The vagaries forced upon recording and performing schedules by the coronavirus pandemic have sometimes produced some happy accidents. In the case of the much-welcomed new soprano Lise Davidsen they have resulted in a personal familiarity with the title-role of Fidelio that is quite rare in the history of the work. Its difficulty and relative scarcity of performance have often resulted in appearances becoming in effect Gastspiele, insufficient in number for a soprano to build up practised experience and ease with the role.

But Davidsen – in addition to numerous isolated readings of the big Act 1 aria – has now recorded the complete role twice. It is that assumption that dominates this new set, made in Dresden towards the end of 2020. It upfronts all of her virtues in the part, most notably the fluent handling of a large lyrical voice (not truly a Heldensoprano), unafraid of the often high tessitura, which has the strength and courage of a rescuing heroine while retaining (if I may put it like this in the present day and age) a distinctive feminism, vulnerable where relevant to the drama.

For Davidsen alone I would recommend purchase, unless like a colleague of mine with whom I am in constant dispute you find such a purity of vocal approach, and lack of bluster, equivalent to a lack of warmth. I do not, finding rather the role here to be delivered with a nice balance of weight and sentiment. As with his handling of the orchestra, Janowski is evidently aware of historically informed practice in terms of tempo and weight of texture but reluctant to go the whole hog. This results in a slightly stop-start approach, even if accompanying figures in the orchestra are generously and forwardly treated.

The casting elsewhere has much in common with Janowski’s Wagner sets, not always predictable and often lighter than modern practice. Neither Pizarro, Rocco nor Fernando overdo the melodrama to point up characterisation, and Landshamer’s Marzelline is less of a working girl than we normally hear. Elsner is a kind of latter-day Julius Patzak, most fluent with text and dramatic intention but vocally a little light of tone as the suffering prisoner. If you do not long for the pain of a Jon Vickers or the guile of a Hans Hotter (his unforgettable reading of the warning Act 1 letter live from Covent Garden on Testament), the drama is well served.

The abbreviated dialogue – modern adaptations by, aptly for German operatic history, a Wagner and a Weber, at least one of whom is directly related to a noted composer – blessedly keeps the story as actual dialogue without banal modern summarising, although its English translation in the enclosed booklet is of comic ineptitude. For the general air of professional experience – and much more in the case of the soprano – this set should be heard, although it doesn’t overtake the two Klemperer performances.