Alexander ZEMLINSKY (1871-1942)
Lyrische Symphonie, Op. 18 (1922) [43:14]
Franz SCHREKER (1878-1934)
Vorspiel zu einem Drama (1914) [19:03]
Karan Armstrong (soprano), Roland Hermann (baritone)
ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra/Michael Gielen
rec. live, 27 January 1989, Musikverein, Vienna (Zemlinsky); 31 August 1993, Weiner Konzerthaus, Vienna (Schreker)
ORFEO C210241 [62:17]
Alexander Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony, once a rarity on disc, now has a profusion of recordings. Listing only those previously reviewed on MusicWeb, there is Chailly on Decca (review), Beaumont on Chandos (review), Conlon on EMI (review, review), Maazel on DG and reissued by Brilliant Classics (review), Gabrille Ferro on Warner Fonit (review), and Eschenbach on Capriccio SACD (review
~ review
~ review). Other recordings include Sinopoli on DG, Hans Graf on Naxos, Bohumil Gregor on Supraphon, and Alexander Liebreich on Accentus. Alongside Zemlinsky’s other best known work, the orchestral fantasy Die Seejungfrau, the Lyric Symphony has become something of a repertory item, at least on disc.
This live recording of the Lyric Symphony by Michael Gielen on Orfeo is in direct competition with an earlier Gielen recording on Arte Nova, also reviewed on MusicWeb (review). Ironically, while the live performance dates from 1989 and the Arte Nova studio recording comes from 1995, the former is only appearing now after Gielen’s death in 2019 and the latter is long out of print, though reissued in 2005. To keep to a manageable length, I will only compare the live and studio Gielen versions, plus Eschenbach on Capriccio, my benchmark for this work.
The Lyric Symphony is a hybrid, neither simply a cycle of songs nor a full-fledged symphony. It features a baritone and soprano soloist who alternate in a series of seven songs from poems by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), the Bengali poet who won the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature. The poems loosely trace a love affair from initial yearnings to final disappointment – Zemlinsky himself, however, selected and ordered poems from a larger collection by Tagore to create this narrative. Musical motifs reappear in different guises throughout to bind the cycle together. This “symphonic” construction gives the piece its title. It is a turbulent work, full of passion and bitterness, exquisite beauty and venomous irony.
The Gielen studio recording and the Eschenbach form two ends of a spectrum. On Arte Nova Gielen drives the music along, always finding the dramatic heart of each song and bringing it forward. He sets brisk tempi and rarely dawdles. James Johnson, baritone, and Vlatka Orsanic, soprano, respond wholeheartedly to this approach, tearing into the extroverted songs while still shaping each phrase as much as in the quieter, introverted ones. The recording mix places their voices “inside” the orchestra but they remain audible. Orchestral details such as sliding string and wind glissandi are very evident. The orchestral outburst between songs two and three is apt to leave the listener breathless, the brief fifth song as well, for good reason. The intensity of Orsanic and subsequent orchestral eruption in the sixth song feels almost expressionistic. The finale is peaceful with very expressive singing from Johnson although the final orchestral climax is surprisingly underwhelming. All in all, an utterly committed reading. The orchestra here was the SWF Symphonieorchester at the time, now the SWR Symphonieorchester after administrative changes. Gielen was its chief conductor from 1986-1999. The recorded sound is close without being claustrophobic.
The performance conducted by Christoph Eschenbach on Capriccio is much less urgent, although still powerful when it needs to be. Baritone Matthias Goerne and soprano Christine Schafer have such control over their parts they often sound intimate or confessional even in the more dramatic songs. Tempi are slower and the spacious recording allow myriad details to register. The voices are “in front of” the orchestra. The violent moments are not as primal as they are with Gielen on Arte Nova but make their impact nevertheless. The inner songs are magical, effortlessly caressed by the voices and orchestra. Schafer, for example, creates a feeling of absolute stillness in the fourth song. The venomous sixth song does slightly lack focus while the seventh is so drawn out it risks losing its shape. It exemplifies Eschenbach’s overall approach, however, and the Orchestre de Paris seem as committed if not as driven as their German counterparts.
Where does the Gielen live recording fit between these two? Much closer to the Arte Nova studio recording. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Gielen’s interpretation is remarkably consistent across the two, twists of fate regarding release dates aside. Tempi are marginally slower live than in the studio but still outpace Eschenbach by a fair margin. Gielen once again moves the music forward, lingering only the barest amount at moments of drama or reflection. The voices are “in front of” the orchestra. If anything, the ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra finds itself obscured at times, with some details failing to register. This must be a tremendously difficult work to record even under ideal conditions, however, and the balances do not prevent an enjoyable experience. What is more serious are occasional lapses of pitch by Roland Hermann, baritone, and Karan Armstrong, soprano. Both sing heroically throughout, audibly giving their all but the Lyric Symphony is full of unforgiving vocal lines, often high lying, made treacherous by large leaps and chains of chromatic semitones. These get the better of the singers at times. For example, in the final line of the opening song, the first proclamation of “Du bist mein Eigen/You are my only” in the third song, the opening line in the fourth song, and the up-and-down semitones in the first line of the final song. Even when the singers are secure, I had the sense they spent much of their energy trying to remain that way rather than having ample time and attention to shape their parts. Both studio versions are superior in this respect, particularly Eschenbach. These imperfections will not ruin the experience for the curious listener but it did make me cringe from time to time, particularly in what should be some of the loveliest moments of the work.
The filler is Schreker’s Prelude to a Drama, adapted from the prelude to his 1915 opera Die Gezeichneten. Its supersaturated Late Romantic style is gentler than Zemlinsky’s oft-acerbic voice, although their instrumental and harmonic resources are similar. Gielen is once again in competition with himself, this time on Hänssler CD 93.046 (review) and reissued in Volume 7 of the Hänssler Gielen Edition (review, review). Once again, Gielen’s studio version edges out the live recording, this time through sheer opulence of sound.
Gielen has a well-deserved cult following and it to these listeners this recording is presumably marketed. If you already have his earlier recording of the Lyric Symphony on Arte Nova, you do not need this one. If you cannot source that recording, this one is similar enough to fill the gap, although without quite the same level of intensity. The same goes for the Schreker. Good, but not an essential release.
Christopher Little
