In his new book The Philosophy of Schopenhauer (OUP: 1983), Bryan Magee devotes a long appendix to the relationship between the philosopher and Wagner, writing of Tristan that ''both as a totality and in its details, and both in its music and in its verbal text, it is a fusion, effected at white heat, of insights from a great philosopher with the art of a consummate musical dramatist''. He also comments that: ''Its content includes an ecstatic (Wagner's word) celebration of sexual love'' and, in many passages, a verbal imagery drawn straight from Schopenauer, particularly as regards the significance of night and day, and the reversal of their normal associations. Only at night can there be a true knowledge of timeless reality and thus an escape from ''unsatisfiable longing''.
I dwell on Magee's exposition because it seems to me that Bernstein, as much if not more than any other conductor on record, has realized and thought through the philosophy as much as the music of Tristan, and in this interpretation gives us in full the agony and ecstasy proposed by Wagner and by his mentor. The Second act, in particular, I hardly remember hearing at such a consistently high pitch of inner tension, yet so acutely controlled as a whole. Its Prelude may not be quite so febrilely expectant as Kleiber's (DG), but in its hearing of the magical night sounds and in its careful preparation for the singers' appearance it rivals Furtwangler's (HMV). The extinguishing of the light is tremendous, the first meeting of the lovers elemental, even the mauvais quart d'heure before the love duet proper is more enlivening than usual. The duet itself is even more pianissimo and legato than with Kleiber, the singers persuaded to phrase with hardly any audible breaths.
And how Bernstein emphasizes those pounding accents as melot disturbs the lovers, one of the ugliest, most treacherous noises in all music. The cello counterpoint to Marke's complaint too is made quite as important as the voice.
The very pertinent orchestral prominence in this reading continues in Act 3, Bernstein bringing out the hearty, consoling nature of Kurwenal's music to perfection, the fevered strings (marked feurig) as Tristan embraces his friend, the brass detail—so harrowing—in tristan's second hallucination, the all-engulfing Liebestod. Odd then that the First Act seems less fully realized, as far as the conductor is concerned, often episodic with speeds too extreme, less structurally sound than the later acts, though still much enriched with well-observed detail. Kurwenal almost gabbles his defiance, Brangane is stretched unmercifully in her consolation after the Curse. Against that must be set Bernstein's superb support for Behrens's Isolde, at its peak of achievement hereabouts. Together they present a wonderfully exciting, sympathetic Narration. Behrens may not display the biting irony of Nilssson, but the larmes dans la voix so essential for such passages as ''Mir erkoren'' and ''Ungeminnt den hehrsten Mann'' is overwhelmingly there. The sheer womanly vulnerability and sad incomprehension of Isolde in this act are marvellously conveyed as is the desperation of ''Nun leb wohl, Brangane'', here receiving splendid support from Bernstein. Behrens is perhaps unique among today's sopranos in the sheer piercing quality of her emotional response to both words and music, arising from her memorable performance of the part in the National Theatre, Munich.
There she has it over Kleiber's Margaret Price. But where purely lyrical singing is called for, as at the start of Act 2, and even in the Liebestod, Price is the securer vocalist while not being far behind Behrens in emotional understanding of the Role. Being fundamentally a lyric soprano, Behrens cannot equal Flagstad (Furtwangler's Isolde). Nilsson or even Dernesch in vocal amplitude, but she is as good as her word in the interview on page 463 in creating the despair and resentment of the First Act, using deliberately, as she comments, a gutsy chest voice, and finding the rapt, trance-like tone for Act 2. All in all, hers is an interpretation very much of our time in its feminity and feeling. Without odious comparisons, I found her totally convincing.
Hofmann is quoted as saying, in Philips's promotional material, that conviction is more important than volume in the role of Tristan. Although he has yet to take the part on stage, his singing conveys total commitment, while not giving much indication that he lacks the power. His isn't the most beautiful Tristan voice on record, but it is at least a musically and sensitively sung as any other, and in the Third Act just as searing as Kollo's for Kleiber, without the need to rant as Kollo occasionally does. Suthaus and Furtwangler remain supreme in the hallucinations but Hofmann and Bernstein aren't far behind, and in Act 2 Hofmann's voice seems tireless. The recording was made at three concerts over a year, so obviously he had the advantage of coming fresh to Act 3. On the other hand, each time—as he comments—the atmostphere had to be created anew.
Minton's long experience as Brangane is telling, as is her emphasis towards legato. In a sense she might have been a fitter partner for Price, while Fassbaender's more, involving interpretation for Kleiber would have matched Behrens's better Sotin is every bit as moving and sonorous as Kurt Moll (Kleiber), his final phrase in Act 2 unbearably sorrowful in accent. Weikl is a bluff, sympathetic Kurwenal as he always is in the theatre, a great improvements on Kleiber's Fischer-Dieskau though not on Furtwangler's. The small parts are excellently done, so no weakness mars the persuasiveness of Bernstein's cast.
The string sound of the Bavarian Radio orchestra isn't as silky or ward as that of the Dresdeners on Kleiber's recording, but the playing as a whole is uniformly good. ''Sounds in Retrospect'' (March, page 1092) found the voices too backward on the DG set, a fault I don't notice. That is much more applicable, as I have already implied, on the new set. In general, the recording is less spacious, more immediate than its rival on DG; it is also more consistent in balance. But, in spite of the fact that the Philips derives from live performances of each act (a few muffled coughs are audible—the DG has rather more atmosphere.
I suggested, when reviewing the Kleiber, that his view was that of a 50-year-old while Goodall's version on decca was that of an 80-year-old. Not surprisingly Bernstein's comes somewhere in between, and is nearest perhaps to Furtwangler's famous mono set made when he also was in his mid-sixties. There is deep understanding and maturity here, but no hardening of the arteries. Vocally speaking, you would travel, in vain today to hear the opera better sung. Kleiber advocates won't want to make a change; others will do well to hear the new version before making up their minds which to have. For comments on other sets, and further comparisons, I refer readers to my Kleiber review last January.'