Here is a record to cherish, and with it, of course, a memory. Arleen Auger's fatal illness and her death at the age of 53 in June last year brought a great sadness to the musical world. She was loved for her voice, her art and herself. I never knew her, but those who did speak of her with such warmth and vividness that it is impossible not to catch something of the emotion that was felt at her loss. The record comes as a touchingly gentle epitaph and at the same time a preserver of at least certain qualities central to her work.
All items here are taken from live performances, and the recorded sound is by no means ideal. The voice, notable as it was for its 'floated' purity, here sounds too ethereal, almost disembodied. Whether with orchestra or piano, balance favours the accompaniment. There is more sameness of colour than I recall from her singing of recent years in London. It was a voice capable of quite considerable power, and there is some taste of this in Mozart's song about Luisa burning her love-letters. Even so, a more incisive tone and at times a stronger dramatic impulse in the singing are not quite felt here to be among the resources.
A great and very special beauty remains. Libby Larsens's settings of six of Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's sonnets were written for the singer, and they suit her to perfection. The idiom is lyrical, the writing for voice full of understanding about what should and should not be asked of a singer. Auger sings unerringly, with great beauty of tone and feeling for words. In an affectionate note in the booklet, the composer tells of the circumstances of her commission, which Auger initiated in the first place because these were her favourite poems. The recording was made at a kind of trial-run at the Ordway Music Theatre. In March 1993 Auger knew that she would never be able to sing in the work's eventual premiere, and wrote with characteristic warmth of her love for it and her belief that ''it will and must be performed''.
This, the Purcell songs, and the Mozart (Schumann on the whole suits her less well) are a lovely memorial. The fine legato (in Mozart), the even runs (in Purcell) and the gentle beauty of tone throughout remind us again of what we have lost. At the end of the programme comes Mozart's Abendempfindung with its quiet presentiment of death and its modest wish for remembrance, a wish that the record aptly helps to fulfil.'