In whichever incarnation
you choose to tackle it, Wilhelm Furtwängler’s
1952 Tristan remains an astonishing
achievement. For raw emotional power,
the famous Karl Böhm 1966 Bayreuth
account still retains this reviewer’s
affections; but such is Furtwängler’s
hypnotic account, that while listening
others are effectively forgotten.
The cast has attracted
much comment, firstly for Flagstad and
her ‘aide’ (Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, who
took some of the high notes, covering
top ‘C’s in Act II) and secondly for
the choice of Ludwig Suthaus, possibly
not the greatest Tristan, but one who
nevertheless shows he has more than
the measure of the part. True, he is
not Windgassen (unforgettable for Böhm)
or even Vickers (for Böhm again,
at Orange this time, on Hardy
Classic DVD). Yet Suthaus does
capture the feeling of an ill-fated
hero inextricably caught by circumstances.
First, a word about
surface noise and transfer, as the most
famous opening in all music, bar possibly
Beethoven Five, deserves the best. And
that it does seem to get here. The unrushed
initial unfolding occurs against the
quietest of hiss (it’s almost reassuring!).
The Prelude itself unfurls completely
naturally, working in waves towards
a climax that can only be described
as huge. The calming-down therefrom,
just as important structurally, again
shows Furtwängler’s grasp of the
ongoing process, ushering in the young
sailor (Rudolf Schock, no less). It
is worthwhile examining his shaping
of this most atmospheric, most melancholic
of scene-settings. Schock works carefully
towards a lusty ‘Wehe, wehe du Wind’
(including a tender ‘Mein irisch Kind,
wo weilest du?’). Such care characterises
just about everything vocally that follows.
Has the orchestral ‘interruption’ to
his song ever sounded so vehement? Just
listen to the way in which the strings
dig in. Has Isolde ever sounded so affronted
by the innocent Sailor? Similarly, the
string tremolando that precedes
Isolde’s ‘Brangäne, sag, wo sind
wir?’ is much more than an accompaniment:
it is pregnant with anticipation. Immediately
the listener is in the presence of massive
emotions. Typical of Furtwängler
that the chord that comes before the
word ‘sag’ is not together - one can
almost imagine the twitch!
How wonderful to have
an Isolde and a Brangäne matched
in power, caught on the crest of Furtwängler’s
wave. The dramatic sweep here is remarkable,
as is the sheer standard of the Philharmonia’s
playing, as Isolde calls on the ‘Kunst
der Zauberin’. Imperious and regal,
the orchestral storm tells the true
story of Isolde’s emotions. Yet care
is also evident at ‘Zerschlag es dies
trotzige Schiff’(CD1, track 2, 3’52),
Flagstad finding space between the syllables
of ‘trotzige’. American mezzo Blanche
Thebom - what can one say? - she is
not Flagstad. Generally good, although
not as accurate to pitch as Flagstad,
she provides a fine foil for her Isolde.
But it is a tribute to Furtwängler
that the reappearance of the Sailor
seems the only logical outcome, bringing
a sense of closure to scene one while
beginning the second. He is actually
marked as the beginning of the second,
but this is Wagner we’re talking about,
after all. Here Furtwängler highlights
the cello accompaniment, so disturbing
in context. Isolde’s immediately following
phrase, ‘Mir erkoren’, seems so intensely
poignant because of this. Flagstad’s
low register is astonishingly beautiful.
Surely it would have
been a good idea to have a new track
for the Kurwenal/Tristan exchange? A
minor quibble - more important is the
way Furtwängler makes the accented
and decorated third beat on the strings
sound impatient. Whether we should be
impatient to hear Fischer-Dieskau as
Kurwenal is another matter, though.
To this reviewer’s ears, whatever his
brownie points in diction and eloquence
of phrasing, he just sounds like Fischer-Dieskau,
providing a swaggering song (track 9,
9’22ff). Here, at the semblance of a
set-piece, he is in his element. But
overall in Act I, he does not seem to
truly identify with his part.
It is almost impossible
to summarize Act I with mere highlights.
If one moment does sum it up, perhaps
it is Isolde’s ‘Er sah mich in die Augen’,
with her miraculous floating of ‘Augen’.
But we come back to Furtwängler
when we try to analyse why this highlighting
is so impossible. It is his over-arching
vision that provides the framework for
the ongoing surface detail. It is this
that provides the unstoppable momentum
identified earlier.
Act II of Tristan
is a great Hymn to Love. Sensuous like
almost no other music written before
or since, its perfumed eroticism sits
well in the imagination afforded by
the compact disc medium (just think
about the size of most Wagnerian singers).
Unshackled, therefore, it becomes easy
to be drawn into this almighty love-fest.
Right from the very first chord, it
turns out, a highly-charged orchestral
shout that speaks simultaneously of
the intensity of events to follow and
also of the sexual voltage in the air
at this point. Off-stage horns are perfectly
balanced to suggest the hunt; Furtwängler
creates a veritable web of sound for
Isolde’s ‘Horst du noch?’. Balance goes
somewhat awry a little later, as Brangäne
gets rather drowned. Yet how the orchestra
glows (there is no other word for it)
in the lead-up to Tristan’s entrance.
Furtwängler has this in mind from
the very outset of the act, it appears
in retrospect. The full musical tension
is conveyed; not to mention the ecstatic
release at Tristan’s cry of ‘Isolde!’
- the release is in the orchestra as
much, if not more than, in the voice.
It is almost overwhelming. Suthaus does
convey his excitement and Furtwängler
just refuses to let up. The sound of
the singers valiantly struggling against
the orchestral tide (particularly Suthaus
- although in fairness this is partially
registral placement) is all part and
parcel of the experience. Furtwängler
paces the wind-down towards the fragrant
‘O sink hernieder’ (CD 2, track 7) to
perfection, not least in the expectant
hush of the meandering strings that
precedes this wonderful section.
Surprisingly, perhaps,
it is Suthaus that is in finer fettle
at this point. Whilst Flagstad is undeniably
good, it remains possible to detect
that she is past her vocal peak in these
sessions. And it is Thebom that produces
the goods at her ‘Einsam wachend in
der Nacht’ (Brangäne’s Warning,
for those that like the accepted Wagnerian
signpostery). Ghostly, disembodied,
she justifies herself as Brangäne
here more than anywhere.
Suthaus’s baritonal
qualities blossom at ‘So stürben
wir’, one more stage in Furtwängler’s
realisation of Wagner’s seemingly endless
prolongation of mood, a flow that can
only be halted (before it explodes!)
by sudden interruption. Musically, this
happens at Kurwenal’s line ‘Rette dich,
Tristan’ (the beginning of Scene 3:
CD3, Track 2: there’s a little aural
bump at this point).
The test of any King
Mark comes with the great section beginning,
‘Tatest du’s wirklich’ and leading to
the monologue at ‘Mir, dies? Dies, Tristan,
mir?’. The great German bass Josef Greindl
assumes the role here, yet he is perhaps
not in his finest voice. More depth
of expression is still possible, more
projection of the utterly inconsolable.
Tristan’s riposte (‘O König, das
kann ich dir nicht sagen’) fits the
bill without tearing at the heart-strings.
This is left to the Philharmonia’s cor
anglais, unaccompanied, in the literal
sense, and, in all senses as a representative
of Tristan’s psychological state, utterly
alone.
Death hangs heavy in
the air right from the start of Act
III; the sheer heaviness of the lower
strings’ landing on the first chord
shows the listener straightaway where
we are, psychologically. Its presence
can be clearly felt, the shepherd’s
pipe taking on an entirely appropriate
elegiac melancholy. If Fischer-Dieskau’s
Kurwenal seems better by now, more Kareol
than Kingsway, Suthaus too seems to
have truly ‘arrived’ and entered into
his part. Tristan does sound delirious
and desperate. Indeed, Fischer-Dieskau
provides reciprocal anguish, but it
is Suthaus that glows. Here the strain
of the very top register of his voice
carries a point with it, often conveying
near-hysteria. Underpinning all this
is Furtängler’s inspired direction.
Just one example: the trombones, so
together and so laden with emotive weight,
as Tristan curses the Liebestrank (CD
4, track 2, around eight minutes in).
Isolde’s entrance is
well-managed, with an appropriate sense
of distance as she approaches. Flagstad
is heart-breaking as well as heart-broken
at Tristan’s demise. The closing sections
of the music-drama are, indeed, a fitting
climax as well as the most touching
of farewells. .Greindl, too, attains
his best form at the eloquent, hushed
and desolate ‘Tod den alles’. Brangäne
asks the tenderest of questions (‘Hörst
du uns nicht, Isolde?’) before Flagstad
launches into the Verklärung.
Here it is a shame
the recording crowds at ‘hoch sich hebt’.
The Producer explains in the booklet
that, ‘There are occasional, brief dropouts
and distortion due to volume level overload
inherent in the original tape masters’.
Yet the climax is orchestrally resplendent,
matched, amazingly, by Flagstad. For
once, the balance works. Whilst one
might have heard the final octave leap
floated more beautifully (Jessye Norman
is a past-mistress of this), there is
no denying the sheer emotional charge
of the end.
Throughout the performance
there is a tangible sense of musical
‘stretching’ as Wagner’s harmonic prolongations
accrue superhuman value. Obert-Thorn’s
transfer reveals depth and detail in
equal measure (just listen to the opening
track of CD 4, for example, or the definition
of the trombones prior to Tristan’s
cursing of the Liebestrank in Act III).
This set is a miracle,
of sorts. One can only accept that Thebom
is not an ideal Brangäne; and,
as Marc Bridle so rightly says in his
review of this same performance (on
EMI), how we miss Hans Hotter and what
he would have brought!. Still, maybe
it happened in a parallel reality.
Back to this one. Now
permanently available for less than
£20, if this magnificent account of
the greatest music-drama of them all
(save perhaps Parsifal) is not
yet in your collection, now would be
a good time to rectify the omission.
Colin Clarke
Reviews of other
transfers of this recording also at
super budget price:
Regis from LP
; EMI from Mastertape
by Paul
Shoemaker Marc
Bridle
Chorus of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden;
Philharmonia Orchestra/Wilhelm Furtwängler
