In the early and middle years of her career, Schwarzkopf was a Bach singer of brilliance and sensibility. What is arguably the pick of her Bach interpretations recently appeared on two EMI References releases, a disc of Bach cantatas (Nos 51, 199, and the Wedding Cantata No 202) and arias from cantatas, and the famously lithe 1953 Karajan recording of the B minor Mass (3/00).
This new Testament CD brings together previously unpublished Bach studio recordings from 1957-58. They make an absorbing addendum to the References discs. They also raise the question: what (or, rather, who) brought about the strange shift in interpretative approach, from classical probity to a kind of romantic subjectivism, in the months between the 1957 recordings and the 1958 remakes of Cantata No 199 and 'Sheep may safely graze'?
It was a nice idea in 1957 to record 'Sheep may safely graze' from the hunting cantata Was mir behagt and the soprano aria 'Mein glaubiges Herze' which derives in part from the same cantata. The performance of the latter is pure delight, every bit as fine as Schwarzkopf's 1950 version. It was probably never released because it was felt by someone (Walter Legge, presumably) that 'Sheep may safely graze' could be better done, and for the 1958 re-recording orders clearly went out to sharpen up the recitative and intensify the singing of the aria itself. As in the 1958 remake of Cantata No 199, this results in Schwarzkopf producing a creamier, more covered tone and a closer, warmer, recorded balance. The flute duo doesn't fade into the woodwork quite so much as before. The harpsichord, however, is now too prominent. Of Schwarzkopf's three recordings of the aria - 1946 (References), 1957 and 1958 (Testament), the 1957 version is the one to treasure.
Her 1957 recording of Cantata 199, Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut (on References, where it is stated, incorrectly, to be the 1958 recording), is also deeply treasurable. Until its joyous final movement, this is one of the darkest most self-abasing of the Bach cantatas. As Jonathan Freeman-Attwood wrote in these columns in March, few recordings challenge Schwarzkopf's with its 'contemplative nobility'. How one relishes the exclamation 'Ach ja!' in the recitative 'Ah yes! his heart breaks and my soul speaks', touching in a way that is utterly un-Marschallin-like. Or the colouring of the word 'Geduld' ('patience') in the aria 'Tief gebuckt'. Or the marvellous run on 'frohlich' ('joyfully') in the recitative before the closing aria. It would be misleading to say that the 1958 recording, which Testament now puts out for the first time, lacks such skill or empathy. It is, none the less, a much cloudier-sounding performance.
In February 1959, Schwarzkopf sang the Wedding Cantata with Klemperer at a concert in Amsterdam. She herself is said to prefer that live recording (References) to this unpublished 1957 studio version (Testament). One can see why. It is a performance of terrific character and elan. (Was Klemperer remembering his youthful elopement with Elisabeth Schumann, with whom he occasionally performed this cantata? Or planning to make off with Mme Schwarzkopf into the February night?) Set the two performances side by side and there is no doubt which most seizes the attention.
Which isn't to say that the Amsterdam recording is the one to hear in the privacy of one's own home. There is a decorousness and intimacy about the 1957 studio recording (wonderful obbligato playing by Sidney Sutcliffe, Hugh Bean, Raymond Clark and organist Geraint Jones) which perfectly suits a more intimate kind of listening.
The Mozart concert aria, with which the anthology begins, seems to have lain unissued at the time of the recording in 1955, possibly for want of a suitable coupling. Schwarzkopf's 1968 recording with Brendel, Szell and the LSO is justly celebrated. This earlier version, made with another exemplary Mozartian, Geza Anda, and that unsung master of the art of sympathetic accompaniment, Otto Ackermann, is possibly even more important. Mozart wrote the aria for the 21-year-old Nancy Storace in December 1786: the piano obbligato an earnest expression of the pleasure he took in making music with Mlle Storace (and not only music, biographers from Jahn onwards have suggested). Schwarzkopf, heard here in the summer morning of her art, sings the aria wondrously well.
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