Whether you run to 
                Fassbaender in the Seven Deadly Sins, 
                employing a lieder singer’s pointing 
                and idiom, or to the exquisitely sung 
                but somewhat less well characterised 
                von Otter there are certainly voices 
                to suit most tastes (Lenya’s I suppose 
                we needn’t even touch on). Even amongst 
                the competition the combination of Migenes 
                and Tilson Thomas produces something 
                unusually remarkable, in this last major 
                collaboration between Weill and Brecht. 
                Migenes occupies a distinct place in 
                a piece that responds amazingly well 
                to lieder intimacies, operatic drama 
                and refined classicism. Hers is an operatic, 
                outsize sensibility but it’s entirely 
                convincing both in voluptuous sensuality 
                and also in superfine impersonation 
                (as for example of the two sisters in 
                Lust). Rightly the texts 
                are explored with lacerating exposure 
                as she extracts every ounce of evocative 
                sensuousness and contempt from the suggestive 
                lyrics. Tilson Thomas’s symphonic understanding 
                of the score is equally profound and 
                the superlatives run to the men of whom 
                Alan Opie is outstanding in Sloth 
                and Robert Tear adds his clarion tenor 
                to Gluttony.
              
 
              
Tilson Thomas is at 
                his most charismatic in Pride 
                where his subtle conducting manages 
                a vivacious drama that is sustained 
                throughout the length of the recording 
                though in the Molto agitato Anger 
                he and the LSO generate even more 
                heat. There is a sense of corporate 
                instrumental and vocal virtuosity here 
                that is entirely winning and that applies 
                equally to the Little Threepenny Music 
                recorded a year later in the same location, 
                Henry Wood Hall. The only blot on the 
                production is that there are no printed 
                lyrics. Otherwise, unalloyed admiration 
                – and pleasure. 
              
 
              
Jonathan Woolf