Some while back I 
          reviewed the classic 1954 Erich Kleiber Rosenkavalier, reissued 
          on Decca’s "Legendary Performances" series (467 111-2). Now 
          the 1956 Karajan is available as one of EMI’s Great Recordings of the 
          Century. 
        
The Kleiber was the first complete recording of the 
          work. It also enshrines a deeply authentic approach, nurtured in Vienna 
          under the likes of Clemens Krauss and Kleiber himself and a trio of 
          ladies – Reining, Gueden and Jurinac – who had grown up with their parts 
          in a Vienna where the composer himself was very much a living memory 
          (and Gueden had taken up the part of Sophie at his request). As a recording 
          it was a first, but as a performance it marked the end of a long line 
          in which the work was presented with total understanding and sympathy 
          rather than interpretation as such. The Karajan came only two years 
          later, but by this time Strauss was, as it were, a public monument. 
          The EMI set ushered in a new era of "personalised interpretations". 
        
What this means in practice can be heard in the Marschallin’s 
          soliloquy on the passing of time. Schwarzkopf’s semi-whispered phrases 
          amount to a deeply imaginative approach on the part of both her and 
          the conductor, and with the distant clock striking the music comes to 
          a complete standstill. Schwarzkopf’s final phrase is preceded by a pause 
          and is then as long-drawn-out is it could possibly be. Reining and Kleiber, 
          by contrast, give us Strauss "neat". Abetted by a brighter, 
          more forward recording they could seem rough-mannered as they keep things 
          on the move (no indulgence as the clocks strike), except that they give 
          us one essential ingredient that Strauss, in love with the soprano voice 
          right through his career, must surely have longed for; the almost sensual 
          satisfaction of a full-toned voice billowing and soaring across the 
          footlights. That is what people go to the opera for, and Schwarzkopf 
          and Karajan seem intent on withholding this. Invariably, when she enters 
          or returns to the scene, she does so not like a prima donna whose task 
          is to hold the stage, but emerges imperceptibly from the orchestra. 
          As so often, Karajan’s sheer refinement seems to cushion the listener 
          from the full impact of the music. Similarly, as love dawns between 
          Octavian and Sophie, Teresa Stich-Randall’s high pianissimo Bs and Cs 
          have a pure, disembodied quality which exhibits a control unmatched 
          by Hilde Gueden, who nevertheless has the essential oomph-factor. Best 
          of all, maybe, was Schwarzkopf herself back in 1947 as a free-soaring 
          Sophie in a short extract recorded with a more unconstrained Karajan. 
        
Considering all the moments of stasis, it is remarkable 
          that Karajan’s overall timings are faster in all three acts. In certain 
          moments, such as the pantomime at the beginning of Act 3, he really 
          goes like the wind, and with Kleiber you feel the singers have that 
          spot more time to express their words in the comic exchanges. Still, 
          this was only the first of the personalised Rosenkavaliers, 
          and Karajan was always a great master of the overall line, something 
          which later purveyors of faster-than-fast alternating slower-than-slow 
          rather lost sight of. All this would nevertheless seem to point to a 
          recommendation for Kleiber, even taking into account Edelmann’s less 
          boorish Ochs, real luxury casting of the smaller roles (Gedda is wonderful 
          as the Italian tenor, where Anton Dermota struggles a bit) and a more 
          refined if a little recessed recording. 
        
Except that, come the Act 3 trio, the overwhelming 
          climax of the work, and Karajan finally loses himself in the music, 
          and when this happens all his refinements fall into place. At last the 
          voices are encouraged to soar out freely (had he been saving up for 
          this all along?) and even Kleiber’s glorious account is quite surpassed. 
          This at least is one of the "Great Recordings of the Century". 
          I don’t know if this in itself adds up to a recommendation ahead of 
          Kleiber, but it does rather sound as if you’ll need both of them. 
        
 
        
        
Christopher Howell