Having traversed almost the entire cycle of Mahler symphonies,
it was inevitable that Claudio Abbado and the Lucerne Festival
Orchestra turn their attention elsewhere. Fidelio seems a good
choice, not least because it is a new addition to the
conductor’s varied discography but also because its innate
idealism finds a conceptual parallel in his ‘orchestra of
soloists’. Indeed, the instrumental component is surely the most
notable aspect of this undertaking: seldom can Beethoven’s
symphonically conceived score have been rendered with such
textural transparency – laying bare all manner of detail
normally absent on recordings, let alone in the opera house.
Interpretively, matters are rather more equivocal.
An
incisive though rather low-key approach to the overture is a
foretaste of a First Act which, particularly in its opening
scene, gives but minimal indication of the drama to follow – not
least in the quartet ‘Mir ist so wunderbar,’ which unfolds here
as a sequence of subtly differentiated vocal lines with little
delineation of character. Tension increases thereafter, but the
fateful duet ‘Jetzt, Alter, hat es Eile!’ feels almost too
understated while the prisoners’ chorus (‘O welche Lust’) is
overtly passive in its rapture.
Come Act 2, and the
dungeon scene builds to an impressive climax – offstage trumpet
calls ideally distanced – though the final scene of
reconciliation, while lacking nothing in dynamism, ties up the
theatrical loose ends with insufficient sense of the emotional
(and, in consequence, social and political) issues that are
being addressed: qualities that have made this a perennially
relevant opera in the two centuries since its near-disastrous
premiere.
There are no significant weaknesses
among the soloists. Nina Stemme is an ardently committed
Leonore, rising to the challenges of her horn-led scene in Act 1
(‘Abscheulicher! Wo eilst du hin?’) with palpable resolve, while
a hint of strain in Jonas Kaufmann’s Florestan is put to
productive use in the fraught emotions which define his
comparable aria at the beginning of Act 2 with its no less
spellbinding oboe obbligato, though neither singer sounds wholly
at ease during their ecstatic duet ‘O namenlose Freude!’.
Falk Struckmann’s Don Pizarro is nastiness rather than evil
incarnate, witness the bravura handling of his Act 1 aria ‘Ha!
Welch ein Augenblick!’, while Christof Fischesser’s bluff though
by no means insensitive Rocco is evident from his solo
contribution, ‘Hat man nicht auch Gold beineben’. Rachel
Harnisch and Christoph Strehl are well matched as the
destined-to-be lovers Marzelline and Jaquino, while Peter Mattei
makes a gallant if not ideally authoritative Don Fernando.
The Arnold Schoenberg Choir handles its appearances as
soldiers, prisoners and townsfolk with conviction while, as
already indicated, the playing of the Lucerne Festival forces
(augmented by the Mahler Chamber Orchestra) can hardly be
faulted. Nor is the recording – made during semi-staged
performances in August 2010 in the KKL venue favored by this
orchestra – other than admirable in clarity and sense
of
perspective. The booklet has an informative introduction by The
Classical Review’s Thomas May and well-chosen illustrations,
along with libretto, (English and French) translations and
synopsis.
Those coming to Fidelio afresh will find this
an excellent way into the opera, though it cannot be denied that
a number of other recordings yield greater theatrical impact:
Otto Klemperer (Testament) remains unsurpassed in this regard,
while Leonard Bernstein (DG) overcomes inconsistencies in
casting with his sheer dynamism of direction, and Nikolaus
Harnoncourt (Warner) offers an account of comparable scale but
appreciably greater intensity. By comparison, Abbado’s is a
reading to live with, but not to die for.
