“This complex score needs tremendous transparency – transparency as the equivalent of perspective in art” – so says Barenboim in an interview in the booklet accompanying this set. And he is, in practice, as good as his word. With the added help of a superbly managed recording, nothing in the orchestral part escapes his or our ear. You hear that most potently in the scene with Klytemnestra, most notably at fig. 164 in the full score (disc 1, 1'46''), and at 177 (disc 1, track 9 start), the point just before Elektra asks her mother if she dreams, where Barenboim so unerringly catches the actual tints of the scoring – listen there also to the placing of the wind chords. Throughout his care for Strauss’s imaginative instrumentation, and for detail of phrasing, is beyond praise. Nor does he neglect, quite the contrary, the heroic implications of the Agamemnon-haunted passages or the tragically ecstatic finale where he unleashes the full power of Strauss’s massive orchestration.
These facets of his interpretation are mainly made possible by the fact that he recorded the opera while it was in the repertory of the Berlin State Opera, where he is Music Director. When there to interview him I heard one of those performances and – as here – the orchestral contribution was its main asset. The players patently have the music in their minds and bones, and it shows, especially as compared with the Bavarian Radio Symphony, however well tutored they may have been for their recording with Sawallisch, and the Berlin players are not even put in the shade by comparison with Solti’s Vienna Philharmonic.
The staging in Berlin was unspeakable, the singing variable. The cast here is similar to the one I heard with one major change: Waltraud Meier’s Klytemnestra. The reading takes on another dimension from the moment she appears. Happily back in the mezzo Fach to which I believe she truly belongs, she gives an enthralling performance as the raddled, haunted woman. Still in her vocal prime Meier is the equal of, if not superior to, her distinguished rivals and avoids all temptation to caricature her role. Not a nuance of meaning is missed and many are brilliantly underlined by her highly intelligent singing – and what singing! For once every note that Strauss writes for the character is truly and surely struck. She and Barenboim, in close rapport, make this the central scene of the performance.
On stage in the title-role, Polaski – poorly directed – left a neutral impression. She improves on that effort here, particularly in the later stages of the work. Though the pathos of the passage just before the recognition (disc 2, track 5, 7'10'') lacks pathos, that scene itself is sung with tenderness and refinement of tone and phrase. So is much of her colloquy with her mother, but the opening monologue is harshly and unevenly voiced, and the same is true of the final scene: too many of the high notes sound effortful as compared, unfairly perhaps, with the effortless heroism of Nilsson, on Decca; nor has she the tear in the voice to suggest sadness – as Behrens does so memorably on the 1988 Philips version under Ozawa (4/89 – nla).
Marc wasn’t singing the night I was in Berlin, and I rather wish her excellent native replacement had taken Chrysothemis here. Marc’s tone sounds unsuitably darker than Polaski’s and, unlike her American compatriot, she makes little of the words. There is nothing remotely to compare in her loose-limbed portrayal with Sawallisch’s Studer or, in her highly individual way, Solti’s Collier. Struckmann is a decent rather than a remarkable Orestes. Botha, in his prime, is an asset as Aegisthus, a role usually cast by tenors nearing the end of their careers. The small parts are well taken, with special praise for the youthful Endrik Wottrich as the Young Servant. He is a Barenboim discovery of notable promise. His little descriptive scene, hideously difficult to sing and at the same time unrewarding, is scrupulously executed, not least thanks to Barenboim’s acute conducting.
The main drawback to the set is the decision to make all the so-called theatre cuts, passages happily restored by both Solti and Sawallisch – and they are crucial to the work. Then there are moments where the conductor allows a slow tempo to becalm the music, as in Elektra’s final admonition to Aegisthus before he goes to his death (fig. 210A – disc 2, track 11, 3'30''). In several other places where Strauss asks his conductor to keep moving, Barenboim disobeys him. These moments are only the obverse of Barenboim’s self-evident love of the score.
For these reasons and the indifferent Chrysothemis this version cannot be recommended over either the Solti (for visceral excitement) or the Sawallisch (for the long, considered overview). Indeed if I wanted the excised version I would opt for the Bohm with, overall, a cast superior to Barenboim’s, but I would regret having to dispense with the subtlety of interplay in the Elektra/Klytemnestra encounter and with much of Barenboim’s conducting.'