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.