This is undoubtedly the most successful modern recording of this work. For once virtually no excuses or reservations have to be made about the singers, the conducting is direct and exciting, the recording catches the excitement of performance at Bayreuth, and in that respect matches the ancient Keilberth set in mono (Decca LXT5150/2, 5/56) and the earlier Philips with Sawallisch (SABL218/20, 8/62), both unfortunately deleted at present.
All those who attended the Kupfer production at Bayreuth agreed that, whatever reservations there might have been about his concept, its execution was a thrilling theatrical experience. Last summer Unitel put it on to videotape and at the same time Erik Smith and his team made a separate recording of the sound for Philips. Attending some of the sessions, I vividly recall Wolfgang Wagner demanding complete silence from the stage during a take of the Overture, which on video is accompanied by action. The reading was electrifying, and forms a taut, involving introduction here to the opera itself. However, during the course of the opera, you can hear a good deal of clumping about on stage; if that bothers you, you may want to look elsewhere, but you will then miss an interpretation that, for once, matches Wagner's considerable demands on his singers.
When Simon Estes came to sing the role of Covent Garden earlier this year, he proved a little disappointing, evidently affected by the ludicrous production. Here, after seven years (suitable enough for the wandering Dutchman) appearing in the Kupfer staging, he sounds utterly confident and dedicated, and directs his firm, big bass-baritone to tense purpose in the monologue, projecting all the Dutchman's anguish and sense of longing for redemption. The duet with Senta, one or two moments of dubious intonation and peculiar German apart, is just as haunting, and the closing section poses no problems to Estes's solid high register. Van Dam sings as well for Karajan (EMI) but more impassively; Bailey (Solti/Decca) is also more reticent, possibly more inward.
Lisbeth Balslev's Senta, in the theatre, was enthralling, a lonely, forlorn figure finding her saviour in the Dutchman from the mundane world around her. Hers was an all-in performance so that one sometimes feared for her vocal health. Very little of that strain has found its way on to the recording; indeed, she sounds far more secure than either of her rivals. While catching something of Silja's sense of desperation on the Klemperer (HMV SLS934, 12/68—nla) and (even more) the Sawallisch recordings of the sixties, she is vocally more certain. The Ballad, taken at the pace (fastish) that I think it should go to express Senta's nervous state, is vibrant—but not too much so—with emotion, the duet and the encounters with Erik imbued with the tensions that can only arise in a well-prepared stage performance.
Robert Schunk is simply the most assured tenor to have recorded Erik since the war; his Third-Act aria, usually such a trial, is here easily encompassed by a voice that has real Heldentenor quality, the high notes strong and clean, without a trace of wobble. Matti Salminen suggests a sturdy old sailor with his round tones, but also the touch of scheming in Daland's makeup. His singing has the familiar bite of all Scandinavian basses. Our own Graham Clark is an appealing Steuermann, Anny Schlemm a rather too ancient Mary (her louring, dominating presence in the theatre is missed).
The choral singing is as vital and almost as precise as we have come to expect from Bayreuth, but the startling incursion of the ghost crew makes, oddly, much less of an effect than on the older Bayreuth sets (Keilberth and Sawallisch). The orchestral playing, clearly recorded, is whooly supportive of Nelsson's unified view of the work, which is given in a single act. Those familiar with the Karajan version will find the younger conductor's interpretation less inward but much more dramatic. While slow tempos in this work tend to emphasize its joins and weaker passages, the quicker ones adopted on the latest set suggest that it can be made all of a piece, and there is nothing the least superficial about any aspects of the reading.
Philips, like Decca with the Solti version, have contrived to contain the opera on two CDs; EMI needed three for Karajan's. As I have implied, the recorded sound on the new set is admirably truthful and natural, with the famous Bayreuth balance between voices and pit. The LPs are little behind in sound quality, but I do begin to begrudge the many changeovers needed as compared with CD. I am sure that anyone acquiring this performance will share my enthusiasm for its total experience of an operatic event of importance—and overlook those stage noises.'