Fidelio is an opera that’s rarely taken lightly; casting is as serious a matter as orchestral preparation and conductorial approach. The available recordings attest to these facts: The EMI recording under Klemperer remains the best, but Michael Halasz leads a terrific reading on Naxos, Colin Davis features a fine Voigt and Heppner, and old, scratchy, fascinating Furtwänglers abound. How, then, did this one get by?
This recording presents a “new edition” of Fidelio, one in which (the liner notes tell us) “there are countless differences in articulation, dynamics, timbre, orchestral scoring, and even the actual notes.” Since there are no further details given, it is hard to tell which differences we hear are “real” and which are merely conductorial choices. To be sure, there are odd moments: the very long pause early in the overture before the entry of the solo pianissimo horns may or may not be an eccentricity; “Mir ist so wunderbar” is taken at a peculiarly fast clip; the march that announces Pizarro is jolly-jaunty and worthy of a marionette theatre; and conversely, “O namenlose Freude” is so slow that it sounds like it’s being played at rehearsal tempo.
Elsewhere there is welcome emphasis on inner wind lines, a touching lightness of string playing before the Prisoners’ appearance, and in general, a very late-Classical approach to the opera, with the Singspiel elements very strong. I wouldn’t be surprised if we are listening to a reduced Berlin Philharmonic–one that (incidentally) plays gorgeously throughout. The dialogue has been cut to the barest minimum and is delivered in an underscored, artificial manner–the only word spoken after the climactic second-act quartet and before “O namenlose Freude” is “Leonore”. The effect is ridiculous. Nowhere is there an individual stamp that means anything, and if decisions seem more like quirks and don’t enlighten the drama, who needs them? Well enough about that–let’s move on to the singing.
More unfortunate news: Although Jon Villars’ Florestan is not bad, and his first, explosive (and briefer than usual) “Gott!” is nicely desperate, his tenor lacks the true weight for the role and he’s missing the crucial element: pathos. He’s forgettable. Worse is Angela Denoke’s Leonore, perhaps the shabbiest on disc. In addition to being undistinguished dramatically–just compare her to Christa Ludwig, Jessye Norman, or Hildegard Behrens and you’ll realize how superficially she approaches the role–she has serious pitch problems throughout the first act and her tone is unattractive. She seems to gather strength (and develop interest in the character) in the second act, but by then it’s too late.
The great singing comes from the two smallest roles: the Jaquino of Rainer Trost–youthful, eager, tonally alluring–and the imposing, simply beautiful Don Fernando of Thomas Quasthoff. Laszlo Polgar’s Rocco is of the dumb-but-sweet variety and he knows how to cower in his scenes with Pizarro, but there’s nothing special to it. Alan Held’s Pizarro is well sung (rather than shouted) and presented in a nicely clipped, snappy fashion–but he does not terrify as great Pizarros do. Juliane Banse’s Marzelline has actually been thought through and is accurate and attractive; her only problem is that she doesn’t sound young–the voice lacks lightness. Not to put too fine a point on it–this performance will make no one happy.
