More than a curiosity and less than a masterpiece, Fredrik Pacius’s Loreley never established itself in the 19th-century repertoire, and had no chance of doing so as long as being valuable was regarded as conditional on being ‘progressive’. The libretto, we learn, was originally conceived for Mendelssohn, who died before he could start work on it. Pacius, a native of Hamburg and pupil of Spohr, taught at the University of Helsinki where he finished his opera in 1886 and saw it performed (at first disastrously) the following year. The score is Romantic but not lush, not as distant from Mendelssohn in style as it is in years, with suggestions of Weber and the Wagner of Der fliegende Holländer and Lohengrin. The choruses have something of oratorio about them, and occasionally (but endearingly) something of Arthur Sullivan.

The story is about the girl who becomes the legendary Lorelei, whose voice lures sailors to their death on the rock which bears her name along the Rhine. In this version she was an innkeeper’s daughter who lived by the riverside and, betrayed by her lover, made a bargain with the spirits of the Rhine that they would help her to gain revenge if she would pledge, on its attainment, to become one of them.

To succeed dramatically, the opera would have to concentrate on making us care for Lenore much more than we do: her music (contrast, for instance, her near-namesake in La forza del destino) creates only the surface of a character. The libretto makes what is surely the mistake of concentrating (as the male lead) on Otto, the deceitful lover, rather than Rainald, the local lad who remains true to her but has only a minor role. Otto is potentially the more interesting character, but not one whose musical identity engages the emotions in the final duet, which should provide a climax but fails to generate the emotional warmth that in turn could have given real tragic force to the fulfillment of Lenore’s ill-fated bargain with the Rhine-spirits.

The recording was made at two concerts in Lahti last year with a performing edition specifically prepared for the occasion. Its almost-forgotten composer could hardly have wished for better singers or for a more attentive reading of his score. At the centre is Soile Isokoski, most renowned of Finnish singers at the present time and in characteristically radiant voice. Conceivably, a soprano with some more idiosyncratic qualities might endow the character with a more vivid individuality; few, from the première onwards, could have brought a more lovely voice or a more finely schooled technique.

The Heldentenor Rainu Sirkiä copes well with a part which sounds as though written for a baritone with an abundantly resilient and extensive upper range. The second tenor, Topi Lehtipuu, makes an excellent impression, as does the bass Arttu Kataja. Cornelius Hauptmann, more familiar from records, is always convincingly in character. Osmo Vänskä conducts a thoroughly creditable performance. A staged production might possibly reveal some additional strength in the work; in the meantime, this introduction earns its welcome.