Mozart year has only
recently begun but there is already
a steady stream of releases, most of
them reissues. At the time of writing
there are still a few days remaining
to his birthday. I doubt that this recording
is to be regarded as the most important
of his many birthday presents, but it
is still interesting – and even controversial.
When it was first released in 1979 I
didn’t feel like adding yet another
Figaro to the Erich Kleiber and
Karl Böhm sets I already had. Accordingly
this was my first encounter with Karajan’s
Figaro – and Karajan’s
it is, since the old timer distinctly
sets his seal on the performance. The
older he got the more his readings became
centred on Karajan’s Mozart,
Verdi, Wagner instead of Mozart’s, Verdi’s,
Wagner’s. This can be clearly illustrated
by comparing his Otello from
1960 with his EMI remake from about
15 years later. In 1960 Verdi still
occupied the seat of honour while the
latter shows a full-length portrait
of the maestro.
This is also the case
with Figaro; not necessarily
a bad thing. Karajan was after all one
of the great maestros of his era and
he knew what he wanted. Sometimes a
break with the traditional view of a
piece can be illuminating and perspective-building.
Maybe he wanted to show that Mozart
was not only a composer of his own time
but one for all time. "Suppose",
Karajan might have reasoned, "that
Mozart had lived long enough to experience
the blossoming of the Romantic era";
and why not? When Weber died Mozart
would have been 70. "With his inquisitive
mind", Karajan might have continued,
"he would probably have adopted
the Romantic attributes: wider dynamics,
more flexible tempi, heavy accents,
a fuller sound with more legato playing.
So, let’s give it a try!" With
the Vienna Philharmonic available he
couldn’t dream of a lusher body of strings,
of more romantic woodwind and more sonorous
brass, well versed as they were in Wagner
and Bruckner and Brahms … you name it.
Starting with the overture
Karajan sets off briskly and the Vienna
musicians play like gods. This music
requires a virtuoso orchestra – and
that’s what the VPO are. Karajan is
alert to the rhythms and the music whirls
on, elegantly and powerfully, but we
soon notice that the maestro inserts
accents, hair-pins, crescendos and decrescendos
that belong to a later era. Rossini
would probably have swooned for joy
if he had heard this. And why not? This
is what I call interventionist conducting,
adding things to the written score.
The thing is that he does not confine
this to the overture. All through the
opera he pulls the music about in very
Romantic fashion, sometimes hair-raising
rubatos, sometimes - very often - these
heavy accents or ultra-refined pianissimos.
It is like a writer who has to underline
every fifth word, set inverted commas
here, italicize there. It is done with
great skill. It makes one listen anew
to the music but – is it Mozart? Yes,
maybe, forty years later.
I’ll give just a few
examples, all of them from the last
act, since that’s what I remember best.
Starting with Figaro’s aria (CD 3 track
4), where the recitative Tutto è
disposto is played so slowly that
it almost comes to a stand-still, with
soft silken strings. And there are gains:
never, in my memory, has a Figaro been
allowed space to snarl, to whisper,
weigh his every word the way José
van Dam is here, and he grabs every
opportunity. This is a memorable reading,
staggering, revealing the poor valet’s
despair. This is no longer a buffo actor
but a real person of flesh and blood,
who believes he has been deceived, and
the aria proper, Aprite un po’ quegl’occhi
is sinister and dark. As I said:
there are gains. Go then to the next
track, Susanna’s recitative and aria
Giunse alfin il momento … Deh, vieni,
non tardar, again extremely slow
– but telling. Here one can’t avoid
noticing that poor Ileana Cotrubas would
have loved it to be played a notch faster,
but she also finds new nuances in a
piece that everybody thought they knew.
Finally, in the long finale, when half-way
through the number, Figaro for a second
is alone on stage, he sings Tutto
è tranquillo e placido (All
is peace and quietness) very, very
slow and soft, almost like a slow-motion
sequence in a movie. Again when near
the end Il Conte is forced to apologize
to La Contessa, Karajan makes a longer
than normal pause, there is breathless
silence and one can imagine everybody
standing there, open-mouthed, amazed:
"What will happen now?" After
a half eternity, Il Conte finally opens
his mouth too, and sings extremely slowly
and softly Contessa, perdono
to show that he of all people has to
condescend to an apology. This is another
special moment and Karajan knew: this
is revolutionary. It may not have been
the way Mozart meant, but it makes good
music theatre. I have written at some
length of these matters, since prospective
buyers should be aware of the idiosyncrasies.
I am still not convinced that this approach
is totally successful but it is indeed
a reading with a difference.
Sonically it is big-boned
with the orchestra centre-stage, but
Karajan handles the proceedings with
such skill and elegance that the singers
are never swamped. More of a problem
is that recitatives, performed very
flexibly, are sometimes so intimately
acted and sung that one has to turn
up the volume to a setting that is uncomfortable
for both eardrums and neighbours when
the orchestra enters. Since I am seated
by the player and amplifier this is
no big problem but listeners with the
equipment in the other end of the room
may end up quite fit but with little
musical benefit. Oops, sorry, there
are remote-controls nowadays, I forgot.
So far not many words
about the singers, which might be a
bad omen – but it isn’t. Karajan engaged
a line-up of great singing-actors, several
of them belonging to his inner circle.
Since most of them belong to my roster
of personal favourites I have to commend
Karajan for his good taste. José
van Dam, one of Karajan’s regulars,
is a Figaro to challenge the best -
for me that implies Cesare Siepi, Hermann
Prey and Thomas Allen - expressive,
nuanced, biting and relishing every
syllable. Non più andrai,
full-voiced and exuberant, is something
to return to. Tom Krause is a Count
with all the nobility and authority
needed and he can also be mellifluous
and seductive. His third act aria, preceded
by the duet with Susanna, offers some
of the most glorious singing of this
part ever recorded. In the aria, especially,
he really relishes the text, spitting
consonants and rolling his "r"s.
The only problem is that van Dam and
Krause have quite similar voice timbres
and without the libretto, which fortunately
is included, it can be difficult to
tell them apart from each other.
His Contessa is Anna
Tomowa-Sintow, a great favourite with
Karajan. She sings her two quite static
but extremely beautiful arias touchingly
in long thin silver threads, her slightly
fluttery tone underlining her tragic
life. As Susanna Ileana Cotrubas is
in her element, glittering and sparkling.
The Letter duet with Tomowa-Sintow is
intimate with the voices blending beautifully.
Frederica von Stade is of course the
ideal Cherubino. She recorded the role
again a few years later, also for Decca,
with Solti, a recording that also has
to be on anyone’s short-list. It is
more generally recommendable than Karajan’s.
She is a little hampered by the stately
tempo Karajan adopts for Non so più,
which robs it of the youthful nervousness
and eagerness. Vocally however it is
exquisite; even better is the second
act’s Voi che sapete, an aria
she once sang as an encore at a concert
in Stockholm. She is one of the few
mezzos who is able to make Cherubino
sound boyish, just as her Octavian in
Der Rosenkavalier is also believable.
The supporting cast
is excellent. Jules Bastin is very expressive
but hasn’t quite the booming low notes
that can make Bartolo such a formidable
character. He sounds young and the same
goes for Marcellina, sung by the ever-reliable
Jane Berbié. She is vouchsafed
her aria in act four, and the splendid
character tenor Heinz Zednik, singing
Basilio is also allowed his aria. As
Barbarina Christiane Barbaux sounds
suitably girlish and the rest of the
cast also make their marks. The continuo
playing by Konrad Leitner is very sparse;
neither he nor the singers indulge in
any embellishments.
Karajan fans, who lack
this recording, should not hesitate
and I hope that others now have some
idea of what to expect. Personally I
will still stick to my old Kleiber and
Böhm versions but Karajan’s approach
is refreshing and the singing is superb.
At its new mid-price it can certainly
be a valuable alternative. "Mozart
at 70", maybe – and why not?
Göran Forsling
Wiener Philharmoniker/Herbert von Karajan 
