to be all-inclusive
Taken from Oscar Wilde’s exotic play of the same title, Richard Strauss’ one-act opera deals with the one-sided, perverse relationship between Salome, princess of Judea and the Christian prophet, John the Baptist. The prophet was imprisoned by King Herod, Salome’s step-father, at his palace in Tiberia, Galilee, about 30 AD. Different from the Biblical version, (which never names Salome) after having danced for her stepfather, Wilde’s Salome demands John the Baptist’s head as reward. When she is discovered fondling and kissing the dismembered head she is crushed to death at Herod’s orders. In the original, Salome asks for the Baptist’s head at the instigation of her mother and after having received it takes it to her. She later marries Herod’s younger brother, Philip. Wilde’s French play was written in Paris during the winter of 1891-92 and was originally intended to be a vehicle for Sarah Bernhardt. The character of Herodias, Salome’s mother, was quite popular at the time, Flaubert’s short story, Herodias having been recently published and Massenet’s opera of the same name having premiered in 1881. Wilde had been enamored with the idea of writing such a work for over a decade and was obsessed with the character of Salome. So much so that he had a startling but fascinating photograph taken of himself in full drag as the Judean princess, kneeling with outstretched arms before a head-filled platter. Despite Wilde’s affection for his play, today Salomé is relegated to a lesser place in his canon of works.
The play was quite popular in Germany, however, (Strauss, himself, saw a 1902 performance) and Anton Lindner offered to create a libretto for Strauss based on a translation of the play by Hedwig Lachman. Strauss, however, fascinated by the musical possibilities, decided to compose directly from Lachman’s text, choosing his own deletions, and shortening its length by about one-third. Through these deletions, Strauss underplayed certain homo-erotic undercurrents in Wilde’s original concerning the attraction of both Herod and the Page to the Syrian Captain of the Guards, Narraboth, but maintained the air of sensual decadence and debauchery which permeates the work.
Perhaps, because of its controversy, Salome was the composer’s first successful stage work, both Gutram and Feurersnot having been unsuccessful. The premiere was originally scheduled for Vienna but censorship problems over the subject forced it to take place in Dresden on December 9, 1905, with Marie Wittich as Salome. The opera did not appear in Vienna until 1918. Within two years of its premiere the work was staged at the Metropolitan Opera in New York with Olive Fremstad. Supposedly, due to the machinations of the Board of Directors (and in particular J. P. Morgan, at the instigation of his daughter) it was taken off the stage after one performance and did not return until 1934 (with Göta Ljungberg in the title role). From 1907 to 1951 the opera only appeared during nine seasons at the Metropolitan totaling 33 performances. London did not see the work until 1910 (the same year they first saw Elektra ) with the Finnish soprano, Aïno Ackté and Sir Thomas Beecham. Objections to the use of a head were solved by using an empty platter with a veil covering it suggestively.
Although Salome only lasts about 100 minutes, its extraordinary final scene has a few built-in obstacles. One is its length (twenty-two pages in the piano-vocal score, about seventeen minutes of continuous singing). It is an endurance test for the prima donna, coming at the end of a long evening and difficult if only for the fact that there are so few moments when she can rest her voice. (In the piano-vocal score, Salome sings from page 176 to 193 (17 pages) with only two, very short spots for rest. It is only when Herod and Herodias briefly speak that she has another moment to relax.)
Another obstacle is its placement after the Dance of the Seven Veils. Although Strauss carefully provides recuperation time after the dance, the singer must be careful of her pacing (vocally and physically) during the course of the opera. The range of the scene is wide, from low, contralto G flat (often replaced by a whispered gasp) to high B flat (at least six) and Strauss asks for all dynamics between forte and pianissimo. Compounding this is the fact that in this scena Strauss’ piani are exceptionally difficult because they usually occur after long sections of hefty, substantial singing. Although shorter (by about three minutes) than Brunhilde’s famous “Immolation Scene” from Wagner’s Die Götterdämmerung, Salome’s finale is the harder piece. Whereas the Wagner aria is smoothly constructed and predominately lies in the middle range with occasional forays into the high register, Salome’s music is craggy and, intervalically, all over the place. Strauss originally envisioned Salome as a “...sixteen year-old princess with the voice of an Isolde.” In 1947, he managed to persuade Maria Cebotari, a light soprano graduating into heavier roles, to perform Salome at Covent Garden. To accommodate her he even reduced his originally large (105 players) orchestration. He was not as successful in convincing the soubrette Elisabeth Schumann, who graciously refused his offer. Strauss also approached the American lyric soprano, Geraldine Farrar, famous for Puccini’s heroines. Farrar also declined, feeling her voice was not dramatic enough. During the 1930s, English soprano Maggie Teyte was approached with the possibility of performing Salome at Covent Garden. Although this never took place, in preparation (or perhaps as an experiment) in 1935, she privately recorded four sections from Salome’s confrontation with Jochanaan with piano accompaniment. Teyte was 47 years-old but her pure, youthful timbre would have offered a fascinating slant on the character had she undertaken the role. Now on VAI CD, these excerpts should be heard as an addenda to the opera by anyone interested in the interpretive posibilities of this role. As should the brief selections, also from this scene, recorded by Emmy Destinn (1907) and Johanna Gadski (1908).
Salome is about obsession and the perversion of worship. John the Baptist worships his God, Salome worships John the Baptist, and Herod worships Salome. The consequences of Salome's reckless obsession is disastrous. Within a single night she is the cause of serious marital disputes, a suicide, an execution, and after descending to madness herself, her own murder. Salome’s morbid monologue to the decapitated head of John the Baptist is one of the most offensive moments in all opera. Yet, for an enterprising diva and her audience it can be riveting. In sections, it is emotionally cyclic. When Salome receives the Baptist’s head, she is triumphant. This moves into a vituperative, mocking section which then merges into one of reflection, yearning and regret. This changes abruptly when Herod becomes aware of her activities and demands that the torches be extinguished; that he and Herodias remove themselves from Salome’s disgusting behavior. Through the revealing moolight, however, she is seen fondling and kissing the lips of the decapitated head. Her confused reaction leads into an exalted, (again triumphant) finish followed by Herod’s immediate order that his guards crush Salome to death beneath their shields.
Salome’s final scene is a theater piece. To be fully effective it should be seen as well as heard - a situation somewhat remedied by the availability of today’s video presentations (at least three are currently available). When only recorded, the soprano must be able to aurally convey Salome’s complex character or the scene digresses into a interminable concert aria. The fact that so many recorded versions are successful is a tribute to the ingenuity of the artists involved. One of the most important qualities needed for a successful (or memorable) recording of this scene is imagination. That and the ability to convey it to a listener. It is these things which bring the listener back time and again.
Many artists have sung Salome on stage, or her final scene in concert, but never recorded their efforts. Fortunately some were preserved on tape. High on this list is the torrential Grace Bumbry who sang Salome internationally from 1971 (Covent Garden) to about 1982. Few artists have managed her thrusting abandon during the scene's final climax. It is most unfortunate she never made a commercial recording of this scene. Others preserved include Laila Andersson, Marisa Galvany, Brenda Lewis, Alessandra Marc, Marilyn Niska, Sylvia Sass, Ursula Schröder-Feinen, Stephanie Sundine and Mara Zampieri.
Mezzo-cum-soprano, Maria Ewing has performed Salome since her first undertaking in Los Angeles, October 1986. A video is available of a 1992 Covent Garden performance. She has yet to commercially record the final scene.
Aside from an all but forgotten effort five years after the premiere, Salome’s final apostrophe was not seriously attempted (even abbreviated) until sixteen years after the premiere. In 1910, a soprano named Adorni recorded a heavily cut version for Italian HMV but I have not located a copy for study.
Much of the problem lies in its length and complexity. It is not an easy task to plot the necessary cuts (musically or textually) to make this scene fit on 78 r.p.m. disc sides. Nonetheless, in 1921, forty year-old Barbara Kemp and Odeon took the chance, providing a fine rarity for the recording catalogue. Thanks to Preiser, it is now on CD. Kemp was a musician of the first rank with a warm, lyrical voice of vibrant color, used with versatility, taste and refinement and whose work was greatly admired by Strauss. Kemp begins at “Ah! Jochanaan du warst schön,” (Ah! John, you were so beautiful) before rehearsal #333. Although additional, internal cuts are made, the important final pages (after the kiss) are present. (A cut is customarily made to excise Herod and Herodias’ comments at the end of this scene for concert performances. A practice also used for early recordings.) Actually, the excisions are extremely well-planned and concentrate on maintaining a logical flow of the text. Despite reduction (it only lasts 7:53), this is an invaluable document. Kemp understands Strauss’ score and knows how to negotiate it - the music easily within her grasp. Interpretively, her Salome differs from what we are now accustomed to, but it is a conception that, at one time, was preferred by the composer. Originally, Strauss wanted Salome portrayed as youthful, but dignified, an Eastern princess, regal in her chasteness and actions. (In his 1942 Reminiscences of the First Performances of My Operas, Strauss noted: "Anyone who has been in the east and has observed the decorum with which women there behave, will appreciate that Salome, being a chaste virgin and an oriental Princess, must be played with the simplest and most restrained of gestures, unless her defeat by the miracle of a great world is to excite only disgust and terror instead of sympathy.") This quality is reflected by his careful and distinct use of dynamics, his admonition that the opera be played as if composed by Mendelssohn, and by Salome’s childish counter-rebukes when rejected by Jochanaan. Unfortunately, because of his inherent musical style, Strauss created music for Salome that is often at odds with such a conception. Having worked with the composer, Kemp’s Salome reflects his original preferences. She is an imposing princess, not a twisted innocent, and her singing resembles a perverse love song to Jochanaan (with much portamento, subtle mood changes and artistic touches) rather than a demonic denunciation. Kemp is one of the few on disc to follow Strauss’ dynamic markings. She substitutes a low A for his G flat on Todes, (death) but it works because of the emphatic dissonance the note creates. Especially fine is her loving presentation of “Dein leib war eine Elfenbeinsaule auf silberin Füssen” (Your body was an ivory column with feet made of silver) with its exquisite caress. The only dissapointment is a curious lack of descriptive tone-painting after the horrific kiss.
Göta Ljungberg recorded a miniscule version of this scene in 1924, the year she sang the Covent Garden revival. Conducted by Albert Coats, it seems more of a rehearsal for the version under Leo Blech in Berlin five years later. Although still shortened, the 1929 rendition better displays Ljungberg’s rapid vibrato and attractively bright voice. Ljungberg includes more music than Kemp but cannot match her fidelity to Strauss’ score. She is obviously uncomfortable having to articulate text on high A or B flat and is best in thrusting passages, rather than climbing lines which show a stoppage of air-flow on consonants. Internal cuts, though different from Kemp’s, are also well-planned. Qualifying the appeal of this rendition, however, is a huge cut which omits Salome’s comments after kissing the head. The Met broadcast of March 10, 1934 was the first (almost complete except that it is missing the Dance) broadcast of Salome to be preserved. Ljungberg’s final scene is dissapointing. She gives an obviously sincere performance but dissects the scene into short, craggy phrases. Top notes are often flat and her voice is short-winded and tremulous. Even though the sound quality of the surviving tape is execrable, it is clear that much of the diction on high notes is ignored. There is also a curious and unecessary cut (from five before #341 to #347) in which Salome describes her physical hunger for Jochanaan.
Excerpts from 1930s Vienna State Opera performances have circulated for decades and are now on CD. These (infuriatingly short) snippets are often harshly illuminating in their presentation of legendary artists. This is especially true of the 1933 selections from Salome which include excerpts from a final scene with Maria Jeritza. They are not representative of her art and are best avoided. For modern listeners, they offer few reasons for her great renown. Jeritza is an indolent-voiced Salome. Her singing is grotesque, sluggish, over-bright and inflexible, short-breathed and sloppy with a seemingly wanton disregard for pitch and rhythmic accuracy so that Strauss’ music is almost unrecognizable.
Elsa Schulz was also captured for a few minutes in Vienna (February 15, 1942) conducted by Strauss himself. Interestingly, Schulz approaches Salome much in the same manner as Jeritza suggesting that the "new" pseudo-sprechstimme interpretive practice was not despised by the composer since he allowed it while conducting. There is little subtlety in Schulz’s performance most of which is un-varyingly loud. Her voice is similar to those of Rose Pauly and Inge Borkh; all three had problems defining pitch in the lower register or in rapidly moving music. Schulz is longer-breathed than Jeritza but there is little word painting and her sluggish diction and legato are often unappealing. Strauss’ tempi are more deliberate than other conductors and surprisingly unremarkable.
In 1934, two years after her debut, twenty-five-year-old Marjorie Lawrence left posterity the first complete recording of this scene (except, of course, the exchange between Herod and Herodias). Unfortunately, it is the French version Strauss re-composed shortly after the 1905 premiere and used by Mary Garden at New York’s Manhattan Opera in 1909 - her portrayal judged quite vulgar). To accommodate the translation into French, Strauss modified the vocal line to match the contrary inflections of that language, sometimes reversing its direction. This smoothing of his angular composition alters its texture and impact drastically - from visceral to sensual. Because of this, interest in Lawrence’s version is as a curiosity rather than as representative. Nonetheless, it is a fascinating document, seductively sung with a good command of all registers, defined mood changes and overt sensitivity. Most interesting are Salome’s murmurs after kissing the head which Lawrence delivers with relish and which sound particularly blasphemous in French.
Between 1921 and 1937, there was a gradual shift in the interpretive priorities of this role that was silently approved by the composer. Artistic nuances (the careful adhering to dynamic markings) originally favored by Strauss (and Kemp) were replaced by big, full-throated, occasionally excessive dramatic singing. Over the ensuing decades this has resulted in a clear division of interpretations that occasionally meet in the middle. On one side are the “vocal” artists who exploit the dramatic power of their instruments and on the other are “interpretive” artists who explore either the subtle or overt devices possible in this music. Both camps make pertinent statements concerning the validity of their position and, different from most other operatic repertoire, both are supported by the composer’s music. Not surprisingly, because of this, the range of interpretations is quite vast and, in general terms, each can be enjoyed for their own slant on Strauss' score.
Hungarian-born Rose Pauly never commercially recorded Salome’s final scene but a live performance (March 18, 1937) with the New York Philharmonic under Arthur Rodzinski is now on CD. Pauly studied the role with Strauss and he remained (in her words) “a benevolent advisor” throughout her career. Pauly’s few commercial (and live) recordings show a warm voice with a rapid vibrato, similar to Inge Borkh’s. Both were able to manufacture a bite in their lower register which often lent a shrewish tinge to their interpretations. Pauly is intense in the 1937 performance but makes odd rhythmical errors. Notable, however, is her sense of cosmic wonder during Salome’s most important phrase: “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe is grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) and in which she supplies a solid, low G flat on “Todes.” The phrases after the kiss drip with arrogant nastiness.
Born in Rumania in 1910, Maria Cebotari only lived to the age of 39. In 1947, two years before her death, she alternated with Ljuba Welitsch as Salome at Covent Garden. Her commercial recording (reputedly taken from a radio broadcast), however, was made four years earlier and is now on CD. Cebotari’s voice was quite beautiful, and lighter than most that undertake this role but she manages an emphatic, willful performance. Even so, Strauss’ music stretches her abilities. Cebotari is unable to match Kemp’s gentle touches because she cannot pull her voice back from the forte (and pressure) she has adopted to sing this music. Rother’s tempo for Salome’s whispers after the fateful kiss is misjudged, lacking recognition of what has occurred on stage. The use of a concert postlude (probably the work of Rother) instead of Strauss’ ending was a mistake. It is inappropriate and destroys the mood. A 1947 Covent Garden performance was preserved and although in poor sound, it provides a better picture of the particular qualities Cebotari brought to this scene. She is imaginative and offers focussed intensity and an excellent top. Friedrich also frames her in better tempi than Rother. Cebotari obviously needed an audience to bring out necessary additional adrenaline since there is an added dimension in this performance. Although almost identically phrased as her commercial effort there is an added frisson of excitement in the stage performance. Especially fine is the haughty abandon of “Wohl! Du hast deinen niegesehn” (Well! You have seen [your God]).
Occasionally an artist’s voice, technical abilities and temperament perfectly match a particular role. So it was with Bulgarian soprano, Ljuba Welitsch (born 1913) and Salome. Fortunately, she was able to study and perform the role under Strauss. To date, she has probably best fulfilled his ideal. Without artifice, Welitsch offered crisp diction, clean pitch, a youthful, crystal-clear timbre and an easy soar in the top range - not to mention a suitably petulant, little-girl face and an uninhibited, passionate temperament. She was a torrential performer, one who excelled in full-throated, dramatic singing rather than lyrical subtlety. It is Welitsch’s cool indifference to Strauss’ technical hurdles that often translates as more shocking than the interpretive excesses of other artists. Without extraneous effects Welitsch offered a peculiarly monstrous, spoiled, little-girl quality that translated perfectly on recording. At least five versions with her are available. At one time a sixth circulated. Made in 1948, in Vienna, it was conducted by Karajan. Originally five 78 sides, the master of side 2 was accidentally damaged during transit. The scene remained unpublished until 1978 when it was released as it was by World Records. And a few years ago EMI released it on CD as is as part of their Karajan series. Welitsch is remarkably consistent throughout this decade of performances but it is only in the earliest performance that she offers a few of Strauss’ pianissimi.
At the age of twenty-one, Welitsch’s 1944 Vienna performance under Matacic is a wonder. Different from later efforts, this account finds Welitsch sporadically sharping or flatting, suggesting that the shape or direction of the music was not yet comfortably within her voice and she had yet to finalize her pacing. This version makes important musical statements, however, and contains unforgettable moments. A superb legato links even the most disjunct intervals, and there is an excellent pianissimo on “geliebt,” (two measures before #349), and a telling ritard on “...sind jetzt geschlossen. Warum sind sie geschlossen?” ([Your eyes] are now unseeing, Why are they so unseeing) [after #324] neither of which occur in her other versions. Welitsch obviously enjoyed singing low G flats and in this performance easily sustains the note past Strauss’ requirement. Most memorable is her tainted coloring of Salome’s mumbles after kissing the decapitated head. Her exaggerated pronunciation of “Mund” (mouth) is most disturbing for its lascivious caress, and her whispered “schmecke” (taste) evokes disgusting visions. Welitsch’s move into the triumphant final measures is smooth, her voice easily soaring to the pair of high A sharps. Different from others, in the penultimate phrase Welitsch uses the higher alternate of D sharp instead of G sharp in the lower middle register on “Jochanaan” which keeps her voice placed in the head rather than having to switch registers.
Five years later (at the ripe age of twenty-six), Welitsch made a classic recording with Fritz Reiner for Columbia which is fortunately now on CD. This wonderful version not only reflects the good points of her Metropolitan Opera performances that year but betters them. Now stage-savvy, Welitsch has so securely worked Strauss’ music into her voice that nothing distracts her concentration. The pitch problems of 1944 have been corrected and the scene is perfectly paced and phrased, Welitsch sounding as fresh at the end as when she began. This is full, open-throated singing with all registers smoothly connected, the important middle-register speaking cleanly. Although high pianissimi of 1944 have disappeared, low G flat remains frighteningly vivid. Similar in almost all respects is the Metropolitan Opera broadcast of March 12, 1949 (also with Reiner). This has been available on pirated LP for decades and is now on CD. Although consistently phrased, one notices Welitsch occasionally grabbing on throat muscles to manipulate her voice into a semblance of piano (as in “du warst schön”). Also, high reaches are often shy of pitch. The measures after the kiss, however, are vividly projected and even more emphatically delivered than on the commercial Columbia recording.
The January 19, 1952 Metropolitan Opera broadcast (on both Myto and a Metropolitan Opera Guild CD), again with Reiner, shows problems in Welitsch’s middle-register. Although only three years after her first Salome at the Met, that area sounds frayed, suggesting technical problems or that she was either singing through a cold or experiencing severe problems with allergies. The voice still boasts amazingly accurate intervallic leaps and thrusts, but the area between F at the bottom of the staff to C in the middle is wispy, foggy and surprisingly weak. To compensate, Welitsch carries her chest register dangerously high and infuses overt dramaticism into her portrayal. Her voice seems less sturdy than before and she often rushes the beat in certain phrases to get through them quickly and consequently the scene loses its broad sweep, phrases are less integrated and remain small units. On the other hand, this middle-register weakness lends a soft femininity to her timbre, an oddly appealing, vulnerable quality that, in turn, provides an additional edge of repulsiveness to the character and situation.
Another version comes from a 1955 Stuttgart concert led by Hans Müller-Kray. The music remains easily within her grasp. One notices, however, that although the middle-register begins clean and clear, as the scene progresses it loses focus (especially near G in the staff) proving that the problems in 1952 were technical not medical. Welitsch compensates by forming brighter vowels to help cut through the heavy orchestration. The low G flat is still easily reached and high notes ring true. Unfortunately, Müller-Kray opts for the insipid Rother ending and so, despite Welitsch’s grand finish, the scene ends limply.
Contemporary with Welitsch, Christel Goltz was also famed for vivid stage performances of the Judean princess. Different from Welitsch’s fastly-spun, almost chilly singing, Goltz’s floated, syrupy timbre lent a sweet, cloying decadence unique to her interpretation. According to reports, during the final scene her interaction with the head had to be seen to be believed. That may be true, but it does not translate to disc. Goltz’s voice had an excessive use of mouth and nose resonance. Consequently, it had a monochromatic timbre that becomes tiresome. There was also an unattractive sliding, swooping legato which does not register as erotic only sloppy. To Goltz went the distinction of recording the first complete Salome. She followed it with 2 more (1954, 1963). Her best remains the first, 1948 version with the orchestral forces of Dresden conducted by Joseph Keilberth. By her final EMI rendition, the voice was showing signs of wear and there are no new nuances that need examining.
Although the 1948 version is Goltz’s best effort, it has some faults. Oddly she leaves out the repeated “Ah!” after rehearsal #332. There are odd pitches and although her high notes are secure, they lack immediacy and have little soar. Also disappointing is the fact that most of her singing is the same, monotonous dynamic throughout and shows little imagination. Combined with her monochromatic timbre, this makes the scene seem endless.
A 1951 Recital recorded by Deutsche Gramophone included a complete final scene conducted by Ferdinand Leitner with no less than Hetty Plumacher and Fritz Wunderlich as Herodias and Herod. Many of the same virtues and problems are evident in this version although one now notices that high G sharp is occasionally under pitch.
The complete recording with Clemens Krauss (1954) shows little change in Goltz's voice but some welcome word painting. Top A sharps are now marginally flat and the passages after the kiss are surprisingly ineffectual. Tempi often seem ponderous and are not helped by Goltz’s one-dimensional singing. A final scene with Goltz from a Metropolitan Opera broadcast of January 8, 1955, was used as filler for an Arkadia CD of Inge Borkh’s 1958 Met broadcast of Salome. Conducted by Dimitri Mitropoulous, it proves that Goltz was more uninhibited in front of an audience. Interpretively it surpasses all her commerical efforts. A welcome change is Goltz’s imaginative coloring of Salome’s murmurs after the kiss which are quite nasty. By this time, however, her voice shows a wide beat on sustained high notes.
Walburga Wegner, who retired in 1968, was Salome for the second complete recording of the work made in December 1952, shortly after her Metropolitan Opera debut. In Vienna, Wegner inherited Salome from Ljuba Welitsch. Although less-known than either Welitsch or Goltz, Wegner was quite successful in sounding youthful, her fastly-spun, tightly-knit vibrato and clear, light-timbred voice much like that of Welitsch. Rudolf Moralt, a Strauss champion at that time keeps the scene moving - although at times a bit too fast. Wegner gives a satisfactory account if without much imagination or individuality. A number of pitches are suspect and one gets the impression that this music is too heavy for her natural gifts. She does, however manage a fine sense of thrust and an occasional piano. Unfortunately, “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe is grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) does not work, and the CD release adds an unwarranted brightness to the top of her voice.
In 1953, Astrid Varnay recorded a final scene which is an amazing display of stamina. Admittedly, she sounds matronly, her Wagnerian instrument nowhere near resembling a sixteen year old, but her technique is secure, the voice solid from top to bottom (including a fine low G flat) and her attack is clean. This is an “easy sing” for Varnay, proven by her nonchallant ability to soften her voice at will. Although one might quibble at the inherent monochromatic whine of her top register (it whitens around A flat and higher) there is a tapering of phrases ignored by other artists, clean, clear diction (even in rising lines to high B flat) and superb pitch. Especially notable is Varnay’s pianissimo in the phrase, “... geheimnisvolle Musik” with its difficult F sharp at the top of the staff. After the kiss, Varnay points the lines well and rightly saves the climax until “Allein was tuts?” (So what?) The finish finds Varnay encompassing the long, difficult lines in single breaths and interestingly, instead of the final “Mund,” she substitutes “Jochanaan,” as in the conclusion of the French version.
Inge Borkh was originally an actress but, turning to music, she made her operatic debut in Der Freichütz in 1940. This was a fastly-spun voice with an excellent top but a bottom-register that often dissipated into its own vibrato, obscuring pitch. Borkh never commerically recorded Salome complete but fortunately she can be heard in live performances. The 1951 final scene, from a Munich performance (on Orfeo CD), is one of the slowest captured but shows prodigious breath control and a brightly responsive instrument. Throughout her distinguished career Borkh was never content with just singing loud, but interpreted with imagination and the last few pages of this scene are especially brilliant.
The December 10, 1955, RCA commercial recording is ably supported by Fritz Reiner and best demonstrates her art. This single effort by Borkh is more interesting than the many by Goltz, even though Borkh’s voice is less youthful, obviously fuller and more dramatic. Throughout, Borkh provides good textual painting, clean attacks on high notes and a refreshing use of dynamics - as if in a subtle attempt to return to Strauss’ original intent. One also welcomes Reiner’s discernible changes in tempi which provide better contrasts within the music and a better overall shaping of the scene. Reiner not only shows an innate sensitivity for this music, but also his artist’s capabilities. Borkh cannot manage Strauss’ low G flat but offers the logical substitute of a voiceless sprechstimme. After the terrible kiss, she clearly sounds frightened, then thoughtful, then follows with a smooth transition into a “who cares” attitude - triumphantly singing the difficult final phrases in single breaths. This is an excellent rendition that bears-up well to repeated hearings.
The February 8, 1958 Metropolitan Opera broadcast, conducted by Dimitri Mitropoulos, is intensely sung but Borkh’s voice seems taxed by Strauss’ demands, suggesting that she may have been having an off-day. (Especially since Borkh continued to sing well, and record through the 1960s.) Oddly, Ljungberg’s cut (from five before #341 to #347) is used.
While Christel Goltz was recording Salome and Inge Borkh was singing the role throughout Europe, a new soprano was trying it out in her homeland. Birgit Nilsson’s undertaking of Salome ten years after her professional debut signaled the beginning of another shift in expectations of this role. She sporadically sang Salome’s finale for the next thirty years. One of the last was during an outdoor concert with James Levine in Philadelphia, (June 25, 1984), when Nilsson also offered Isolde’s Act I Narration and Curse. Although the sixty-six-year-old diva had occasional problems with breath support, and the voice was little more than a shadow of the instrument of 1954, her performance was an amazing testament to the natural solidity of her voice and technique after forty years of professional singing.
The Swedish-sung, 1954 performance finds Nilsson giving a grand, sweeping performance, big-voiced but with admirable control and gentle, almost sweet touches. Aside from her ease in the top register and her voice's resilience and natural power, Nilsson’s ability to delicately shade her sound was the most impressive feature of her voice. The Swedish translation rarely bothers and Nilsson uses her brightly distinctive, tightly-knit vibrato and clarion top to provide a willful performance that anticipates her account with Solti. Pitch is excellent as are the clean and clear attacks on high notes. Nilsson has said she learned how to produce her high notes by having to sing over a cold. This up-and-over technique of securing high notes has always been evident during her career and provides its own intensely visceral excitement. Despite this idiosyncratic technique (which often can isolate individual high notes) everything is smoothly connected and low G flat is easily reached. Sixten Ehrling’s pacing of tempi is excellent - weaving all together into an errie fabric. After the “kiss” Nilsson’s drugged-sounding Salome is full of wonder, and the huge finish (slower than most) is excellently judged.
In 1961 Nilsson and Georg Solti collaborated to create one of the great operatic sets. Produced by John Culshaw at the Sofiensaal in Vienna, it was the first of the short-lived Sonicstage technique recordings, providing listeners with a remarkably vivid account of the score. Presented as an orchestral tone poem with voices, Solti illuminates orchestral fabrics usually lost to listeners and, with Nilsson, provides a virtuoso performance. Forget about Salome being a sixteen year old. This is a woman furious at being rejected. As such, it is a vivid portrayal amplified not only by the many bursts of brilliant high notes thrusting into the studio’s acoustics but also by the many textural touches with which Nilsson underlines Salome’s many mood changes. One or two high piani give her trouble (she was happiest in full throttle) but these are minor moments. The one flaw in this classic performance is the long, high G sharp on “küssen,” (in the opening) which is under pitch. Flatting was an unusual occurance with Nilsson whose vibrato naturally oscilated upwards and so had a tendency to sing sharp. Although never stated, because of the excellence of the rest of the scene I suspect it was done in one take and Solti and Nilsson justifiably decided to “ignore” this one, obviously underpitch, note. Most evocative is Nilsson’s prolonged “s” on “Todes” which vividly hisses through the acoustics like some poisonous viper. From the moment Herod and Herodias have their exchange Solti drastically alters the mood to something darkly sinister and loathsome. Gerhard Stolze brilliantly delivers his lines in foul, frightened whispers, perfectly setting the mood for Nilsson’s disembodied, raspy murmurs to the severed head. This section should not be listened to in the dark.
A live performance from the Teatro Colon (September 21, 1965) on Ornamenti CD proves that what Nilsson accomplished in the recording studio four years earlier was exactly what she offered to audiences in the theater. Sebastian’s conducting is sound and the performance has the added benefit of consistency in that it has the same Jochanaan and Herodias (Waechter and Hoffmann) as the commercial Decca recording.
In 1972, during a gala honoring Sir Rudolph Bing (excerpts recorded by Deutsche Gramophone), Nilsson sang this scene under Karl Böhm. It can be enjoyed for the sheer thrill of hearing Nilsson unleash her massive voice in this music. Almost a decade after the Colon performance, the voice is heavier but remains completely responsive to Strauss’ demands, including the many gentle, heady touches typical in a Nilsson performance. Böhm understands this music, especially its subtle requirements - and creates a fine, lyrical flow that aptly supports Nilsson’s complete mastery. After the kiss, Nilsson purposefully spreads her vowels to give the successful impression of a nasty taste.
Ingrid Bjoner’s version (on Melodram LP) is from a 1961 Berlin concert conducted by Hannes Richrath, four years after her professional debut. Like Christel Goltz, Bjoner’s placement incorporated mouth and nose resonance but it was less extreme. This was an attractive, lyrical voice that became labored when too much pressure was applied. At this point in her career Bjoner was better suited to the ethereal float of the Kaiserin in Die Frau Ohne Schatten or Daphne rather than the dramatic, craggy declamation needed here. Whereas Nilsson’s voice naturally suited Salome’s mad ravings, Bjoner had to make compensatory adjustments for them to work in her voice. Because of this loud high notes often develop a beat and lose their natural sheen due to excess pressure. The more gentle passages, such as “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death), and the F# on “Musik” are beautifully floated. It is in such phrases that Bjoner’s voice is best presented. The low G flat is replaced by an effective toneless gasp but unfortunately, the music after the kiss is unimaginatively presented.
The American soprano, Margaret Tynes, first sang Salome at the Spoleto Festival in 1961 under Thomas Schippers and sang the role during the 1960s. Her 1962 Qualiton LP recital included this scene and it is a good re-creation of the intense, colorful performances she offered audiences. This was a warm, attractively-spun voice of great temperament, much in the mold of Grace Bumbry, with a loquacious projection of the text which only occasionally is heavy-handed or not cleanly articulated. (Pal Varga's tempi are a bit ponderous, forcing Tynes to work hard to knit together her phrasing.) "Du warst schön" (You were lovely) is especially lovely as is the next phrase with its soft top G sharp. Notable in her rendition are the final pages which are quite errie. Like Varnay, Tynes tastefully keeps the climax muted until "Was Tuts?" Her finish is vibrant and freely produced, with both long phrases admirably integrated into the rest of the music so that neither jump out at the listener as "the end" - a novel effect. Long out of print, this LP recording is worth seeking. Although Tynes was overshadowed by such singers as Leontyne Price and Martina Arroyo, she was an underrated artist and her interesting work is worth investigation.
Although asked many times, Leontyne Price refused to perform Salome on stage. She did, however, sing the final scene in concert. Her RCA recording with Erich Leinsdorf coincided with her debut of the scene with him (March 15, 1965). Price provided the Salome canon with a fascinating, if unorthodox entry. Price may have had reservations about performing the role on stage but she obviously enjoyed singing the scene in concert. (Along with “Zweite Brautnacht” from Act II of Aegyptische Helena, it became one of her most popular concert numbers.) Although her naturally dusky middle register and Italianate manner were not really suited to this music, her ease among Strauss’ high, soaring lines was. On the debit side is a too stately tempo, Price’s tendency to unattractively swoop through phrases, and a cloudy middle voice that does not speak as cleanly as one would like. (This is a typical problem with the operatic spinto-soprano voice. It does not necessarily mean that there are technical problems with the production of the voice.) On the other hand, Price contributes many personal touches to Strauss’ music that are peculiar to her rendition and which vividly portray her concept of the character. There is a defined interpretation here, one carefully created to work on the listener’s sensibilities. The difficult soaring lines are easily within her grasp and since Price had a top E in her range the high tessitura poses no problems. At the other end, she manages a short G flat. The finish is deceptively beautiful. Interpretively, Price’s intimate, almost sexual caress of the soaring, concluding lines is horrible for its disgusting suggestiveness. Instead of some final exaltation, it is as if the scene is to continue: Salome about to participate in some unmentionable act involving John the Baptist’s head - a thought more appalling than the expected, demented triumph. (Price continued to offer this scene on concerts during the next 20 years. One of her last performances was with James Levine at Ravinia in the summer of 1984. By that time, however, her singing had degenerated into a series of grotesque, self-indulgent mannerisms. Both that performance and the one given the year before with Seji Ozawa are perversely fascinating for the distortions inflicted on Strauss’ music but remain twisted travesties of Price’s original concept.)
In 1968, Montserrat Caballe recorded a controversial complete recording with Erich Leinsdorf for RCA Victor. Many criticized the suitability of her voice and manner for such a Germanic work but her Salome remains a remarkable achievement. Caballe sang this role on stage as early as 1959 (in Vienna), so when she recorded it for RCA she was quite familiar with its requirements. Although never a staple of her repertoire, Salome was a favorite role and one which she sang on stage as late as 1989, in Barcelona. (The January 5th performance was broadcast, showing the soprano still able to provide a colorful account of the scene.Caballe paints an extraordinary, complete portrait of Salome.)
Caballe's Salome is a more youthful character than that of Nilsson, but one just as nasty and capable in high outbursts. Caballe offers an individual timbre, clean pitch and diction, potent rhythm, solid legato, a floated caress of phrase that more than suggests Salome’s erotic obsession with Jochanaan, and countless nuances all of which provide a realistic, multi-faceted aural picture of this role. Leinsdorf frames Caballe within a remarkably fluid, lyrical framework that vacillates as rapidly as Salome’s moods. Especially beautiful is “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) with its minuscule high G pianissimo and solid G flat on Todes over two octaves lower. After the kiss Caballe sounds stunned and, like Varnay and Tynes, is one of the few artists to recognize the importance of understating the following “Nein! Doch es Schmeckte vielleicht nach Liebe” (No! Perhaps it is the taste of love) so as not to give away the climax before its time (“Allein was tut’s?” [Who cares?]). Caballe’s emphatic finish provides a fine touch. I would not want to be without this recording.
Ten years later Caballe recorded the scene with Leonard Bernstein for Deutsche Gramophone. Consistently interpreted, the top voice occasionally spreads and appears difficult because of her approach to high notes (which often shoot out of phrases). Also, consonants (or entire words) are often ignored when in this area and the scene is not as smoothly negotiated as in 1968.
Like Nilsson, Jones’ Salome is a self-assured force of nature bent upon revenge and destruction. Her voice is strong and clean from top to bottom and our old friend: “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) has an unearthly beauty. At the other end, Jones manages a soft, low G flat. Böhm again provides strong, flexible and well-paced, supportive accompaniment. Jones sang Salome for almost twenty years, her last performance being with the San Francisco Opera in September, 1987.
Leonie Rysanek, the impressionist of sopranos, is a special case. Like Gwenyth Jones, Rysanek was a singer that needed to be seen in the opera house. And it must be admitted that one would never, in good conscience, recommend her recordings in order to learn notes or rhythm of a role. Accuracy was never the reason one went to see Leonie Rysanek in the opera house. But one could recommend them without reservation to demonstrate the accurate concept of soaring, Straussian style and that indefinable elusive something called vocal charisma. Rysanek was a vocal tornado with that indescribable quality inherent to unique performers. Compensating for obscure (or just wrong) pitches was her intense commitment to operatic music and an ability to clearly project character. Like Callas, Gencer and Scotto, Rysanek painted in broad strokes and was not a miniaturist by nature. Not surprisingly, she gave few concerts of operatic excerpts. Rysanek did not undertake Salome until 1971, some twenty years into her career. She sang the role for about a decade but never commercially recorded any of its music. Of her Strauss roles Salome less suited her than the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier, the Empress in Die Frau Ohne Schatten or Chrysothemis in Elektra. Rysanek’s voice was warm and fastly-spun, capable of tremendous thrust and visceral soaring, but Salome's spiky music did not suit her gifts. Although her vibrato was naturally rapid, as Rysanek descended into her middle-register it began to decrease in its oscillations as muscles began to interfere with production. During the 1980’s this was evident by the odd, shaking tremolo she acquired during descent into the middle-register as muscles fought for control. Rarely obtrusive, it lent a colorful, sobbing quality to those lines. The particular construction of Salome's music, however, is not compatible with this type of middle-register problem. Also, Rysanek's natural, overly-ripe timbre hindered projection of a youthful, petulant innocent.
Three performances of Rysanek’s final scene are now on CD. More than any other artist discussed here, Rysanek’s performances underline the problems inherent with recording this piece. Rysanek creates an oddly attractive but diaphanous concept of the scene’s pitch and rhythm. Although not suitable for scrutinization, it has a powerful effect all its own. Her first verdion is from a Melodram CD of a Munich performance, July 26, 1971, with Ferdinand Leitner. It has typical Rysanek sharping and altering of rhythms and broad, interpretive strokes. It is an incredibly intense, furious performance with grand, dramatic accents. Her recalcitrant middle-register contributes fascinating colors and is contrasted by searing, abandoned thrusts to high notes. (Rysanek’s hollow, sluggish middle register was especially unruly between F at the bottom of the staff and B flat in the middle. Although a flaw in her production, she never forced this area and it remained basically unchanged through some forty years of professional singing.) Rysanek’s mature, sensuous voice is not girlish but its use definitely sounds obsessively motivated.
The next performance has recently been released on BMG as part of their Vienna State Opera series. It dates from December 22, 1972. New to her (otherwise consistent) interpretation is a shriek of satisfaction as the head is presented. (Rysanek loved to scream in performance and her interpretations are often peppered with this overt but effective device.) Salome's music is securely in her voice and she offers tremendous authority, incorporating more nuances than before. Thanks to Böhm, sections are smoother in their connection and presentation. Errors from the year before have been corrected but, oddly, new ones appear.
The final version dates from 1974. (A filler for a Standing Room CD release of a 1965 Vienna performance of Elektra with Nilsson and Rysanek.) This is the best representation of Rysanek’s Salome. The dramatic vehemence of previous performances is built upon and formidably presented. Special in this account is “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) which boasts a tiny high G (almost G sharp) pianissimo. (This phrase was always a problem for Rysanek. By this time, however, it had been satisfactorily worked out.) The murmurs after the kiss are wonderfully evocative and particularly loathsome, her wayward pitch and hollow, foggy tone adding a psychotic edge to the natural unease of this music. Rysanek finishes with an awesome accent on the final “Mund.”
Anja Silja sang Salome as early as 1965, at the age of twenty-five. She continued to sing the role until 1978. As if trying to emulate the versatility of Lilli Lehmann (1848-1929), Silja became famous for her outrageous switch from predominantly florid roles of Olympia and Queen of the Night to dramatic roles such as Elektra and Brunhilde. She made her debut as Rosina in 1956, but by 1960 she was singing Senta. Her voice paid the price for such recklessness. Initially, hers was a slender, high, bright, Slavic-tinged instrument with a floated, wiry top register pinched to the back of the throat (a placement favored by many Slavic florid artists). Due to the excessive pressure she applied to her voice, however, it soon acquired a slow beat on sustained notes, lost much of its sheen, projecting power and fluidity, and became erratic. (It should be noted, however, that as late as 1990 Silja was performing successfully, though by this time specialising in dramatic-mezzo roles such as the Nurse in Strauss’ Die Frau Ohne Schatten and Kostelinichka in Jenufa. A Zurich performance of the Nurse in the Frau, in November 1994 found her voice still serviceable, with a fine top B.)
Silja was a noted Salome during the 1960s (she made her American debut in the role in November, 1968). Her first, 1965 Vienna performance has been preserved (Myto CD) showing Silja’s young voice responsive to immediate vocal attack. Even this early in her career, however, she used the mannerism of a prefacing lean-in note for attacks on high notes, a kind of miniscule appoggiatura. (Also used by Renata Scotto to “hook-into” high notes.) The 1965 Vienna performance is an excellent document of an unusually girlish-sounding Salome with the bite of a viper. Silja easily negotiates the treacherous lines of Strauss' score and provides a fine, well-rounded portrait of the young Princess. Especially vivid are Silja’s murmurs after kissing the head.
Her 1974 version of the final scene was commercially recorded in Vienna for Decca with her husband, Christoph Dohnanyi. It is an oddly un-affecting performance, especially from one who frequently sang the role on stage. Although the voice sounds young and stubborn, interpretive effects do not register as well as Silja intends and her pinched top is aurally tiresome and lacks immediacy. Both the tempi and Silja’s singing lack abandon and necessary sweep of phrase. There is also a casualness to her singing (perhaps meant to sound easily nonchallant) that does not translate well on recording.
Although Teresa Stratas did not commercially record Salome's final scene, in 1974 she made the first film of Salome conducted by Karl Böhm. Because of the quality of her work in the final scene of that film, she deserves inclusion. Salome is not a role Stratas should do on stage but the clear delivery of her concept justifies her assumption on film. Her performance is notable for clean, lyrical tone and an adolescent timbre with just a hint of colorful mouth resonance. There is much artistic tapering and Böhm, so wonderful with this particular score, paints a relaxed, atmospheric mood to surround Stratas’ singing. A colorist, Stratas freely exhibits that gift in an intense, committed performance, managing not only the important piani but also full-throated lunges into the high register and clear mood delineations. “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) is perfect, boasting a haunting atmosphere, a wonderful pianissimo G at the top and solid G flat at the bottom. After the kiss, Stratas drains her voice of its natural timbre and Böhm’s tempo perfectly underlines the horror of what has occurred on stage. Dramatically, the video emphasizes Stratas’ intense concentration on the Baptist’s head to the exclusion of all else around her. She lip-syncs well (not an easy feat) and her Salome is definitely triumphant, definitely demented. The kiss a religious experience.
Behrens’ complete recording of Salome was made before she sang the role on stage. Recorded in Vienna by Decca engineers for EMI (May, 1977), with Herbert von Karajan, it was in preparation for stage performances at the Salzburg Festival that summer. When initially released, the recording was considered a revelation. Behrens' is a virtuostic rendition rivaling that of Ljuba Welitsch and a surprising achievement for someone yet to have sung the role onstage. Like Nilsson, Behrens signals a fascinating, and still current, shift of interpretive priorities of Salome, a melding of both camps into a satisfactory composite of approaches which is continued in the work of Barstow, Studer and Norman. Working with her naturally youthful, responsively lyric instrument, Behrens creates a vivid character through an uninhibited use of her voice. It is dangerous, but unforgettable. Without mannerism, Behrens imaginatively uses her complete palette of colors and resonances to amplify the text, embodying everything between an adolescent and a mature, vengeful fury. No one has matched her remarkably evocative, snarlingly hateful singing of the section, “Und diene Zunge, sie spricht kein Wort” (And your tongue, it doesn't speak a word) “diese Scharlachnatter” roughly chested. Pitch, rhythm and painissimi are excellent and her concept of phrase structure is sound. After the fateful kiss, Behrens (like Caballe and others) underplays “Nein! Doch es Schmeckte vielleicht nach Liebe” (No, perhaps it is the taste of love) so as not to give Strauss’ climax away before its time. The finish is wonderful for Behrens’ lyrical handling of the final phrases. Ever imaginative, by the time of her performances of Salome with James Conlon at the Metropolitan Opera, (1990) Behrens had incorporated some blunt interpretive devices into her portrayal including frayed, crackling tone and frightened, moan-like gasps. Actually, these are excellent examples of Behrens using defects as interpretive devices. By the end of the scene, Behrens’ voice was obviously tired. Cleverly, she used the raspy, thread-like sound to her interpretation’s benefit. Although pedagogically questionable, such aural effects vividly project facets of the character to the listener.
Julia Migenes-Johnson sang Salome in Geneva in 1983 (using Strauss’ reduced orchestration) and around that time recorded the final scene with Maximiano Valdes and the Monte Carlo Orchestra. This is a bright, penetrating lyric instrument of modest size but one rhythmically responsive to the music’s demands. Although not among the best, Migenes-Johnson’s version has its own fascination. It offers clear diction and an inventive use of a growling timbre and overt chest register. At times tonal effects are overdone but her interpretive intent is always clear. The middle voice is solid and she is able to spin some fine pianissimi, as on “Musik.” Considering her vivid imagination it is not surprising that the murmurs after the kiss are appropriately grotesque. Like Ljuba Welitsch (1944), Migenes-Johnson opts for Strauss’ alternate D sharp instead of the lower G sharp, obviously so as not to lose her clean, lyric focus by having to drop into middle ranges.
Eva Marton’s first rendition comes from a 1985 concert given in Toronto, conducted by Andrew Davis and released by CBS Sony. Like Behrens, Marton originally debuted in lighter roles. (Marton’s 1968 Budapest debut was as the Queen of Shemakah in Rimsky Korsakov’s Le Coq D’Or.) During her prime, (1980s) this artist had one of the richest timbres on the lyric stage. Her mature, warmly-spun middle-register never suited this music as did other, more brightly focused instruments and her concentration on heavier roles makes itself apparent by inadequate register connections; an inappropriately coarse approach to the lower register. Intensely sung and sensitive to nuances, however, Marton gives a solid rendition with both soft piani and abandoned thrusts to high A sharps Although the monochromatic placement of her voice does not allow for much interpretive coloration, (especially during the phrases after the kiss), her finish is stirringly triumphant.
On February 20, 1989, Marton premiered a production of Salome at the Metropolitan Opera. (Because of insurmountable artistic differences, Marton left the Metropolitan Opera during the run of Salome (the last two performances undertaken by the forgettable Katerina Ikonomu), and as of this writing has yet to return to that house. The differences stemmed from Marton being originally contracted to sing the first and third Wagner Ring cycles of the 1989-1990 season and a “gentleman’s’ aggreement” that she sing the Telecast cycle. Complicating matters was the fact that two competitive recordings of the Ring Cycle were being made at that time, one with Marton and Haitink (EMI) and one with Behrens and Levine (DGG). In order to maintain consistency in publicity, production, recordings and telecasts of the cycle, it was decided that Behrens should sing the Telecasts. Feeling slighted and badly treated Marton declined the Met’s compensatory offers and left abruptly.)
In November of 1990 Marton documented her interpretation with Zubin Mehta and the Berlin Philharmonic for Sony CD. Generally, it is identical to the one presented to Metropolitan Opera audiences. Unfortunately, it is one dimensional. By 1990, Marton’s loose vibrato and indistinct pitch posed serious problems in Strauss' intervallically complex music and the scene mistakenly resembles a heavy, erratic Wagnerian extravaganza. (Marton was always more of a lyric than dramatic artist and her undertaking of such repertoire stretched her instrument out of shape before its time, destroying its natural warmth and lyricism.) The high register spreads and her vibrato is obtrusive to the musical line, high B flats often lunging out of phrases unfocussed and frayed.
Although Salome was in Josephine Barstow’s repertoire in 1975, she did not record the final scene until October, 1989 for a Decca CD conducted by John Mauceri. (A January 10, 1975 London performance (in English) has been preserved showing an intense but erratic account. At that time the scene overstretched Barstows capabilities. The concept is musical but her technique is not able to support many of the effects attempted. One outstanding feature, however, was Barstow's uncanny change of timbre for the murmurs after kissing the lips. The effect is riveting.)
The version under discussion is an attractive performance which would have been even more so had it been recorded ten years earlier. Barstow is an articulate, intelligent and emotionally-probing singer and her Salome is a dark-voiced, mature woman - Mauceri’s tempi reflecting that quality, highlighting such lyrical passages as “Ich will ihn jetzt küssen.” (I will kiss your mouth yet.) Pitch between F# (at the top of the staff) and high A is occasionally unclear due to Barstow’s loosely fluctuating vibrato which at times also hinders clean intervallic movement. Memorable, however, is “Du warst schön” (You were beautiful) and the following passage with its difficult high G sharp pianissimo, both of which are exquisitely floated. Barstow imparts many touches but it is obvious she is working hard to control her voice and the high register spreads under pressure. Nonetheless, she knows her way around this music and “Und das Geheimnis der Liebe ist grösser als das Geheimnis des Todes” (And the mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death) is outstanding. For the murmurs, Barstow offers a well-pointed sotto voce with a wonderful effect on “schmecke” (taste). Like others, she keeps the climax muted until “Allein was tut’s?” and brings the scene to an effective close.
The French Salomé conducted by Kent Nagano and interpreted by American Karen Huffstodt in 1990, is a fascinating curiosity. There are qualifications, however, and not all of them concern the French translation. Although the French edition certainly provides a suitable alternate to the usual, German-sung edition and a sensuous slant on Strauss’ score, Huffstodt does not. Salome does not suit her voice, stretching it to its dynamic limits. This is made clear by the frequently patchy tone (when her voice goes off the breath), and the suspicious pitch of higher notes. Rather than spinning through the breath, Huffstodt’s voice is often trapped on top of it and muscularly controlled. Although an attractive, lyrical instrument, it is used monochromatically (except for some unnecessarily overt interpretive devices). Consequently, Huffstodt’s handling is ponderously manipulated. Interest in this version centers on the subtle differences in the direction of the vocal line from the original German but at times they wrongly sound as if due to vocal problems rather than re-composition. Huffstodt’s choppy, tense, unvaried singing is often a trial. Almost without exception, high G sharp is marginally under pitch due to the unrelenting pressure on her voice and other soft high notes are uncomfortably tight and thready. Ironically, the most evocative section of this scene doesn’t involve Salome. It is the exchange between Herod and Herodias - conducted in effective, horror-laden whispers by Jean Dupouy and Hélène Jossoud. The best singing from Hoffstodt (and mood setting by Nagano) comes after the kiss. Nagano’s prominent placement of the solo oboe (Salome’s thematic fragment) and Huffstodt’s evocative handling of the murmurs are quite frightening. She sounds world-weary and stunned and effectively leans on dissonances. During the final phrases Huffstodt manages to convey both desperation and triumph.
In September 1990, Catherine Malifitano performed her first Salome. This was in Berlin under Giuseppe Sinopoli and was committed to video. (Unfortunately, the video’s release emphasizes Malfitano’s full-front nudity at the end of the Dance of the Seven Veils rather than any artistic merits of the performance. Leonie Rysanek is the dissolute Herodias.)
Oddly, although both she and Simon Estes, the Jochanaan, were the much heralded protagonists of the production, when Sinopoli recorded the work a few months later, they were replaced by Cheryl Studer and Bryn Terfel. The video proves that although Malfitano’s portrayal is dramatically multi-faceted, her singing is one dimensional. From her first appearance, this Salome is an unstable, vampiric butterfly that flits about the stage accomplishing her own agenda. Because of Malfitano's exceptional dramatic abilities this over-the-edge concept works. Indeed, she is one of the few artists today who can make a slight hand gesture register with meaning throughout a 3,000 seat theater. Vocally, however, she works very hard, the final scene stretching her lyric instrument to its limit. Conversational moments are leaden and not helped by Sinopoli’s uninspired, dragging tempi which diffuse any inherent intensity in the score. (At times one can sense Malfitano, musically and physically, trying to urge Sinopoli on, but without success.) Because of the tremendous pressure exerted on her voice much of the top is spread out of focus. And because of her idiosyncratic over-covering of certain vowels she is unable to shade dynamic gradations. Fortunately, the ability to watch her demented (but excellently gauged) facial expressions via video distracts from her unvaried singing. By the low G flat of Todes, Malfitano’s Salome is clearly insane, the repeated, almost frenzied kissing of the head brutally shocking and effectively contrasted by her vacant, wide-eyed murmurs afterwards.
Four years later, Malfitano commerically recorded the role for Decca (released mid-1995) with Christoph von Dohnanyi. By this time, she had sung Salome in a number of houses including Salzburg and Covent Garden. Although her timbre remains youthful, the scene is still a dangerous stretch. There is a great deal of pressure being applied to her instrument and piani do not register, showing little contrast to the long patches of unrelentingly loud singing. Because of this, Salome’s all-important declaration, “Und das geheimnis” does not work. Loud highs often have a beat (and suspect pitch) and her mannerism of scooping to high notes becomes annoyingly predictable. To her credit, however, Malfitano refrains from unnecessary interpretive effects. After the kiss, she infuses the text with excellent, disembodied tonal colorations and emphasis.
A few months after Malfitano’s 1990 Berlin video, Cheryl Studer took over in the recording studio. Studer has not sung this role on stage and it would be extremely unwise for her to do so. The decision to document her interpretation was a lucky one, however, since, for all her faults, Studer had something fresh to contribute. Here Sinopoli is considerate of his lead artist and tempi move naturally and with more variety. Studer is excellent. Her youthful, rapidly-spun vibrato, bright, silvery timbre and innate sensitivity to Germanic nuances raise this version above most others. Studer has always been better suited to the idiomatic peculiarities of Germanic roles rather than the Italian repertoire which she so often performs and records. Here her pitch is quite good and legato is secure and erotically phrased - providing an unusually sensual portrayal. She makes an excellent case for returning to Strauss’ original shadings and dynamicThe end of 2001 was a hard time for all Americans and in the arena of classical recording at least, 2002 did not bring much good news. There were, however some superb recordings that were released or re-released and I thought I would point out a few of them to you. This is part one. Part 2 will include a number of others and should be on-line shortly.
- Vivica Geneaux, Arias for Farinelli
- Cecilia Bartoli: Dreams & Fables
- Gencer in Medea
- Rysanek in Aida
- Marta Modl in Jenufa
- Elisabeth Vidal and Andre Cognet in Romantic Arias and Duets of French Opera
- Rita Shane
- Cetra Opera Series (Various releases)
Vivica Geneaux, Arias for Farinelli
Probably highest on the list is the phenomenal album recorded by Vivica Geneaux, Arias for Farinelli on Harmonia Mundi (HMC 901778). This was released in the United States on September 10, 2002 and already has garnered unanimously favorable reviews. In any era of vocal recording this disc would be considered a major accomplishment. The Alaskan-born mezzo-soprano and the former counter-tenor-now- conductor, Renee Jacobs, have given posterity a winner of a recital. Through 8 arias of staggering complexity they demonstrate that the technical finess and bravura once required of the castrasti singers is not necessarily a thing of the past. My personal favorite remains one of the most florid arias on the disc: "Qual gueriero in campo armato" from Idaspe- an impossible excercise in rapid figurations couched in a military text that was written for Farinelli (originally Carlo Broschi) by his brother, Riccardo Broschi. The arias were written for Farinelli by Porpora, Giacomelli, Hasse and even his own brother, Riccardo Broschi. Geneaux, who has been around for a number of years originally made her name through the bel canto operas of Rossini but recently has broadened her repertoire to include a number of earlier works. On the strength of this album it would seem that it is in that particular era of vocal writing Geneaux's particular gifts are best highlighted. She is nothing short of remarkable on this disc. But the success of this album is no less due to the efforts of Renee Jacobs and the wonderful Akademie fur Alte Musik Berlin orchestra. This is one of those rare discs that one can revel in - a program of unfamiliar, yet extremely accessible music brilliantly executed. Different from many other albums, familiarity only brings further delight. Do yourself a favor and get this one. You will not be disappointed.
Cecilia Bartoli: Dreams & Fables
The year before (2001) saw the release of an album that stands next to the Geneaux as one of the finest things to be released in the last decade. It is ironic that such a distinction should fall to two all-Baroque albums. This other album is Cecilia Bartoli's Gluck recording Dreams & Fables on Sony - a disc devoted entirely to Gluck's Italian operas. This too is one of those discs that one can emerse oneself in for months at a time and not lose any of the wonder or pleasure at the music or its performance. Bartoli offers 8 arias from such obscure works as Gluck's Clemenza di Tito, Ezio, Antigono and La Semiramide. Her performances are just as scintillating as Geneaux's. In Bartoli's case, though, there is the added pleasure that her usually aspirated coloratura has been mostly eradicated leaving some gloriously smooth florid singing which ranges over several octaves. Bartoli has always been controversial in the use of her voice and in her refusal to be easily "fached." ALthough she is generally known as a mezzo-soprano, Bartoli's ornamental patters frequently travel in the high soprano area of D flat and even E flat and E natural. This versatility, however, is one of the secrets to her allure. In this Gluck album such individuality is definitely emphasized and her attention to the text is fitting and only makes these unfamiliar arias even more attractive. Like the Geneaux disc above, one can lose oneself eaily and with pleasure in this obscure repertoire. Adding to the listener's pleasure is the album's deluxe packaging, notes on the music and pictures. This is another one you should get as soon as possible. Both this and the Geneaux belong in every library, whether or not you are an aficionado of this period of music - the vocal performances are timeless and of a calibre that is as rare as it is wonderful.
Gencer in Medea
Another recommended set released in 2002 is a recording of a live performance of Cherubini's Medea that originally took place in Venice in 1968. Generally known as "The Gencer Medea" it has been available in various pirated recording formats since the date of the performance but finally the wonderful and enterprising budget label, Gala (GL 100.555), has made it more accessible to the public. Like the "Callas in Dallas" Medea (1958) this is one of those must-own performances. Especially if you are a fan of the lead singer. Gencer turns in a gutsy, powerhouse performance that is an unforgettable aural experience. Supported by Aldo Bottion (Giasone), Daniella Maszzucato (Glauce), Ruggero Raimondi (Creonte) and conducted by that friend of singers - Carlo Franci - this is a classic live performance. Gencer brings innumerable personal touches to a role that up until that time in the modern era had been considered Maria Callas' personal property. The Turkish-born Gencer uses her uneven instrument with imagination and makes not only her personal vocal attributes but also her flaws work to her advantage in conveying her portrait of the vengeance-mad Medea. There is an abandon and commitment to her singing that is rarely heard on today's stages. For that reason alone it is worth hearing. But the strength and variety of her many nuances provide an unusually rewarding listening experience. Priced at about $10 this is a real bargain that you should not miss.
Rysanek in Aida
Another live performance that has finally made it to silver disc this year is one of my personal facvorites. It is a German-sung performance of Verdi's Aida from Vienna in 1955 (Myto MCD 023.267). This is one I have been patiently waiting to come out for for a number of decades. I originally heard this performance while working for Mr.Tape in the early 1980s. At that time a compillation tape of the famous 1955 re-opening season of the Vienna Stattsoper was sent to the office. The cast includes Leonie Rysanek as Aida, the unjustly neglected American mezzo-soprano/contralto, Jean Madeira as a towering Amneris, Hans Hopf as Radames, George London as Amonasro and Gottlob Frick as Ramfis. This performance is the stuff of legends and the sound is just as spectacular. Rysanek is stunning as Aida, Madeira tears up the stage as Amneris, Hans Hopf is a masculine yet sympathetic Radames and George London is a darkly-burnished, wonderfully dominant Amonsaro. Even though it is in German the performance is more full of life than many I have heard in the original Italian. This is another "must-have" for your record shelves.
Marta Modl in Jenufa
Myto also released (at the same time as the Aida) another famous performance from that era - the 1964 Vienna performance, again in German, of Janacek's opera Jenufa(MCD 023.266). The cast include a radiant Sena Jurinac as Jenufa and a past-her-prime yet still riveting Marta Modl as Kostelnichka. This performance is geared more, perhaps, to fans of those two singers rahter than to a general listener, but it still offers an invaluable insight into the performing practices of the Vienna Stattsoper at that time. It is not a version for those listeners who are discovering the work for the first time (especially since Myto does not provide English translations of any of their libretti). It is rather for the listener who already knows Jenufa. Approached as such it is an invaluable opportunity for comparison of interpretations and for study of differing performance practices. (Just as is another Myto release of Jenufa which orginates form La Scala
Elisabeth Vidal and Andre Cognet in Romantic Arias and Duets of French Opera
Slighly different but just as welcome is a French-made album of Romantic Arias and Duets of French Opera sung by the coloratura specialist, Elisabeth Vidal and her baritone husband, Andre Cognet. Emmanuel Plasson is the conductor. Released in France on Forlane (DDD16820) in 2000, it did not reach America until this year. For lovers of florid French operas this is a real delight. Elisabeth Vidals' husband, Andre Cognet has a very attractive voice which, in many ways, reminds me of a young Robert Massard. It is a darkly-lush timbre supoported by solid interpretive skills and solid training. And from the photographs in the album it is obvious that he cuts a fine figure on stage.
Even so, this recording is Vidal's show. Her solo selections are quite spectacular and include a bravura rendition of Olympia's aria from Contes d'Hoffmann complete with an unwritten, but well-taken concluding A flat above high C. There is also Lakme's Bell Song - one of the best of modern-day renditions, an obscure aria from Masee's Galathee and another obscure aria from Gounod's Philemon et Baucis. Most US listeners will recognize Vidal's name from her role as La Charmeuse on the "Fleming" Decca recording of Thais. Vidal turns in a perfect rendition. Her voice seems to be in its prime now and her control throughout her vast range is as impressive as is the floated quality of her high Ds and Es. Throughout her selections Vidal peppers the music with well-thought-out but virtuostic ornaments and tip-top notes of F and G. Like Natalie Dessay, Vidal has a more robust voice than what one usually associates with French coloratura specialists (like Mesple or Robin) but even so it is blended with superb musicianship and exemplary control. One of my favorites on this album is the Olympia aria with its unusal sense of the unearthly so often missing from other interpretations. Although not as well-known as Natalie Dessay, Elisabeth Vidal is a wonderful singer who should be more well-known to American audiences. Priced at about $14 this disc is a bargain for vocal enthusiasts and coloratura fanciers alike. The unfamiliar arias are just icing on an already attractive cake. Add to this the plangent, sympathetic voice of Vidal's husband, Cognet you have a wonderfully varried program of French music. Do yourself a favor and get this one, there is some exquisite, idiomatic singing which be savored time and again with much pleasure.
Rita Shane
An entirely different story is a Custom Opera CD 101-1 release of Rita Shane. I am not sure exactly when this was released but suspect it may have been even back in 2000. An obvious vanity recording this is an embarrassment. Not for the vocal work of Rita Shane - no indeed. During the 1970s she was one of the leading international coloratura specialists - most famous for her Queen of the Night. A number of her live performances have been released and remain classics of their kind. Highest on that list would be the Vienna concert performance of Les Huguenots with Nicolai Gedda (Myto MCD 961.141). Her singing of the role of Queen Marguerite during that performance would be lauded in any era of vocalism. No the problem lies in the technical side of the release. The entire disc was mastered over 1/2 step flat. This makes Shane sound labored, ancient and very uninteresting. This is a great insult to the singer. Especially since the album contains a rare example of Shane singing Zerbinetta's florid scena. (Which, by the way, she sings very well.) The Producer of the disc is listed as Ed Rosen and the Engineer - Vincent Titone. Someone should have been armed with a pitch pipe at least. To have released such a pitched mess is inexcusable. If one is willing to tape the entire recital onto a Cassette recorder that has a pitch control and then replay it pitched up you might get an idea of the brilliance of Shane's work. Otherwise stay away. Too bad too, since the disc included arias from Zauberflote, Entfuhrung, Huguenots, Ariadne as well as the difficult Brentano songs of Richard Strauss. During her prime Shane was an important artist. She deserves better than this.
Cetra Opera Series
2002 also saw the release of more of the Cetra Opera Series recordings of the 1950s now released by Warner Fonit. This new group of recordings is even more attractively packaged than the last "Verdi" group since they now display their original cover artwork. These original covers are one of the reasons initial buyers of LP recordings were attracted to the disks in the store. All are color pen and ink drawings that give a flavor of the music of the opera and was done by the artist Tanarelli. In addition, The CD discs now better replicate the original LP disks. And the sound (never one of Cetra's high points) has been vastly improved but not tampered with.) All in all they make very attractive budget-priced gifts for others as well as yourself. When one takes a look at the breadth of the 1950s Cetra catalogue it is surprising how diverse it was. And, in many instances, these Italian-made recordings were the first commercially-released recordings of many works that are now considered to be staples of international opera houses.
These Cetra recordings have always been some of my favorites - even with their occasional flaws and often for no other reason than they were the first recordings I heard of certain works. Certainly some of them now have classic status but there are those that many consider should be forgotten. High on that list (unfortunately) is the Florence Elektra (Warner Fonit 85730927 43560-2) brilliantly conducted by Mitropoulos. He is not the problem. Nor is the brilliantly-evil Klytemnestra of Marta Modl. No. The problem lies in the two sisters. Elektra is sung by Anny Kenetzni - a singer with a lovely, if thick vocal timbre and one famous for her Wagnerian heroines during the 1940s. Unfortunately, by this 1950 performance she barely had a high A in her range much less the high C so often called for during the course of this opera. She solves the problem by awkward shifts down the octave, or just leaving them out entirely. Occasionally, she miscalculates and goes for a high B flat and the result would be comical if it wasn't so unfortunate. Chrysothemis is sung by Daniza Ilitsch. She has no problems with the notes really, but listeners may have a problem with her unattractive, shrewish timbre and provincial musicianship. Perversely, I still have a soft spot in my heart for this performance. Part of the reason lies in the myriad colorations that Marta Modl brings to the role of Klytemnestra. It is almost frightening in its strength and purpose. But also this was one of the first live performances I ever heard and the frisson of that experience has never really left me. But truthfully, this recording is only for enthusiasts of the conductor, or Marta Modl.
Another re-release is a bit more successful - the first complete recording of Donizetti's Fille du Regiment (but sung in the Italian edition) with the American-born Lina Pagliughi (Warner Fonit 8573 87493-2). The elegant Cesare Valetti as Tonio is a definite plus here as well. Recorded live, in 1950, Pagliughi's honey-like middle register is especially attractive as is her lyrical singing. Where she comes to some grief is when the music becomes more complex. By 1950 the soprano was beginning to experience some problems with clean articulation of coloratura and her high register was becoming more and more difficult for her to produce with any sort of freedom. Because of this climactic high notes were often eliminated from her work. Coloratura flourishes are kept at a minimum as are interpolated high notes. That is the way it is in this recording. That is all except for one instance. At the end of "Salut a la France" Pagliughi decides to interpolate a high E flat. After so much high-note-less singing this comes as a complete surprise to the listener - as does the quality of the note itself which sounds as if it had been prompted by someone impaling the soprano with a red hot poker.
The fun of this wonderful opera, however, is definitely captured by all the singers and this remains an early classic of its kind.
Another Pagliughi favorite with many of the "older" collectors is Bellini's La Sonnambula from a Turin broadcast in 1952 (Warner Fonit 8573 87475-2). This was the first LP recording of this work made available to the public and as such is actually an excellent example of the opera's merits. Pagliughi sings the role pretty much come-scritto without any of the extra high E flats and ornamental flourishes that we, today, are accustomed to. But, in a sense, therein lies the appeal of Pagliughi's singing. Because of the lack of brilliant interpolations, the accent is placed on the simplicity of Bellini's music and Pagliughi's lyrical singing which is sweet and unforgettable. This is especially true when she is in duet with the ever-attentive (also honey-voiced) Tagliavini. Their Act I duet remains one of the loveliest one can hear on recordings from this era. Cesare Siepi is a wonderful Count and conductor Franco Capuana holds everything together with obvious affection. Although within a year of this recording audience and listener expectations would begin to alter due to the singing of Maria Callas and those that followed her example, Pagliughi's vocal manner in La Sonnambula perfectly matches its gentle, pastoral quality.
Even better is the recording of the old war-horse, La Boheme with Rosanna Carteri as an exquisite Mimi and Ferrucio Tagliavini as a suave Rudolpho. This was recorded in Turin in 1952 and conducted by Gabriele Santini (Warner Fonit 8573 8720-2). It is no mean feat that this recording remains one of the better renditions today - especially considering the plethora of recordings of this opera that are now available. It is the perfect introduction to the work for the novice and its price of about $14 is just an added bonus. As is true with all the Cetra releases the libretto is only in Italian.
Another first recording was the Fanciulla del West (Warner Fonit 8573 87488-2) recorded in 1950. This is an excellent, rough-and-ready version of the difficult Puccini work. Carla Gavazzi is superb as the gentle but still a spit-fire Minnie and she is well-partnered by Vasco Campagnano as Dick Johnson and Ugo Savarese as Jack Rance. Arturo Basile knows this work well and does an excellent job in its promotion. Fanciulla has always been problematic with audiences and has never managed a secure place in the international repertoire of opera houses as has Tosca, Boheme or Turandot. Part of the problem lies in the almost Wagnerian vocal requirements made of the singers. During any given era of singing there are only so many Minnies available that can handle the excessively difficult (and high) demands of the role. Even so Gavazzi gives a strong uninhibited performance that thankfully was captured here on disc. This is another one for the classic shelves - even with its flaws.s which she follows to the letter, floating some wonderful piani. Her high range may lack the searing impact of Welitsch or Nilsson but with fascinating accuracy Studer successfully dissects the score into an infinitesimal number of colors. For the most part, she makes her point by relying on Strauss’ dynamics rather than chancy vocal effects. Only occasionally does her pitch fall victim to her vibrato (which ocilates under, rather than through the pitch center). These moments do not detract from the overall achievement of Studer’s remarkable rendition.
Jessye Norman’s meanacingly-dark and exotic-hued Salome on the complete Philips CD is another fascinating, distinct portrayal - especially for one who has not sung the role on stage. She provides a singular, multi-faceted character that constantly intrigues and challenges tradition. This is a formidable, chocolate-timbred Salome. Especially notable is Norman's telling use of consonants for dramaticism (a trademark mannerism that, in this instance, works quite well with character delineation). In this recording, the natural oscillation of Norman’s vibrato (just under the center of the pitch) rarely offends. She envelops Strauss’ music with a creamy legato and lyricism, phrases like a master and contributes countless nuances which make this scene most rewarding. Of all the recorded Salomes, only Norman manages mood changes within phrases through a clever use of timbre variations, text articulation and slight, rhythmical liberties. After the kiss, Ozawa presents Salome’s thematic fragment (solo oboe) in a particular manner; an errie effect that mocks not only the kiss, but also Salome herself. It is perfect for the mood he and Norman have carefully created. This is one of the great recordings of this scene.
Surprisingly, no new complete recordings have appeared since Norman's. Despite this fact there are a number of fine complete recordings to chose from depending on one's priorities concerning this score. Indispensable is the Welitsch-Reiner Met broadcast from 1949 - if one can find it (on Melodram). But also important are the versions by Nilsson (force of nature concept), Behrens and Studer (innocence and depravity well-mixed.) and Caballe (exotic sensuality combined with artistic nuances). As for individual performances on recital discs any and all should be sampled at least once.
Note: Since the time this article was written additional performances have appeared. They will be dealt with in an update article.
March, 1996