The summer of 1816 was a vintage one for German romantic opera: it included within the space of a month E. T. A. Hoffmann's Undine and Spohr's Faust, both works championed by Weber as examples of a path forward that he was himself memorably to tread. We have recently had a version of Undine (Koch Schwann, 10/93): it is good now also to have this Faust, even if the performance leaves something to be desired. For this is an important and interesting work, remarkable (as Weber noted) for its pioneering use of motive to help German opera on its way to a greater degree of unity. The role of the orchestra is thus of increasing significance, and Spohr writes for it with virtuosity, energy and resource. Quite rightly, Geoffrey Moull opts for the later, 1852, version with recitative (the issue is too complicated to summarize here). The plot is not like Goethe's, except at a considerable remove, and not very satisfactory. Sated with pleasure, Faust aspires to fine deeds (as in Goethe), but is caught up in a tangled set of relationships with two women, Roschen and Kunigunde, each of whom has another suitor. Faust manages to make a shambles of it all, somehow enabling Mephistopheles to drag him off to Hell.
Spohr is at his strongest and most effective in using his orchestral skills to help him build up continuous scene complexes in a manner sought, but not so expertly achieved, by Hoffmann. These are excitingly played, with the choral tensions of the finale to Act 1 generating a superb climax. He is also capable of writing some charming individual arias, though he betrays his own cause by admitting far too many Italianisms in the way of vocal runs, flourishes and cadenzas. ''Liebe ist die zarte Blute'', Faust's Act 1 song to love itself, is a case in point, and taxes Michael Vier's elegance: very forgivably, he edits out some of these later. He is rather too close in timbre to his bass familiar Eelco von Jordis, who sounds rather too affable for the curl of evil in Mephistopheles's line. Of the women, Diane Jennings sings a little tamely, with tremulous tone, for the lust-provoking Kunigunde, though she has a feeling for the melodic line of ''Ja, ich fuhl' es'', and has a spirited go at her big aria, ''Wie dich nennen''. Claudia Taha (Roschen) is also a little quavery, though also possessing a nice line and a pretty tone. Of the other men, William Pugh goes with a will at Hugo's knightly rhythms and Drew Abbott is an ardent Franz, though Ion Bric cannot really subdue his naturally warm tone to something blacker for the grim Sir Gulf.
Geoffrey Moull spurs his forces to an enthusiastic performance, whose slightly rough edges can be in part laid at the door of the exigencies of concert performance and a less than scintillating recording. There is a good introductory essay by Franz Harder-Wuthenow, a full German text, and a translation that is a pleasure in itself. Snarls the rejected Sir Gulf, ''If the haughty, saucy countess continues to play hard to get, then I shall hurl her down from these merlons'', drawing from Faust the comment, ''What a dame!''.'