From the earth-shattering chords that launch the Overture, Furtwangler’s reading illuminates every facet of the score. His finely integrated tempos, sometimes at first disconcerting, exactly suit the passage or aria in hand. In demonic passages, such as the end of Act 1 and the arrival of the stone guest, he is unsurpassed. The sensitive, yielding approach to ensemble, as in the trio at the start of Act 2, is just as remarkable in its different way. The conductor’s 1954 Salzburg performance is much the better known, available on CD (listed above) and video, but those who attended both productions seem to have preferred the earlier one, in the smaller Festspielhaus as against that in the Felsenreitschule, and one can now hear why. The 1954 reading is slower, more portentous; both evince the conductor’s stated preference for a “ductile, elastic” approach to tempos.
The singers, the majority of them in their early thirties and so in the prime of their careers, are in crucial cases superior to their successors. That’s particularly true of Don Giovanni and Leporello, simply because Gobbi’s incisive, nicely vibrating baritone (heard in a suave, seductive Serenade, a moment of flatness apart) is nicely contrasted with Kunz’s much darker timbre, whereas Siepi and Edelmann in 1954 sound too much alike. In any case, Siepi for all his charms hasn’t the fleet, airy touch Gobbi imparts to the title-role. That, added to his diabolically plausible characterization, makes him an entirely credible Giovanni. Siepi in 1954 is suaver, less driven. Kunz, in superb voice, is Gobbi’s perfect partner and shows his innate sense of humour throughout.
They, along with all the other members, sing off the words, making every facet of the recitative and its changes of moods telling. None does this better than Schwarzkopf, one of the two singers common to both 1950 and 1954, revealing every facet of Elvira’s complex personality. Vocally her low notes are better developed on the later occasion. In every other respect she delivers the role with complete freedom: note particularly the run on “fallace il ciglio” in “Ah! fuggi il traditor!”, sung with ideal evenness and clearly articulated at the conductor’s sensible, unrushed speed. Her appropriately tense “Mi tradi” is a masterpiece of thoughtful characterization. In 1954 her singing is technically even more accomplished, darker, a shade less spontaneous.
Welitsch delivers as convincing an “Or sai chi l’onore” as one could hope to hear – pure, clean dramatic singing in a class of its own and thus viscerally exciting, but in “Non mi dir” her bright beacon of tone becomes a shade tiring: Grummer in 1954, warmer, more expressive, is preferable. You would go far to hear a more beautifully and sensitively sung “Dalla sua pace” than Dermota, in better voice than in 1954, gives us here. Seefried is, of course, dream casting as Zerlina, and she too is in pristine voice, singing a warmly seductive, finely pointed “Vedrai carino”, accompanied with the utmost delicacy by her conductor. Poell’s Masetto isn’t quite her equal but more than adequate, as is Greindl’s Commendatore.
Those averse to the occasional false entry, a plonking harpsichord in the recitatives, the audible presence of the prompter or one or two moments of distortion will look elsewhere, but they will miss a performance that breathes theatrical life, imbued with true individuality. A performance previously available only on botched, unofficial issues can now be heard in amazingly fresh sound, given its date. The reading is in the same category as Walter’s 1942 Met account (last available on Nuova Era, 1/90), but much easier on the ear, or Busch’s Glyndebourne performance of 1936. Among stereo versions there’s the classic Giulini on EMI and the recent Mackerras on Telarc, all experiences throwing their own particular light on the score. AB