One could be forgiven for not being familiar with Othmar Schoeck’s 1943 opera Das Schloss Dürande, with a libretto loosely after Joseph von Eichendorff by a certain Hermann Burte. And that date offers a clue as to its somewhat tricky reception, taking on an important additional colour when one adds the place of the premiere: Berlin’s Staatsoper.

This new recording is based on a major enterprise that aimed to tackle that disquieting detail head-on. As part of a large project outlined in an entire book, Francesco Micieli set out both, for want of a better word, to denazify Burte’s libretto and to rid it of its worst offences against literature – to improve the quality of the verse and its content and bring it closer to Eichendorff, the two endeavours obviously closely linked to one another.

Claves’s booklet includes an essay that explains much of the process, and shows us sample before-and-after verse. The resulting text strikes me as quietly effective and a good fit for the atmosphere of Schoeck’s music. Another short note in the booklet comes from conductor Mario Venzago, responsible for making Micieli’s revisions work viably with the score. This work, he says, is ‘really Schoeck’s magnum opus’.

There’s certainly no doubting its seriousness: the music is economical and often haunting. The two outer acts, set at the titular castle, have something of the atmosphere of Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande. In Act 1 the light, piano-bejewelled orchestration also brings Strauss’s Ariadne to mind. The music for the two lovers Armand and Gabriele is beguiling and touching (the roles are tenderly and engagingly sung by Uwe Stickert and Sophie Gordeladze).

Where the work seems less successful, however, is in its setting of the broader context – the impending French Revolution. A lot of additional characters come and go in a way that leaves the drama a little unfocused. Nevertheless, Gabriele’s misguidedly vengeful brother (forcefully sung by Robin Adams) makes a strong impression, and Andries Cloete makes the most of the Old Count’s final scene.

There’s no doubting the commitment of Venzago and his forces, either, even though the live concert performance captured here has a couple of rough edges. But I have my doubts that, as the team behind it seem to hope, the work will re-establish itself in the repertory. It’s a memorable piece, though; and, in its refined, lightly tonal musical language, a rewarding listen. In short: well worth hearing for anyone interested in Schoeck and music of this time.