Listen through pretty atrocious sound (including a few dropouts) and you can feel yourself present, in the case of Gotterdammerung, at a great Wagnerian night at the Met with Bodanzky, Wagner chief at the House in the 1930s, and his orchestra, on their most vital form. Nobody conveys the impetuous youthfulness of Brunnhilde quite like Marjorie Lawrence (she was only 27 at the time!), preferred here by the authorities even to Flagstad, who was at the House that season. Her keen, silver-like, bright tone cuts easily through the orchestra and rides above it. Her interpretation may not be the ultimate in psychological terms, but for vocal glamour and youthful energy it has hardly ever been surpassed except by the unique Nilsson. With Melchior still in his prime at her side and, on this night, in superb voice, the Dawn Duet is inspiriting, Bodanzky’s fast speed for once justified – here is the chemistry of love, as imagined by Wagner, perfectly distilled on all sides.
Both principals maintain this standard through the exigent demands of the later acts, with Melchior’s delightfully eager Narration and Lawrence’s Immolation (despite an unfortunate Bodanzky cut) – the work of a woman who has experienced love, betrayal, with sorrow and tragedy, pathos, love and anger finely matched. And then, in the theatre, this heroine leapt on to her horse and rode off into the flames. Perhaps only an Australian diva would dare do that! Melchior is no less extraordinary in voice and interpretation (as he is in the contemporaneous extracts from Covent Garden, variously available). His meeting with the Rhinemaidens is the pleasurable respite from the heavy drama it should be, Melchior’s tone smiling here, and his high C before he encounters the hunters in Act 3 surely unsurpassed.
Hofmann makes a suitably louring, scheming Hagen, his magnificent bass gainfully deployed (though Bodanzky takes the Watch too fast). Schorr is luxury casting as Gunther, almost too noble. Meisle is an urgent, impassioned Waltraute. The Gutrune, Norns and Rhinemaidens aren’t special, but anyone who wants to hear heroine and hero sung to the hilt needs this invaluable document, more than worth the asking-price in spite of the intractable, often distorting sound, but don’t overlook the imminent appearance of the legendary 1951 Knappertsbusch performance on Testament, at full price admittedly – but it doesn’t feature Melchior.
The 1937 Rheingold has less to commend it. Bodanzky rushes through parts of the score at breakneck speed, and the cast is of variable quality. Schorr, as Wotan, seems well past his prime (strained top notes) though not yet 50. Habich, incomprehensibly praised to the skies in Richard Caniell’s notes, sounds elderly, singing with great intelligence but in often parched tones (‘the most celebrated interpreter of this role’ writes Caniell – has he never heard Neidlinger?). The Rhinemaidens are feeble, the Giants unimpressive. No: the vocal distinction comes here from Karin Branzell’s authoritative Fricka and from Maison’s subtly inflected, strongly sung Loge, truly the Ring’s sole intellectual when delivered in this manner. The sound is reasonable, but in what can now be thought of as historical performances, Krauss at Bayreuth (Laudis, 6/88 – nla) and Furtwangler at Rome, both in 1953, are superior performances in much better sound (though, of course, more expensive) and, in stereo, Solti on Decca is at his best in this first part of his Ring reading.'