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SaleMein Wien / Kaufmann, Willis-Sorensen, Rieder, Prague Philharmonic [Blu-ray]
Sony Masterworks · Nov 2020Blu-Ray$19.98$9.99 -
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Straus: Der Tapfere Soldat (The Chocolate Soldier) / Kohler, Kranzle, Dickie, Stein, Borst, WDR
Capriccio · Jan 2012CD$22.99 -
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Dancing in Vienna
Fall: Die Rose von Stambul / Schirmer, Munich Radio Orchestra
Our Leo Fall cycle continues with Die Rose von Stambul (The Rose of Stamboul). This operetta in three acts offers music that is full of feeling. This highly emotional work celebrated its premiere with great success at the Theater an der Wien in 1916. Die Rose von Stambul’s 422 straight performances made it the most successful operetta in the history of the Theater an der Wien, next to Franz Lehár’s The Merry Widow. Within the shortest time performances followed throughout Central Europe. However, like Emmerich Kálmán’s The Csárdás Princess, it did not become an international success – primarily because of World War I, since the theaters of the Allied counties had stopped staging German-language works. Achmed Bey, the son of a Turkish minister, is married to Kondja, “The Rose of Stamboul.” However, she has exchanged letters with a passionate novelist and fallen in love with him. What she does not suspect: none other than her husband is behind this pseudonym –which provides plenty of opportunities for the expression of emotions – rendered in the Viennese waltz mode (“Ein Walzer muss es sein”) or tunes of Oriental flair.
HAPPY DAYS
Fall: The Rose of Stambul / Chicago Folks Operetta
FALL The Rose of Stambul • John Frantzen, cond; Kimberly McCord ( Kondja Gül ); Alison Kelly ( Midili Hanum ); Erich Buchholz ( Fridolin Müller ); Gerald Frantzen ( Achmed Bey ); Robert Morrissey ( Mr. Müller Sr. ); Chicago Folks Operetta • NAXOS 8.660326/27 (2 CDs: 120:20) Live: Chicago 8/8/2011
In 1916, Leo Fall’s latest operetta Die Rose von Stambul enjoyed a remarkable run of 422 performances at the Theater an der Wien, as the war brought rationing to Vienna, and as the cultures the story celebrated spiraled to their destruction. Though it eventually did come to the United States in 1922, the operetta was never performed here in anything like its original form. That occurred for the first time in the summer of 2011 when it was mounted by the Chicago Folks Operetta. This small but enterprising company—the brainchild and continuing passion of husband and wife team Gerald Frantzen and Alison Kelly—is dedicated to reviving neglected operettas from the early part of the 20th century. Die Rose von Stambul certainly qualifies. Fall never achieved the lasting success that rival composers Emmerich Kálmán (his daughter Yvonne is a CFO sponsor) and Franz Lehár did. And timing was simply against this creation. But there are lilting Viennese waltzes, charming if dated comedy centering on lovely women having their way with their foolish, chauvinistic, and/or love-sotted men, and exotic locales and musical flavoring befitting the ever popular setting of the Turkish seraglio. Only the most confirmed curmudgeon could resist the fun. Bravo CFO for bringing it back.
Unlike its earlier American production, where much of the score was replaced, we are assured, in translator Hersh Glagov’s informative essay, that Chicago Folks Operetta “has not changed a note of Fall’s marvelous music.” Though this is likely the 1917 Berlin revision, fair enough. Still, it would be nicer if those involved could have produced those notes with a bit more flair. Conductor John Frantzen, brother of artistic director Gerald, provides a reasonable impression of Viennese style, but his thin, often scrappy 19-piece orchestra works against the beauty of the music. The women’s chorus, harem sisters à la the Grisettes of The Merry Widow , is exuberant but also a bit rough. The waltzes need more schwung , the dances more refinement to go with the general vivacity, and some of the dialog needs more, well, acting.
The two sopranos are both strong vocalists. Kimberly McCord—who sings what I believe is the expanded version of the role created for Fritzi Massary in 1917—has nice control, range, and style, an appealingly warm tone, and some sparkle on top. Alison Kelly is an accomplished soubrette with excellent comic timing. Comic tenor Erich Buchholz has a strong lyric voice and a good feel for the idiom. In a part that is more spoken than sung, baritone Robert Morrissey sounds like he comes from Pittsburgh rather than Hamburg—he impersonates Wallace Shawn in The Princess Bride rather well—but he sings the short part of Müller agreeably. The players in the small spoken roles are community-theater league, but let that pass. It is, I’m sorry to say, tenor Gerald Frantzen who disappoints. He is stiff, can’t hold an extended note steadily little less swell it, and produces strangled sounds at the top of his range where Fall makes the greatest demands. The basic tone of the voice is decent enough in the middle reaches, and has some heft, but is not well equalized and shows clear signs of wear. (Perhaps recording live after the run was not a good idea.) He is shown at a particular disadvantage in his duets with McCord, who clearly has the voice and temperament to give the waltzes their due. Perhaps all would have been better if he and Buchholz had swapped parts, as the comic tenor here has the goods to sing the big numbers and has the looks, as well. If I seem harsh, simply listen to Frantzen and then to Fritz Wunderlich singing any of these arias. Or if that comparison seems unreasonably prejudicial, how about mere mortal Rudolf Schock, or almost any tenor currently recording operettas for Naxos or CPO?
But enough… Die Rose von Stambul is a major work by a neglected master of a musical genre that has too much fallen out of favor. Yes, the plot is silly. This one depends on an easily resolved love triangle with an “invisible rival” of the hero’s own devising, so perhaps it is sillier than most. And the early 20th-century attitudes toward women and Eastern culture can be cringe-inducing. However, the music is delightful, and the burlesque is generally not overdone. The English libretto is available as a download from the Naxos site. The dialog occasionally turns topical—the gay references and the bellhop speaking in rhymed couplet like Fezzik are contemporary—and a war-time reference like Fridolin’s offer to Midili of “two kilos of flour” is changed into “a hundred pairs of shoes.” Still, it seems fairly true to what I know of the original and is reasonably singable. The audio production, identified as a single live recording, is good, though my ears tell me that the dialog was recorded separately. The rather unsubtle sound effects—foot steps, doors opening, ice cubes clinking in glasses, etc.—support that impression. One last niggle: the production poster by Rose Frantzen—another family member, assumedly—reproduced on the cover of the CD, seems wildly out of keeping with the story and the times, eye-catching as it may be.
All reservations aside—and I’ve spent a lot of space enumerating them—this is something most Viennese operetta fanciers will want to hear. Recommended with the caveats cited.
FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames
Piano Dances / Anna Vinnitskaya
Anna Vinnitskaya celebrates dance, or rather the dances of composers from very different periods and styles: Ravel, Shostakovich and Widmann. ‘In all these works, you can feel in some way transported to the world of childhood. Because I believe the childhoods of each of these three composers are reflected there’, says the pianist. In his Valses nobles et sentimentales, Ravel paid tribute to Schubert. A few years later, he transcribed for solo piano his ballet score La Valse, in which ‘billowing clouds part from time to time, allowing us to glimpse waltzing couples’. Shostakovich’s Dances of the Dolls make me think of the Soviet cartoons of my childhood’, says Anna Vinnitskaya. ‘They also remind me of Mozart: they are as bright as diamonds, sincere and beautiful.’ The Zirkustänze (Circus Dances) composed by Jörg Widmann in 2012, a brilliant kaleidoscope of emotions and parodies, round off the programme.
Mein Wien / Jonas Kaufmann
‘My Vienna’ is Jonas Kaufmann’s deeply personal tribute to the world-famous melodies from the birthplace of waltz and operetta and follows up the album release from Fall 2019. The 100-minute film consists of Jonas Kaufmann’s Wiener Konzerthaus concert interspersed with documentary-style segments where Jonas Kaufmann explores the city’s fascinating lighter musical heritage. His concert from the Wiener Konzerthaus includes well-known Viennese songs like “Wien, Wien nur du allein“, “Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume”, “Sag beim Abschied leise “Servus““. He also sings scenes from famous operettas such as “The Merry Widow”, “Wiener Blut” and “Die Fledermaus” where soprano Rachel Willis-SØrensen joins him on the duets.
Weigl: Symphony No 6, Old Vienna / Sanderling, Francis
In 2002 we released the first recording of Karl Weigl's (1881-1949) Fifth Symphony, subtitled 'The Apocalyptic' and dedicated it to the memory of Franklin Roosevelt. Completed in the last year of the Second World War, it is a programmatic work describing the world hovering on the brink of total destruction - a very natural way of seeing things for an Austrian refugee of Jewish decent living in the US during that troubled time. But there was more than the destiny of his beloved Vienna that occupied Weigl. He was very much part of an old central-European tradition, the tradition of Brahms, Bruckner, and Mahler, which - as he must have realized - was threatened by whatever the outcome of the war. Described by his fellow student Schoenberg as 'one of the best composers of the old school, one of those who continued the glittering Viennese tradition', Weigl in one of the first works written after his flight to the US in 1938, celebrates one aspect of his native city: the waltzes of the Strauss family. In 'Old Vienna' we get a rhapsody of Vienna-style waltzes, executed with the affection - and nostalgia - of someone who had been present at the time. (Weigl was a regular guest at the soirées of Adèle Strauss, widow of Johann Strauss II, in whose home he met his first wife.) Compared to this work and to the Apocalyptic Symphony, the 'Sixth Symphony', composed eight years later and Weigl's last major work, is a piece of absolute music. But here too, in the music itself, is a testament to the tradition that for political and aesthetic reasons had already become a memory in the old world that had fostered it. Neither of the works was performed in the composer's lifetime, and in fact the Symphony had to wait until the present recording. The previous Weigl release on BIS (CD1077) was greeted with a 2003 Cannes Classical Award and great acclaim by reviewers who called Weigl 'a fascinating voice' and 'a major discovery' while naming the performances, by the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra and Tomas Sanderling, 'exceptional' and 'committed'. The ones on the present disc - on which conductor Alun Francis also appears - certainly are no less!
Beethoven: Diabelli Variations
HAPPY DAYS
Millöcker: Walzes, Marches & Polkas / Simonis, Nurnberger Symphoniker
Previous albums have featured electrifying marches, sparkling polkas, and yearning waltzes by Benjamin Bilse and Richard Ellenberg, the conductor Christian Simonis – this time with the Nuremberg Symphony – now presents peppy popular pieces by Carl Millöcker, who was born in Vienna in 1842. In the context of the Viennese operetta of the nineteenth century, the composer and theater conductor Millöcker is usually mentioned together with the younger Johann Strauss and Franz von Suppé, and he certainly numbers among the most important creative personalities of the »Golden Years« of the Viennese operetta era. His musical oeuvre comprises some 110 stage works (operettas, singspiels, music for farcical comedies – and more), numerous piano compositions, some ninety songs, music for orchestra (waltzes, polkas, marches), choral works, and chamber music. At the time the customary practice was to arrange the best and most beloved melodies from stage works as dance music, as waltzes, polkas, quadrilles, and marches, and such was also the case with Millöcker’s music, including the “Sonntagskind-Walzer.” Its formal design is like the one known to us from the Strauss waltzes of this period. After a lavish introduction a series of four waltzes is presented; then a lengthy coda follows in the manner of a reminiscence.
Mein Wien / Kaufmann, Willis-Sorensen, Rieder, Prague Philharmonic [Blu-ray]
Also available on standard DVD
‘My Vienna’ is Jonas Kaufmann’s deeply personal tribute to the world-famous melodies from the birthplace of waltz and operetta and follows up the album release from Fall 2019. The 100-minute film consists of Jonas Kaufmann’s Wiener Konzerthaus concert interspersed with documentary-style segments where Jonas Kaufmann explores the city’s fascinating lighter musical heritage. His concert from the Wiener Konzerthaus includes well-known Viennese songs like “Wien, Wien nur du allein“, “Im Prater blühn wieder die Bäume”, “Sag beim Abschied leise “Servus““. He also sings scenes from famous operettas such as “The Merry Widow”, “Wiener Blut” and “Die Fledermaus” where soprano Rachel Willis-SØrensen joins him on the duets.
Straus: Der Tapfere Soldat (The Chocolate Soldier) / Kohler, Kranzle, Dickie, Stein, Borst, WDR
STRAUS Der Tapfere Soldat • Siegfried Köhler, cond; Caroline Stein ( Nadina ); Johannes Martin Kränzie ( Bumerli ); Martina Borst ( Mascha ); John Dickie ( Alexius ); Gertraud Wagner ( Aurelia ); Helmut Berger ( Popoff ); WDR RO; Händel Collegium Köln • CAPRICCIO C5089 (2 CDs: 88:06)
The irascible playwright and man of letters George Bernard Shaw seems to have had a gift for producing stories that were ripe for adaption as light musical comedy. Shaw did not live to see his Pygmalion turned by Lerner and Loewe into the megahit My Fair Lady and make superstars of Rex Harrison, Julie Andrews, and Audrey Hepburn. The British pundit (and one-time opera critic) was front and center, however, as his little antiwar drama Arms and the Man was turned by Oscar Straus and his Viennese librettists into the operetta Der Tapfere Soldat (The Valiant Soldier) and became an international hit. In fact, Shaw worried about his satirical play being turned into bad musical comedy. He agreed to let the story be used only if (1) none of his dialog or character names were used, (2) the operetta were to be advertised as a parody of his work, and (3) no remuneration was to be made. Never widely popular in the pre-World War I Germanic countries where soldiers were heroes and the military a revered institution, Der Tapfere Soldat went on to become a smash hit in New York in 1909 as the more aptly titled Chocolate Soldier , and then one year later scored another triumph right under Shaw’s nose in London. The old man publicly denigrated Straus’s popular operetta but lived to regret his lack of share in its box-office success.
The story involves a likeable young soldier in the Bulgarian army who, to avoid the fierce raging battle outside, climbs up the drainpipe and into the home of a mother, daughter, and another young friend, whose menfolk are also off at the war (actually, he drops right into the daughter’s bedroom). When threatened by his own gun by daughter Nadina, the soldier, Bumerli, laughs and tells her his cartridge case is full of chocolates; he has no bullets for his weapon. In spite of his not being the type of romantic hero she has been dreaming of, Nadina falls for her little chocolate soldier, as do the two other women. They hide him when soldiers come searching and provide him civilian clothes to aid his escape. Trouble comes when Nadina’s father and fiancé return with the regiment. Bumerli also turns up, ostensibly to return the clothes, but he is in love with Nadina. Outrage and hurt feelings ensue, but Alexius, Nadina’s intended, shows a marked preference for the young friend, Mascha. The typical operetta muddle is eventually sorted out and the parents are made happy when it turns out the chocolate soldier is the son of a wealthy Swiss businessman. So much for true love.
Straus wrote many catchy melodies for the early Viennese silver-age work, the most famous of which is Nadina’s solo “Komm, komm, Held meiner Traume” (Come, Come, Hero of My Dreams). Also popular was the humorous duet between the two leads, “Ach, du kleiner Praliné-Soldat” (Ah, You Little Praline Soldier). This recording was made for WDR radio in Cologne in 1993 and features clear, pure-voiced, light soprano Caroline Stein in the lead role of Nadina. She sings very well both alone and in ensemble and is much the best singer on the recording. Baritone Johannes Martin Kränzie sings Bumerli in a pleasant voice but has a noticeable wobble when he pushes his upper range. He blends in well in the ensembles, of which there are many in this light work. The second romantic couple of tenor John Dickie and mezzo Martina Borst sing well in this style of music, as do Mom and Dad, contralto Gertraud Wagner and bass-baritone Helmut Berger.
As far as I am aware, this is the only recording of Der Tapfere Soldat in German. The Ohio Light Opera Company recorded it in English in the late ’90s on the Newport label, where it is still available. A 1958 recording of highlights in English on RCA features much the best voices led by mezzo Risë Stevens and baritone Robert Merrill. That recording is out of print but can be obtained as a facsimile CD-R from ArkivMusic. Capriccio sadly does not provide a libretto, but there is a more than adequate synopsis and some brief bios. If, like me, you want these operettas in their original language, this is the one to buy. It will provide you an hour and a half of very enjoyable, frothy light music. Recommended.
FANFARE: Bill White
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Oscar Straus (note the spelling of Straus – only one ‘s’ at its end) was born in Vienna on 6 March 1870 but was not related to the famous Strauss dynasty.
He began his career emulating the satirical Offenbach, with Die Lustigen Nibelungen (The Merry Nibelungs). Richard Traubner in his excellent book, Operetta, A Theatrical History, suggests that it was “too musically advanced for Viennese ears” and national-socialist pro-Wagnerians were not amused. Those who relish the idea of lampooning of The Ring might like to know that Capriccio have a one-CD Köln recording of Oscar Straus’s The Merry Nibelungs again conducted by Köhler (C5088). Noticing the great success of Lehár’s The Merry Widow, in 1905, Straus decided to capitulate to public taste and entered the comfortable dream world of sentimental Viennese operetta with his smash success - in Austria and Germany if not in America and England - of Ein Waltztraum (A Waltz Dream) of 1907.
Straus’s The Chocolate Soldier (German title: Der tapfere Soldat or Der Praliné-Soldat) followed in 1908. It was based on George Bernard Shaw's 1894 play, Arms and the Man and the libretto was by Rudolf Bernaur and Leopold Jacobson. G.B. himself was not at all keen on such an adaptation of his play which had been successful in its Viennese run and only accepted the situation provided that Straus’s operetta was promoted as an unauthorized parody of his play and that he received no royalties for it. A bad mistake - because the show was a big hit in London and New York - but not quite so in Europe because of political sensitivities surrounding the Balkans where the action of the story was set. Later, Shaw tried to recoup some of his financial losses when M-G-M approached him for the film rights for The Chocolate Soldier. Louis B. Mayer refused Shaw’s exorbitant demands and the film went ahead with a mix of Straus’s and other’s music but to a different plot based on Ferenc Molnár's play Testor . The 1941 film starred Nelson Eddy and Risë Stevens – although Jeanette MacDonald had originally been pencilled in to star with Eddy.
There’s a very good Wikipedia article on Straus’s The Chocolate Soldier that also details all the songs. Briefly the story is set in Bulgaria in 1885 during the war between Serbia and Bulgaria. Nadina, her friend Mascha and her mother are missing their menfolk away at the hostilities. Suddenly a soldier, handsome and charming bursts into her bedroom. He is Bumerli, a Swiss mercenary serving in the Serbian army. He is an ordinary soldier quite unlike her supposedly heroic fiancée Alexius. Bumerli carries chocolates in his pouch instead of ammunition! His charm captivates the ladies and as Act I closes all three are smitten. They all give him photographs of themselves inscribed with loving messages. He puts all three in his great coat and promptly forgets them. But he cannot forget Nadina. Six months later he returns for her but the three photographs are produced. Jealousy flare up between Nadina and Mascha, Bumerli is thought to be fickle and faithless and comic complications ensue. All is happily resolved at the end.
The big hit of the show is the well-known and popular waltz song, ‘Komm, komm, Held meiner Träum’ (‘Come, come hero of my dreams’). Here it is sung most beguilingly by sweet-voiced Caroline Stein as Nadina. She is singing about her Alexius in Act I, her fiancée and imagined hero, who turns out to be nothing of the kind. The lower tenor timbre of Kränzle makes Bumerli sound just that little bit too mature for Nadina. However the charm of their duet ‘Weill’s Leben suss und herzlich ist’ (‘Because life is sweet and beautiful’) cannot be diminished. Much of the music comprises ensemble writing - quartets, quintets, and sextets and soloists with choir. The Act I ensemble song with comic material for the soldiers searching for Bumerli and an interpolated stirring patriotic song lustily sung by Nadina is a highlight – so, too, is the following charming waltz-song trio for Nadina, Mascha and Aurelia They sing ‘Tiralala’ as all besotted, they dream of their Chocolate soldier. This number has some lovely orchestral felicities in the strings and woodwinds. Kränzle’s wistful Act II song ‘If one can, as one wants’ has an introduction that echoes the ‘Tiralala’. Kränzle has another charming if argumentative duet ‘Es war einmal ein Fräulein’ (‘There was once a maiden’) with Nadina before Act II’s exuberant finale closes with a ringing reprise of the big number, ‘Komm, komm, Held meiner Träum’ (‘Come, come hero of my dreams’). Conductor, Köhler consistently delivers telling sentimental and witty accompaniments to all the numbers. Mention should be made of the delicious irony of the orchestral accompaniments to the waspish numbers of Act II like the bickering between Nadina and Bumerli in ‘Pardon, pardon pardon! Ich steig ja nur auf den Balkon’ (Pardon, I rise only on the balcony)
A charming recording of a delightful operetta.
Ian Lace, MusicWeb International
Lehar: Die Juxheirat / Burkert
Julius Bauer, a man known not only for his intelligent, original, and witty texts but also as Vienna’s most influential theater critic, wrote the libretto for Die Juxheirat in 1904. This wild, dizzying, surprising, and bold work was far ahead of its times as well as reminiscent of The Taming of the Shrew – only carried to the absolute extreme. The shrew is a frustrated widow and suffragette, and the male protagonist is just the opposite of a lady-tamer: overtaxed and irritated, he just wants to live out his love. Michael Lakner, then the director of the Lehár Festival, declared in an interview, "I am especially fond of this operetta with a story taking us to the United States around 1900. Franz Lehár’s name is above all associated with The Merry Widow, his great worldwide success; a year before he had already written Die Juxheirat. During his lifetime this work was performed only forty times. And we are presenting this conversation operetta in a semi-scenic performance." The conductor Markus Burkert elaborated and reconstructed this work note by note; the musicians pieced their parts together note by note. "They also take this commitment with them into the performance – and play with verve the interesting waltzes, marches, and ensemble pieces. The fact that the Franz Lehár Orchestra also produces a wonderful, transparent, and lively sound makes it the perfect ensemble for the operetta genre." (BR-Klassik Operetta Review). A bold and daring Lehár without his otherwise typical sentimentalities – and a discovery!
Smetana: The Two Widows / Krombholc, Et Al
SMETANA The Two Widows • Jaroslav Krombholc, cond; Maria Tauberová ( Karolina ); Drahomira Tikalová ( Anežka ); Ivo Židek ( Ladislav ); Eduard Haken ( Mumlal ); Antonin Zlesák ( Toník ); Miloslava Fidlerová ( Lidunka ); Prague Natl Theatre O & Ch • SUPRAPHON 3926 (2 CDs: 124:45 Text and Translation)
Of the eight completed operas of Smetana, The Two Widows (or, in the original Czech, Dv? vdovy ) was finished fifth. It was the fourth to be performed, however, ahead of the historical pageant Libu?e , in its original and revised versions. Both versions, too, were considerable successes at their respective debuts, and especially valuable to a composer whose work was almost always under attack for political and musical reasons by powerful interests preferring a more Germanic style.
The original version of The Two Widows debuted within less than three months of its completion, in 1874. The story, drawn from a comedy by Pierre-Félicien Mallefille, concerned a pair of sisters who treat their mutual widowhood very differently. One, Karolina, relishes ruling her broad estates benignly, and contemplates entering politics. The other, Anežka, dresses in black and keeps the memory of her husband sacrosanct, avoiding a young man of leisure whom she once cared for while still married. When that young man turns up on Karolina’s lands while Anežka is visiting—pretending to poach the wildlife, and missing constantly—it’s time for a little scheming intervention. Low comedy was provided by the buffoonish bass role of Mumlal, Karolina’s gamekeeper.
Like the original Bartered Bride , this first version of The Two Widows was a comedy with dialogue. Smetana himself conducted that premiere, and wrote in his diary, “I received numerous wreaths and flowers, also a beautiful ornamented silver baton and silver wreath. . . . I was called out repeatedly after each act. Perfect success of the opera.” But the composer ultimately judged otherwise, for the second version made a few important changes clearly designed to give The Two Widows , well, legs. Smetana and his well-wishers wanted to see his operatic works performed abroad. As in the case of Carmen , which saw its debut a year later, the best way they saw to boost the international chances of an opera-with-spoken-word was to make it all music, all the time.
The recitative Smetana created in place of spoken text for his revision was fluent and varied in character, freely phrased and capable of moving between different levels of speech-song and concerted pieces. An example occurs in act II, scene 4, from recitative to parlando, and smoothly into an excellent trio (“Tob?, vdovo truchlivá”). Richard Strauss is said to have admired the way Smetana used recitative informally in The Two Widows , and saw it repeatedly while writing Der Rosenkavalier . Perhaps he was doing more than just thinking of this very scene, with its simple but beguiling waltz tune that starts midway through, with its sideslips into the relative minor.
The revision also involved the creation of what some might charitably call a secondary plot: a tiresome bit of wheezy humor, with interfering Mumlal sticking his head between two otherwise anonymous lovers, getting kissed, doing it again, and getting his nose boxed in stereo. It has the same rustic quality as Va?ek’s circus misadventures in The Bartered Bride , save that there, the incidents were truly woven into the story. Here, they simply pad the second act. Musically, it is another matter. Mumlal’s act II aria isn’t very interesting, but I find the trio scene for Mumlal, Toník, and Lidunka a delight.
Indeed, the opera displays a relatively high level of lyrical inspiration and craftsmanship throughout. While act I is slow—in part because it bore the larger amount of converted dialogue, in part because Mallefille’s original one-acter wasn’t really ideal for conversion into two acts—it has some choice content, including a short but delightful overture, a proud aria by Karolina (“Tot je jiná”), a hauntingly beautiful song for Ladislav (“Aj, vizte lovce tam”), and a wonderful concertato for all four main characters. Act II is almost pure gold: an attractive prelude, a heartwarming aria for Ladislav (“Když zavitá máj”), and a sparkling duet for Karolina and Anežka in which the latter quotes her sister’s earlier musical paean to non-marital freedom and tosses it astutely back. There’s a wonderful and lengthy scene for Ladislav and Anežka, where he reads a letter he’s written her, over music. (The liner notes claim this melodrama as unique, but as anybody familiar with opera should know, the ploy of reading a letter over powerful music was made very popular years earlier, with its best known example being a similar letter-reading scene in Verdi’s La traviata .) There is also a magnificent scene for Anežka, who finally regrets her behavior to Ladislav, addresses her husband beyond the grave, and lets go of what she has perceived as faithfulness, seeking the joys of living, instead. Not to be missed either are a series of concerted numbers for several voices, and, of course, one excellent polka.
There isn’t any available competition for this album. The 1970s recording for Supraphon is currently out of print and unattainable on most Web sites. (I just found a used version selling for over $360, but that’s ridiculous.) František Jilek led a spirited reading with a well-rounded but never outstanding cast. Its best feature is, frankly, the sound. It is far better than what Supraphon could accomplish in 1956, and that’s the date of this boxy reissue under Krombholc. Digital re-mastering hasn’t done a thing to rebalance the neglected midrange frequencies, or to deal with the constriction of the original tapes. But Krombholc, a fine conductor in his own right, has the advantage of a superior Karolina—almost Marschallin-like in her brightness, ease of phrasing, and coloratura—and a richer, slightly darker, more lyrical Anežka, who does full justice to her act II scene. Ivo Židek is slightly off his best, bright but occasionally pinched at the top, sometimes sliding in an unconvincing fashion. But he has a good, lyric voice, fine enunciation, and an ardent approach to this music that requires more than heft and vocal perfection. My only real disappointment in the cast was Eduard Haken, whose dark bass occasionally wobbles, and who goes disastrously askew when asked to do any figurations. Otherwise, he’s more than satisfactory, as are Zlesák and Fidlerová in their minor parts. All the performers sound thoroughly at home in their parts, and have that sense of rightness in scenes together that only comes from working in close proximity for a length of time.
A less appealing reading would still get a recommendation on the strength of the score, though the deficiencies would be noted. Here, the reservations are few. Definitely recommended.
FANFARE: Barry Brenesal