Sir Georg Solti's relationship with Die Zauberflote is long and illustrious. When, in 1937, he was musical assistant to Toscanini in Salzburg, it was Solti's fingers which conjured the sound from Papageno's glockenspiel. This year in Salzburg, Solti turned from rostrum to celesta and duetted with Papageno once again. This new recording is a fitting celebration of Solti's own long Mozartian journey.
Six years ago, JBS praised the CD reissue of Solti's 1969 Decca recording for its ''feeling for excitement... where a very slight excess of solemnity or relaxation can be deadly''. It is exactly that quality which epitomizes this new recording: if anything, tempos are even more finely judged, more intuitively moulded to the shape of the score's harmonic dramas and emotional breathing. Solti's tempos and pacing are in fact the inspiration of this Flute. Marginally faster than in 1969, the Overture now springs rather than stings on its way. Sarastro's crew are a merry, totally unpompous lot: there is no more joyful entry than for this Sarastro, truly mit Freuden in the finale of Act 1. Solti, like Sir Colin Davis (Philips), also pays tribute to the Flute as fairy-tale. Solti, largely by pacing, Davis by the lightest of orchestral textures, never allow Schikaneder's little motto couplets (Ladies, Boys, Speaker) to become ponderous moralistic asides: each one bounces into its natural place in the dramatic scheme of things.
Solti gives time and space enough, though, for melodically or harmonically self-isolating lines such as Tamino's response to the Speaker, ''Der Lieb' und Tugend Eigentum''; for the vibrancy of the inner string parts for Isis and Osiris and the Armed Men; to Pamina's cry of ''Die Wahrheit!''. This cry is one of the most moving on disc. At Salzburg, and already on this recording, Ruth Ziesak's fresh, highly intelligent performance has restored to Pamina that fusion of innocence and strength, vulnerability and courage which the character and her music demand. With Solti's tempo, and sprung orchestral chords pulsing like a heartbeat, her first pure phrase of ''Bei Manern'' catches the breath with delight; her genuflecting cry of pain to Sarastro pierces the heart; her ''Ach, ich fuhl's'' is shaped by deep desperation, not mere melancholy. Beside Ziesak, Pilar Lorengar (1969) is a comparatively pale characterization, and even Margaret Price for Davis, is more a fairy-tale princess, not also a spirited creature of human flesh and blood.
The casting of Tamino epitomizes another major difference between the two Solti versions. Uwe Heilmann, raw, penetrating and a little Schreier-like of timbre, is a livelier dramatic presence than Stuart Burrows (1969), if not as aristocratic and well-groomed a voice. The 1969 version is singerly: this new recording primarily dramatic. By the same token, Hermann Prey's Papageno (1969) is easier to listen to than that of Michael Kraus, who tends to bounce clean off the end of a phrase, and whose chattering quality can be sometimes less purely musical but often more plausible than Prey. Few Papagenos inspire the affection of Mikael Melbye's for Davis; few are so consistently satisfying as Olaf Bar's for Marriner (Philips).
This Queen of Night is a real Sternflammende Konigin, not merely an Olympia with a crown. Although few can compare in sheer other-worldly glimmer and subtly expressive pianissimo with Luciana Serra for Davis, Sumi Jo is truly in her ascendant here. A truly rhythmic brightness and glow of melodic phrasing suffuses her singing, and this is considerable relief from the muscular gymnastics of a Christina Deutekom (1969) or the tightrope terror of a Cheryl Studer (Marriner).
Her lunar beauty seems to take its strength, as it surely must, from Sarastro himself. Kurt Moll, appropriately, sings on an entirely other vocal plane: the authority he brought to Davis's recording is renewed here. Unlike Talvela (1969) or Ramey (Marriner), the depth of his voice is fully equal to the breadth of his music. His heil'gen Hallen have the longest corridors of all: in his musical temple there are indeed many mansions.
His slaves and his Monostatos (Heinz Zednik) are ably aided and abetted by the natural, well-paced dialogue, often whispering and wondering, sometimes crackling with tension; never, as in Joachim Herz's version for Davis, over-directed. Effects, too, both meteorological and avian, surpass those on previous recordings. Only with Marriner is the dialogue (directed by August Everding) so powerfully edited and felicitously paced: Solti's director is Klaus Gmeiner. In other aspects, Marriner's recording cannot be placed in the same class as Solti's or Davis's, simply because of its uneven casting.
In short, then, Solti's earlier recording bears up well musically, but is eclipsed dramatically by the live presence and meticulous recording balance of this latest version. After Solti, Davis's deeply affectionate and still magnificent Flute has something of an 'Are you sitting comfortably?' quality about it. No bad thing in itself, and with Schreier's Tamino and a particularly potent stereo 'staging', it is difficult indeed to live without both.'