Cosi Fan Tutte

In terms of the music, rather than the drama, this Mozart opera would have to be my favourite opera of all time. Yes, the story is silly in the manner of comedies, but the music is, to put it in one word, ravishing. I’ve been listening to various recordings over the past several weeks, or rather, re-listening to them, and I would like to pin down some thoughts and opinions I have about the relative merits of just three of these recordings to share with you all. The many guidebooks to opera recordings never have enough space to discuss each recording fully. So here I am once more, unconstrained by space, or word limits, or personal indulgence!

1. Decca recording, conducted by Georg Solti, 1973

This 1973 recording (the first of two recorded by Solti) is one that I keep returning to, even after wandering off to sample others over the years. It has not pleased most reviewers, who have found it too high-powered, ie, too dramatic, too fast-paced, for such a genial comedy (and they take as the ideal, the Bohm 1963 recording, the most universally praised of all the recordings of this opera, and the most ridiculously over-praised in my opinion – but more about this one below). But I find this Solti recording magnificently passionate, truly rising to this most passionate of Mozart operas – Cosi Fan Tutte is a more passionate, more focused, more concentrated opera than the more admired Mozart work, The Marriage of Figaro.

The overall sense from this Solti recording is certainly one of great drive and momentum. Yes, this makes it the most exciting of all the available recordings, but what is more important is not the pace but the pulse – the rhythm, the accentuations. Every other recording simply sounds a tad boring by comparison, even if they go at the same pace as this Solti at certain moments. And I say this after very close listening over several weeks and making side by side comparisons of various sections of the opera. The quality is not just in the singing but also in the recitatives which interact at the pace of real dialogue, and this is most telling in the back-slapping ‘boys’ talk’ moments among the three lead male singers.But what really sets the Solti set apart is actually the singing.

Let’s begin with perhaps the most controversial singer in the cast.The Spanish soprano Pilar Lorengar (in the role of Fiordiligi) has one of the most distinctive and individual voices I’ve ever heard. You will never mistake her for anyone else once you have heard her (unlike, say, the creamy-toned Kiri Te Kanawa, who comes from a long line of creamy-toned sopranos who are not so easily distinguishable from each other). Lorengar’s voice has an attractive nasal quality, a certain resonant ‘body’ that often eludes other sopranos of her voice type (a lyric-soprano, to use the correct term). But what is particularly striking is the impression you get that the voice is, well… ‘shimmering’. Leonard Bernstein apparently described it as ‘luminous’. Closer hearing reveals that this shimmer or luminosity is due to the presence of a very fast and slight vibrato, of a kind that I have never heard in any other singer, past or present. Other sopranos have a vibrato of varying degrees, but none sounds like Lorengar.

The possible controversy with Lorengar in this Mozart role is that she is not regarded as being ideally suited for singing Mozart’s melodic lines with the required ‘purity of line’, the kind of purity that you get best from boy sopranos who have no vibrato, or from a renowned Mozart singer like Te Kanawa who has very little vibrato. Now, nobody actually knows how much purity of line the singers in Mozart’s time showed when singing his operas in his presence, but the tradition which has been established over time is that there is a certain style required for singing Mozart. By this reckoning, Lorengar is certainly not an ideal Mozart singer.But Lorengar wins me over by her unique sound, and by an even more important reason – she gives the most moving portrayal of Fiordiligi that I’ve heard on recordings. She has two big arias to sing, and she does it her way with both.

The first is “Come scoglio”, in which Fiordiligi proudly asserts the fidelity of her love. Usually sung with great vehemence, Lorengar instead sings it with a sense of fragility, as if to suggest the uncertainty of such an inhuman proclamation (Like a rock I will stand in faith and love). Those of you who know the plot will understand the absolute aptness of this uncertainty.The second aria is the very beautiful “Per pieta” in which Fiordiligi makes an inner plea for pity to be taken on those who stray from love’s fidelity. Lorengar is the most agonizingly heartfelt of all the Fiordiligis I have heard in this aria, and it really is a musically moving performance – quite magnificent. So there you have it, the least vocally suited soprano for Mozart giving the best performance of this Mozart role.

The more famous and more acclaimed mezzo-soprano Teresa Berganza sings the role of Dorabella with her customary purity of tone (here is a member of that elite pantheon of “Mozart singers”!). True, this Dorabella is a little more faceless than others I have heard, but I prefer Berganza’s sound to the usually plummy or matronly sounds emitted by many other mezzo-sopranos. It is clear that Berganza made her reputation chiefly on her voice rather than on the quality of her vocal acting.

Tenor Ryland Davies in the role of Ferrando has been one of the most unfairly under-rated Ferrandos on record, and I would like to help set it straight. Davies’ is, quite simply, the best sung Ferrando I’ve heard. Few tenors can beat him for displaying that Mozartean purity of line. Davies’ voice is absolutely even throughout its range, every note perfectly placed and evenly-emitted, so that his show-stopping aria “Un’aura amorosa” is exactly that – show stopping. It’s a miracle how he keeps the singing line afloat in this aria, phrasing with all the required light and shade and yet not losing the line at any point, as can happen with many other a singer. For a light lyric tenor, Davies’ tone is also surprisingly robust, a firm and focused sound which would carry very well even in a large opera house, I expect.

Tom Krause’s baritone has never sounded better than here in the role of Guglielmo, handsome and masculine with its hint of a very slight tonal roughness, and he distinguishes himself unexpectedly in a minor aria – “Non siate ritrosi” simply doesn’t sound as melodious sung by any of his competition (and I haven’t been able to figure out exactly why; probably to do with his manner of phrasing).

Gabriel Bacquier gives the most characterful Don Alfonso on record - cynical but genial and good-humoured. And Jane Berbie similarly is the most characterful Despina on record – a purposely coarse maid, full of fun and street-smart wisdom, the entire character captured in the very tone of her singing voice when most Despinas sound mostly sweet and pert (and yet at the same time, Berbie still sings with the requisite purity of tone for Mozart even if her actual sound is just so-so!).By the way, this recording is also absolutely complete (none of the usual cuts made as is done by earlier recordings) and the recorded sound quality is excellent (this is still a variable factor in recordings, being dependent on many factors such as the acoustics of the recording venue, the skill of the engineers etc).

2. EMI recording, conducted by Karl Bohm, 1963

This second recording of the opera made by Bohm in 1963 is, as I have said, the most over-praised I’ve seen. In many quarters, it is reckoned to be the best recording of Cosi Fan Tutte ever made (the authoritative Gramophone guide even awards it a special rosette). Well, I just have to disagree.

It is perhaps easy to see why it had such impact when it first came out. Perhaps for the first time, we had a recording of Cosi Fan Tutte that aimed to be ‘expressive’ – the singers vary their dynamics in their recitatives very often. Indeed, they seem to spend a lot of time whispering dramatically to each other but in a way that would actually have made them inaudible had they been performing on stage. All this nudging expressiveness is fine, except that the recording is ruined by a cast of largely sub-standard or indifferent performers.

The chief culprit also happens to be the most praised – the redoubtable and ever selfconsciously expressive Elizabeth Schwarzkopf in the role of Fiordiligi. The problem is that Schwarzkopf is so intent on being expressive that very rarely does she sing an even line. Each note is so toyed with that she comes across as whining, screeching, moaning, grimacing, gritting her teeth – anything but singing. It sounds such a comic caricature that it becomes laughable. Her “Come Scoglio” alternates between sounding stern and sounding hysterical (barking chest tones and screeching downward scales). She does manage to keep her face (and voice) straight in “Per pieta”, but you can still hear the pushing for expressiveness. This is precisely the kind of thing that gives ammunition to those who believe that ‘expressiveness’ in opera singing is a dirty word (and the very opposite of what someone like Maria Callas was able to do). Schwarzkopf alone disqualifies this set from being seriously considered as an acceptable option in the huge catalogue of available recordings of this opera.

Christa Ludwig suggests a sensual and languid Dorabella (a plausible characterization) but otherwise makes no particular impression. Neither does Walter Berry as Don Alfonso nor Giuseppe Taddei as Guglielmo – they are dramatically too neutral in roles which other singers have made so much more of. Hanny Steffek is a cool and prim maid Despina – not much here. And Alfredo Kraus, so reputed for his fine command of the singing line in all his other roles by other composers, simply shows that he was not ready for Mozart in his singing of Ferrando (indeed, he had never sung the role before the recording was made, and neither had the other two male leads apparently). Just sample his acid-test aria “Un’aura amorosa” – the lack of a true line forged from skilful shading of tone and variation of dynamics means that he is totally outclassed by the recorded competition.

I keep returning to this recording at various intervals, just to convince myself that I have missed its beauties – after all, it is so universally acclaimed that something must have been wrong with my response. But after 19 years of trying, I’ve decided to give up. I am going to say this: This recording is just awful. Truly awful. To all of you who are going to consult all the renowned guides in order to decide which recording of Cosi Fan Tutte to buy, please….choose ANY other than this one. Or you will end up like me 19 years ago. I had bought this Bohm recording, and then had to try to sell it off so that I could purchase another recording. A good friend took pity on me, and bought it off me. I had been in possession of it for less than one week!

Besides the above gripes, the recording quality is also a little less than what we would expect these days, AND, the score is presented with the customary cuts, as was the performance custom back then for this opera.I badly wanted to own a Cosi recording 19 years ago. It was the second opera I had ever seen and I was hooked. The year was 1976 and it was a production by the Australian Opera in Melbourne, and I went back to see it again before the season ended.And the first opera I had ever seen? It was Rigoletto, and I saw it the year before when a friend took me to see my first opera, very much hoping I would understand what the fuss was all about.To find out about Rigoletto, you will have to wait for another posting!

3. Philips recording, conducted by Colin Davis, 1974

Just one more to talk about – the 1974 star-studded recording by Colin Davis. I’ve chosen to discuss this one precisely because there was certainly curiosity on my part about what these stars would be like in such an ensemble opera as Cosi Fan Tutte.Well, the disappointment was mighty.Montserrat Caballe, one of opera’s super-divas of the 70s and 80s, sings the role of Fiordiligi without any special distinction whatsoever. This possessor of one of the most beautiful voices ever heard in opera could not endow any of Fiordiligi’s music with any special beauty (how is this possible?). Neither could she invest the role with any special insight. Fiordiligi’s two arias sound pedestrian – “not bad” is what I would say.

Unfortunately, that is not what I can say about the famed English mezzo-soprano Janet Baker and tenor Nicolai Gedda. Baker’s retirement should have taken place before this recording was made. There is one small patch of voice in the lower middle that sounds acceptable but the rest is coarse and truly worn, and there is no ease or beauty anywhere in her singing.

The almost legendary Gedda should have retired even earlier. Had Gedda not been Gedda, he would not have been allowed to record even his main aria “Un’aura amorosa”, much less the whole opera. The whole aria is painful to hear – it begins just slightly off-key (the voice no longer able to pin the exact note down squarely) and proceeds from there in a most strenuous way, the tone emerging dry and harsh in too many moments.

Not quite regarded as being as starry as Caballe, Baker or Gedda, Wladimiro Ganzarolli (Guglielmo) and Richard Van Allan (Don Alfonso), also make no distinctive impact in their roles.Only Ileana Cotrubas as the maid Despina comes alive; however, her attractive but fragile tone does not appear to please others as much as it can please me.Colin Davis conducts the score in the same ‘not bad’ way.

Die Zauberflöte

Fritz Wunderlich’s Tamino in the 1964 Karl Bohm recording of this Mozart opera (commonly referred to by its English title, The Magic Flute) is truly wondrous. His is the most praised Tamino on record, and I only found out why when I had the long-overdue chance to listen to the recording just a few weeks ago. More below, but let me say that although I am re-discovering the beauty of Mozart’s writing in this work, I still remember walking out of the theatre the last time I saw the opera live and swearing that The Magic Flute was definitely an opera that was not meant to be seen, but rather meant only to be heard. Nothing has happened since to make me change my mind. But I can’t wait to talk about Fritz Wunderlich’s Tamino.

1. EMI recording, conducted by Karl Bohm, 1964

The specialness of Fritz Wunderlich’s Tamino becomes truly obvious when you compare it side by side with several other tenors who have recorded the role. What’s so special about it? Well, the voice beats all recent competition, first of all. It is a lyric tenor, but with a fuller body than other lyric tenors such as Peter Schreier, Francisco Araiza, Nicolai Gedda etc who have recorded the role. There is a greater heroic heft in the sound. But what is more astonishing is his use of it in this role. Witness his singing of the main aria “Dies Bildnis”. It is taken at a slow pace, but the legato stays intact throughout. Not only does it stay intact, but the melodic lines are consistently shaped, moulded, coloured with dynamic contrasts. The whole effect is that the aria appears to glow - there is no other word to describe it. It glows like embers coming to life, and about to burst into full flame. At this point in the opera, Tamino is looking at Pamina’s portrait and feeling the flush of dawning love, and there is no Tamino who expresses this dawning like Wunderlich. This glowing quality is carried all the way through the recording, and it is just an astonishing achievement. I could just listen to it forever.

Karl Bohm conducts the score with great beauty and it is quite a wonderful version of the work. There is a fine balance between the serious elements of the music and the comic, and he avoids the sententiousness, the heaviness, that can slightly mar other recordings (such as the Sawallisch 1972).

There is also the wonderful Franz Crass as Sarastro, always balm to the ears with his focused bass-baritone voice, quite possibly the best Sarastro on record (followed by Samuel Ramey in the Marriner 1989).

And there is no better Queen of the Night than Roberta Peters, I’m convinced of this after having heard countless singers in the role. Peters is the only Queen who actually sounds genuinely saddened in her first aria. I was quite astonished when I first heard it – this sadness came across immediately. And of course, like all her recorded competition, she has no technical problems with the floridity of her two arias, nor with the High Fs in them. There may be more fearsome and angry Queens (Edda Moser in the Sawallish 1972) or Queens with a larger or sweeter voice (Cheryl Studer in the Davis 1989), but none has given such a rounded portrait of this very short role.

Another highly-praised singer is Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau as Papageno, but here I have a few qualms. It is certainly beautifully-sung and the sound of the voice is quite ravishing, but Fischer-Diskau’s manner is a little too noble and patrician for the role of the bird-catcher. The required earthy and folksy quality is better captured by Walter Berry in the most universally-praised Klemperer 1962 recording (but which I feel is no better than the Bohm under discussion here), or the irrepressible Herman Prey (in the Solti 1969, which was the first complete recording of The Magic Flute I ever owned). However, Fischer-Dieskau is a joy to hear, and I am not complaining.

The only disappointment, and the one thing that leaves me hankering to own other recordings, is the Pamina of Evelyn Lear. What’s wrong here? Lear sings beautifully, in the Mozart manner – every note carefully placed, with no sliding or scooping, and every tone produced with evenness and perfection. But that is the problem. She is so busy trying to meet the standards of a Mozart singer that she comes across without any personality whatsoever. Hers is the most dramatically nondescript Pamina heard on recordings. And this is a real pity, especially in her moments with Wunderlich and Crass. She just disappears into the background. In recordings of the last 40 years, perhaps only Kiri Te Kanawa has successfully sung Pamina (Marriner 1989), outclassing the formidable Margaret Price (too forceful and ungraceful in the Davis 1984) and Gundula Janowitz (vocally too scrawny in the Klemperer 1962), her two closest competitors in my view.

2. Other Recordings

All the recordings I have mentioned are fine and may be safely recommended – the Klemperer 1963 (EMI), the Solti 1969 (Decca), the Sawallish 1972 (EMI), the Davis 1984 (Philips), the Marriner 1989 (Philips).

3. EMI recording, conducted by Roger Norrington, 1991

The only one I have heard that is to be avoided at all costs is the Norrington 1990 performed on period instruments and in a ‘period style’, ie, in a style that Mozart himself might have encountered in his lifetime. The point that has to be made is simply this: A performance might be ‘authentic’ in style and approach, but this is no guarantee that it is going to be a dramatically or musically appealing performance. Norrington’s is so metrically unyielding, his speeds so hurried, the touch so light that The Magic Flute comes across as nothing more than an amateur folk musical (yes we all know it is a singspiel or folk opera, but it surely doesn’t have to be like this). There is not one moment of gravity or grandeur, and even if this was how the opera was intended to be played initially, subsequent generations of conductors and singers have shown that there are better ways of approaching the work. There is no arrogance in saying this, and it is something that even composers of minor ditties understand – you may write your ditty and perform it in your intended way, and later find yourself feeling astonished and then quickly persuaded that there are actually better alternative ways of performing your own work. Musically, the Norrington is unattractive, and dramatically, it is trivial. I have listened to it several times, and have found it increasingly hard to listen for more than 20 minutes into the opera.

4. Recording, conducted by John Eliot Gardner, 1996

I have since sampled another recording on period instruments, and this one is a winner. It definitely proves that a recording that strives to be authentic to the performance practices of Mozart's day can still remain red-blooded. Christiane Oelze is a beautiful-sounding Pamina, singing her solo aria at the usual 'period' slow pace and yet ensuring it is musically shaped and heart-felt at the same time. She is ably partnered by the Tamino of Michael Schade, who matches her in delicacy and sweetness of voice. If you are looking for a period instrument recording, this is the one to own.

5. Chandos recording, conducted by Sir Charles Mackerras, 2005

I just had the chance to listen to the latest recording of The Magic Flute, a recording using an English translation conducted by Sir Charles Mackerras. This is Mackerras' second recording (the first was in the original German).

Unlike the Norrington and Gardner, Mackerras does not use period instruments, but like them, he aims for a performance style closer to what Mozart probably intended, ie, a generally speedier performance. This speediness and its repercussions are most obvious in the tempo taken for Pamina's aria "Ach, ich fuhls" and which Mackerras himself uses to illustrate what he is trying to do. Apparently, we have developed a tradition of taking Pamina's aria very slowly, and at this slow speed, we have "created" an aria of breathtaking (literally for the soprano!) beauty. It is indeed a haunting aria in the key of G Minor, quite unlike anything ever written by Mozart anywhere else. Kiri Te Kanawa herself has said that she sings this aria every day as a vocalise to test whether her voice is truly in tune - such is the legendary status of this piece of vocal music.

Well, it is quite conceivable that at these faster speeds, we could develop a different but equally valid fondness for it; it certainly sounds as remarkable and as unique today as it must have to the very first listeners at the opera's premiere. However, Mackerras’ Pamina (Rebecca Evans) is vocally not up to the task of singing the aria (or the rest of the music, if the truth be told). At the faster tempo, the brief passagework Mozart requires in a small section of the aria sounds ‘unbound’ and unintegrated to the aria – this brief section clearly requires a lot of skilful work on the part of any soprano.

This recording also offers to me the most satisfying ending of all – from the moment of Sarastro’s entry right to the opera’s jubilant conclusion. Mackerras catches absolutely the right mood, and the ending is truly joyous and jubilant. While other recordings sound merely sonorously triumphant, Mackerras’ sounds as if the world has been really opened up to air and sunlight. For me, this version is worth having just for the last 5 minutes alone.

However, despite everything, this latest recording of the opera does not actually compete well with all the othersI have mentioned. Basically, the singing is just not good enough. The Tamino (Barry Banks) is shrill and unvarying in dynamics, the Sarastro (John Tomlinson) suffers from pitch and tempo problems (isn’t this amazing for a recording?) and a very wobbly vibrato, and the Pamina is unable to deliver a genuine legato line. If these important lead roles have been so badly taken, then the recording has without a doubt been seriously undermined.