I found reviewing this set a singularly underwhelming experience.
I have no objection in principle to “Die Fledermaus” being performed
in English, but while Howard Dietz’s snappy, American lyrics must
have seemed quite fresh and innovative in 1950 they now seem a
little faded. Hence we have Adele trilling, “If you wangle/Every
angle/You can get yourself a spangle” – hmmm; maybe it’s your
cup of tea – but it’s not mine. Some new profundities are attempted;
thus “Herr Chevalier” becomes a would-be humorous metaphysical
speculation on the after-life: “When we are gone, where do we
go? Below, below, below.” The score is cut to ribbons and the
dialogue wholly re- written in this simplified version, so many
subtleties are lost, yet, inexplicably, even though the complete
running time is a mere hour and a half, space was found in this
studio recording to import the seven minute waltz from “Roses
from the South” as a ballet number. There is little feeling of
a Viennese ball about this updating.
All of this would
matter little if the performance itself were more engaging.
Alas; no. I was immediately put off by the impenetrable accents
of both Ljuba Welitsch and Lily Pons, who mangle English such
that one struggles to comprehend their witticisms. Neither
sings especially well; Welitsch was a major artist and she
understands the idiom – whatever that is by the time this
Viennese favourite has been so comprehensively hi-jacked –
but one has only to turn to Schwarzkopf or Güden to hear how
the role of Rosalinde should be sung; both bring so much more
charm and allure to their assumptions of this gift of a part.
Even if Welitsch’s singing had been more nuanced, the whole
point of the Czardas is, in any case, lost in Dietz’s frankly
rather weird version. Pons attempt to sparkle, but the voice
is worn and the runs aspirated. Indeed, so many of the singers
sound tired, past their best, or simply very ordinary. Blessed
relief comes in the form of Richard Tucker’s virile and sprightly
Alfred and we discover that in addition to his manifold talents
we may add a keen sense of humour. Otherwise, both John Brownlee’s
dry Falke and Charles Kullman’s bland Eisenstein are way past
their yell-by dates and Martha Lipton brings little distinction
of voice or characterisation to her Prince Orlofsky. It is
scant consolation that Clifford Harvuot isn’t bad as Frank.
Ormandy is out
of his element in this idiom. He pushes too hard and there
is little affection or lilt in his direction. The chorus bawl
their way through their numbers as if trying to inject some
joie de vivre into this joyless enterprise. This was a successful
stage production planned by Rudolf Bing in his first season
as general manager of the Metropolitan Opera, but it hardly
translates onto record. Apart from acknowledging its value
as a souvenir of a landmark production and testimony to the
versatility of Richard Tucker, the Met’s gifted “house-tenor”,
I am at a loss to understand why Mark Obert –Thorn thought
it worth the application of his talents to re-engineer it.
The mono sound is crisp and pleasant on the ear. In his note,
Obert-Thorn tells us that despite the “common criticism of
this recording … that it was not echt Wienerisch enough”
it is “rather an opportunity to hear some wonderful singers
having a great time”. I am afraid that I do not hear it like
that at all. This same performance is now also available on
Naxos – but I suspect that it will soon fall out of their
catalogue. “Die Fledermaus” has, by and large, led a charmed
life on disc and I urge you to turn to either of Karajan’s
recordings: the 1955 set with a smoky, sensuous Schwarzkopf
as Rosalinde or the scintillating Hilde Güden in the1960 gala
performance. Failing that, another set from the same year
as this Metropolitan recording is as recommendable as the
Met version is not: Clemens Krauss with the desired echt
Wienerisch cast and company again headed by the wonderful
Hilde Güden – and, as a bonus, a 1951 “New Year Concert”.
Ralph Moore
Rosalinda
– Ljuba Welitsch (soprano) 
