Let’s take the technicalities first.
This performance was recorded off the
National Broadcasting Company’s South
American feed on 16 inch lacquer-coated
glass-based discs. The originals are
no longer available but luckily they
were transferred to magnetic tape a
long time ago and this was the source
material for Ward Marston’s restoration
work and transfer onto CD. The South
American provenance can be glimpsed
at the very end of the broadcast when
during the final applause and curtain
calls we hear the Spanish-speaking announcer’s
comments. Marston also mentions the
pitch fluctuations on the originals,
which he has corrected as far as possible.
Otherwise the discs were in perfect
condition, some noisy patches in the
third act apart, and the surface noise
so unobtrusive that he has not used
any noise reduction. What is apparent
straight from the outset is a string
sound that is hard, maybe glassy is
a suitable description of it. This leaves
us bereft of the warmth that I would
hope was experienced by the audience
"on site" that Saturday afternoon.
Not that Leinsdorf’s music-making was
characterized by warmth in the first
place. Here the young conductor, just
turned 30, was obviously inspiring his
forces to play at white heat. This makes
it a thrilling Lohengrin, but
also an aggressive one. Comparing Leinsdorf
and Solti on the latter’s Decca recording
from 1987, the Austrian is invariably
faster. Leinsdorf recorded the work
under studio conditions in the mid-sixties
with his "own" Boston Symphony
and with possibly the best latter-day
Lohengrin, the Hungarian Sandor Konya.
I have only heard excerpts from that
recording but my recollections are that
Leinsdorf had cooled down a bit by then.
Strangely enough, rarely
during the present performance, did
I feel that he was rushing things unduly.
What remains in my memory is a highly-strung
dramatic reading with some excellent
singers – soloists, that is. The chorus
is enthusiastic but hardly distinguished
and there are some wobblers who stick
out, which mars the third act Bridal
Chorus. The prelude to that act is swift
of course and a bit aggressive. The
soft middle section lacks the flow of
the best performances; it is curiously
chopped up.
But the solo-singing
is quite another kettle of crayfish,
as Bill Kenny likes to put it; head
and shoulders above the rest is that
remarkable Wagnerian, Lauritz Melchior.
Danish by birth but naturalized American
he was already a couple of years past
fifty, but the passing years had left
his magnificent voice practically unaffected
by the ravages of time. And he didn’t
spare himself. At the Met alone he sang
499 performances. With the exception
of a single Otello every one of these
performances featured him in a Wagner
role. There were no less than 129 Tristans,
probably the worst voice-killer in all
opera.
His first entrance
here, his farewell to the swan: Nun
sei bedankt, mein lieber Schwan
(CD1 tr. 8) is magical with his characteristic
rounded, warm and silvery tone and ease
of voice production. He has a slight
tendency to scoop up to some notes but
in the main this is very clean singing
and with a lot of emotion. And when,
front of stage, he addresses the King
his tones cut like thunderbolts through
the air. At that point the 63 years
that separate the recording from the
present day seem to disappear, such
is the presence of his delivery. He
sings Elsa! Ich liebe dich! (near
the end of track 9) with the utmost
sincerity. Then in the last act’s long
Bridal Chamber Scene (CD3 tracks 3–7)
he is initially ingratiatingly mellow
and caring although he shows Nordic
steel in Elsa, mein Weib. All
through the scene his singing is something
to savour. He is loving and amazed at
Atmest du nicht mit mir die süssen
Düfte? (tr. 5). Then at Höchtes
Vertrau’n (tr. 6) he is "stern
and gravely" as Wagner’s instruction
reads, and at An meine Brust, du
Süsse, Reine he is again full
of love. Finally, after killing Telramund,
his Weh, nun ist all unser Glück
dahin! (tr. 7) is filled with sorrow
and despair. His two big set-pieces
in the final scene are also magically
sung and there is no sign of wear and
tiring; rather he is so deeply moved
at Leb wohl, mein susses Weib
that one can hear the tears in his voice.
Hearing the greatest Wagner tenor ever,
still at the height of his powers, in
such a widely encompassing role is a
privilege indeed and alone worth the
modest outlay for the discs.
But he isn’t the only
reason for acquiring the set. The other
Scandinavian in the cast, Swedish mezzo-soprano
Kerstin Thorborg, is almost as impressive
in her admittedly smaller role. What
impresses most is her ability to express
all Ortrud’s evil and contempt without
sacrificing the beauty of the voice
and that wonderful legato. Basically
one of the noblest voices of her own
or any period, she is still able to
sound venomous. The absence of over-the-top
histrionics - sadly a device used by
far too many Ortruds as their only means
of expression - makes her even more
dangerous. She has all the power needed
but never over-uses it.
Astrid Varnay, interestingly
enough also born in Scandinavia but
of Hungarian and Austrian parentage,
is caught here early in her career.
She has a voice more suited to Ortrud
than to Elsa. In fact a decade later
she sang Ortrud at Bayreuth, recorded
by Decca and reissued by Naxos earlier
this year (review).
Hers was an Isolde and Brünnhilde
voice with great power and regal tones
but she never had the ability to fine
down sufficiently to express the frailty
and vulnerability of Elsa. It’s a thrilling
performance even so and well suited
to Leinsdorf’s no-nonsense approach.
She tries hard in the third act Bridal
Chamber Scene but her part in the proceedings
remains that of an Isolde in disguise.
Of the men Mack Harrell,
father of cellist Lynn Harrell, has
a quality voice; he delivers bel canto-Wagner
of the highest order. He reminds me
of the young Ingvar Wixell who sang
this part in Stockholm in the 1960s.
I recorded the premiere from the radio
on my reel-to-reel recorder. It was
through that performance that I first
learnt this opera. Norman Cordon is
a worthy King Henry with his steady
black-tinted bass. A really thrilling
performance comes from Hungarian-born
Alexander Sved, who is best known as
a Verdi singer. Here in his only Wagner
part he delineates a Telramund who is
not to be taken lightly. He sometimes
presses too hard and the voice is beginning
to show signs of wear, but his declamation
is intense and his first act charge
against Elsa is hurled at her with biting
venom.
There are some stage
noises and there are also a couple of
cuts. In act two, near the end, the
ensemble Welch ein Geheimnis muss
der Held bewahren? is deleted. Also
in the last act most of the scene between
In fernem Land and Mein lieber
Schwan is gone. There are no great
losses though. Instead we get the whole
Bridal Chamber duet as an appendix in
the well-known studio recording by Parlophone
from 1926 with the young Melchior and
Emmy Bettendorf. The sound here is more
agreeable, but also lacking in dynamics.
The orchestra is rather recessed, which
lends a more lyrical approach. Melchior
in the studio is a bit more toned down,
but otherwise the quality of the voice
- and also the interpretation - is quite
similar. Considering that almost 17
years separate the two versions it is
remarkable that his voice is in such
good fettle in the live recording. On
the Parlophones we also hear what is
missing in Varnay’s Elsa, for Bettendorf
has the ideal voice for the part: lyrical,
warm and vulnerable.
For historically-minded
listeners this is an important issue.
Some may find Leinsdorf’s brusque approach
repulsive, but they will be consoled
by much of the singing. As usual there
is a short essay about the opera as
well as extended bios of the singers
by Malcolm Walker. Keith Anderson’s
synopsis is helpful for those who don’t
have a libretto with some other recording.
I enjoyed it a lot.
Göran Forsling
Orchestra and Chorus of the Metropolitan Opera,
New York/Erich Leinsdorf 
