It is not particularly surprising that Jessonda should have been popular in its time nor that it should have been subsequently forgotten. In a brainless and genially sanctimonious way the scenario offers agreeable situations in which love finds a way, the oriental barbarians are confounded, and everybody else ends up singing to the god of battles. Musically it pleased both traditionalists and reformers for while clearly a product of the schools it also took opera a step closer to music-drama by blurring the distinction between aria and recitative. A later age lost interest partly because the innovative points had been carried, but principally because the passions were learning to speak a much more emphatic musical language and the taste for exoticism and 'local colour' would not be satisfied with such mild and decorous allusions as these.
This mildness is the first thing likely to strike the listener now. Of course Gilbert and Sullivan have come between Spohr and ourselves, so that it is hard to take a 6/8 chorus seriously as part of a hymn of mourning for the late Rajah; similarly when 'the messenger of death' is announced and begins to to sing a pretty siciliana type of melody, albeit in the minor key. The so-called War Dances might fitly take place in an eighteenth-century drawing-room. Storm, recognition, confrontation and love duet come and go in the most orderly fashion. Writers on Spohr have detected a connection with the Wagner of Tristan und Isolde, but it could not possibly have anything to do with the eroticism of that opera.
With one exception all the singers here do their best for the dramatic side of the entertainment. Julia Varady in particular brings such a fine sensitivity to the title-role that for a disconcerting moment one has to suspend disbelief and begin to wonder what it is like to be in danger of serving as a sacrifice to Brahma at the very moment when the gallant Portuguese are about to come to the rescue. They (the gallant Portuguese) are led by Tristan D'Acunha as represented by Fischer-Dieskau, inescapably Germanic in declamation but duly responsive to the rival claims of love and honour. Thomas Moser as the young Brahmin with liberal tendencies fortified by love for Jessonda's sister presents a sympathetic and credible character, and though the sister in question seems to be nothing more nor less than a nice girl she is so well sung by Renate Behle that one takes her on trust. The exception to this general involvement of the cast in their roles is Kurt Moll, who plays the perfidious High Priest with imperturbable sonority and (perhaps taking his cue from the score) mildness.
Albrecht conducts a workmanlike performance, and though the orchestra is a little less forward in the balance than is customary these days one is gratefully aware that the players are kept busy. Gratitude is also due for the chance to hear this opera which has retained its place in the history books if nowhere else. At one point at least, it satisfies more than historical curiosity: that is Jessonda's prayer in Act 3, a most lovely solo and in context almost sublime when sung as beautifully as it is here by Varady.'