This is one of the few uncut performances of Parsifal 
                  with a timing under four hours, and as such ranks as one of 
                  the fastest on record. Karajan at Vienna in 1961 comes in 
                  at about the same time and only Boulez in 1966 (3:49:00) and 
                  1970 (3:39:00) is faster. Whereas Boulez sounds detached, scrambled 
                  and even perfunctory, Krauss never feels rushed or dismissive; 
                  he has a real grasp of the ebb and flow of this piece and is 
                  also alive to its poetry. His more lithe and responsive approach 
                  is certainly preferable to the sclerotic and marmoreal readings 
                  of Levine in 1985 and Goodall in 1971, both of whom, absurdly, 
                  take just under four and three quarter hours. To take Knappertsbusch, 
                  as a reasonable comparison, even he generally takes another 
                  quarter of an hour in his various accounts, but another favourite 
                  version of mine by Armin Jordan in 1981 takes just five minutes 
                  over four hours. While I concede that a crude comparison of 
                  duration does not necessarily indicate the relative merits of 
                  performances, you will by now have gathered that I am not in 
                  favour of Parsifal as a cure for insomnia and am in favour 
                  of a more forward narrative momentum as opposed to the petrified 
                  stasis that passes for spirituality in some conductors’ 
                  interpretations. 
                  
                  Several of the cast in this 1953 performance are the same who 
                  sang in Parsifal the previous two years at Bayreuth but 
                  conducted by Knappertsbusch. The big changes are the substitution 
                  of Ramon Vinay for Wolfgang Windgassen in the title role and 
                  the inheritance of the conductor’s baton by Clemens Krauss. 
                  The 1951 broadcast has generally been the more admired, but 
                  I would suggest that the arrival of Vinay represents a marked 
                  improvement over his predecessor, that both Weber and Mödl 
                  sing better than in previous performances and that Krauss’s 
                  propulsion is preferable to Knappertsbusch’s reflection 
                  and restraint. I realise that some will disagree with me; what 
                  cannot be disputed though is that Andrew Rose at Pristine has 
                  performed another miraculous re-mastering of the dim mono sound 
                  of the original broadcast tapes in the same way that he recently 
                  revitalised Krauss’s Ring. That accomplishment 
                  alone is enough to make this Parsifal preferable to all 
                  the other live Knappertsbusch accounts recorded at Bayreuth 
                  throughout the 1950s, regardless of the merits of the various 
                  casts. As Rose notes, this transmission by Bavarian Radio was 
                  made a couple of weeks before Krauss’s Ring so 
                  the engineers would not have had opportunity to fine-tune the 
                  location and settings of their equipment, thus the quality of 
                  the tapes is about the same as he had to deal with in Das 
                  Rheingold and they were as such more recessed and afflicted 
                  by whines, hums, hissing and rumbling. He has clearly done a 
                  wonderful job in removing or at least alleviating those defects. 
                  Voices occasionally go off microphone but in general we are 
                  now not missing much, I think. 
                  
                  Parsifal is ideally heard in sumptuous stereo sound, 
                  but I am tolerant of live, historical mono, especially when 
                  the performance is first class and the recording is as well 
                  refurbished as here by Pristine. However, I return again and 
                  again to two modern recordings, not just to be able to hear 
                  the musical nuances but because in both Kurt Moll is an ideal 
                  interpreter of Gurnemanz. These are the 1980 Kubelik and the 
                  1979/80 Karajan sets. Ludwig Weber has his moments; he has a 
                  big, authoritative, paternal voice and is clearly vastly experienced 
                  in the part, but his frequent unsteadiness and approximate pitching 
                  mean that he cannot really deliver the shiver down the spine 
                  that Moll provokes when he rolls out his huge, smooth black 
                  voice in climaxes such as “Gesegnet sei, Du reiner” 
                  through to “die letzte Last entnimm nun seinem Haupt!”, 
                  at the anointing of Parsifal. Robert Lloyd for Jordan is another 
                  bass whose sheer beauty of sound seduces the ear during those 
                  long narrative monologues; I do not really look forward to them 
                  with Weber, as when the vocalisation is less than perfect they 
                  can drag. There is no doubt that he understands the text at 
                  a profound level, but his vocal resources are not always able 
                  to produce the effects he is aiming for. Hotter, for all his 
                  verbal acuity, has similar vocal limitations; I’m afraid 
                  I do not find his voice especially beautiful but rather “woofy”. 
                  
                  
                  An unwelcome side-effect of the audio restoration of this performance 
                  is that it reveals just how persistently bronchial the supposedly 
                  reverential Bayreuth audience were that night; I know it’s 
                  absurd to feel homicidal towards an audience member of nearly 
                  sixty years ago who has now probably long since passed away, 
                  but there is one I would happily throttle; he invariably saves 
                  his throatiest blasts for the most tender moments. Perhaps his 
                  interventions partially explain why some crucial moments remain 
                  earthbound; I don’t think any other conductor emulates 
                  the ecstasy Karajan generates at key points, yet at other times 
                  Krauss manages to create a suitably elevated and weighty ambience, 
                  such as in the Transformation music. The orchestra, some iffy 
                  intonation in the woodwind and flutes apart, is generally more 
                  comfortable than in previous years, having already been put 
                  through their paces by Knappertsbusch. The chorus trained by 
                  Wilhelm Pitz is superb. Krauss’s approach is certainly 
                  less internalised than his predecessor but there are benefits 
                  to his more dramatic treatment of the score, especially in Act 
                  2, at Klingsor’s magic castle, which is charged with evil 
                  tension. 
                  
                  Hermann Uhde repeats his nonpareil of a Klingsor; he is to this 
                  role what Gustav Neidlinger was to Alberich - although the latter 
                  also sang Klingsor too. His biting, febrile, almost hysterical 
                  characterisation of the magician is thrillingly voiced and we 
                  can well believe that this sinister Klingsor “laid violent 
                  hands upon himself”. He is aptly partnered by Martha Mödl’s 
                  coruscating Kundry. No wonder the Flower Maidens - led by a 
                  lovely Rita Streich - quail before her. She underscores her 
                  reputation as a splendid singing actress; she is wholly uninhibited 
                  in how she growls and yowls to emphasise the sensual and bestial 
                  side of Kundry’s nature and the result is compelling; 
                  she is a complete stage animal and here delivers a seminal performance 
                  to stand alongside her Isolde for Karajan a few years earlier. 
                  
                  
                  Windgassen’s Parsifal was arguably vitiated by the querulous 
                  whine in his voice which compromised his otherwise admirable 
                  Tristan and always made him sound too old. Vinay is an improvement 
                  vocally and he sings beautifully, but there is no denying that 
                  his big, dark, baritonal tenor also sounds too old for the naïve 
                  Parsifal, but for different reasons. Nonetheless, he is in good 
                  company here with other mature-voiced Parsifals like Vickers 
                  and Baldelli (the latter in an estimable but cut recording sung 
                  in Italian alongside Callas and Christoff) and he sings as if 
                  he is really living Parsifal’s painful journey towards 
                  enlightenment; just listen to the torment in his outburst "Amfortas! 
                  Die Wunde!” It’s a fine, involving performance. 
                  Perhaps one day Jonas Kaufmann, with a voice still boyish yet 
                  of Heldentenor amplitude, will give us the perfect Parsifal? 
                  
                  
                  George London’s bleak, world-weary Amfortas is the best 
                  of his various incarnations, certainly far superior to the “big, 
                  black bawl” of his performance for Knapperstbusch too 
                  late in his sadly curtailed career in 1962. His huge, resonant, 
                  rock-solid voice grandly embodies Amfortas’s grief and 
                  anguish, although I still think José Van Dam’s 
                  account for Karajan is both the most beautifully vocalised and 
                  the most subtly characterised on disc. Resident Bayreuth cave-man 
                  Josef Greindl is suitably sonorous and sepulchral as Titurel. 
                  
                  
                  All in all, this a valuable and worthy issue of Wagner's last 
                  opera (Gesamtkunstwerk, Buhnenweihfestspiel?) in sound far superior 
                  to any of its previous incarnations. This quadruple set comes 
                  in two double CD cases: the Prologue and Act 1 span discs one 
                  and two, using a natural break to separate the continuous music 
                  into two halves of similar length, with brief fades of background 
                  atmosphere ending and beginning these CDs. Acts 2 and 3 fit 
                  in their entirety onto CDs 3 and 4 respectively.
                  
                  Ralph Moore