Orff: Oedipus der Tyrann

Born in Munich in 1895, Carl Orff is one of the 20th century’s most fascinating creators of music. He is famed for his “Carmina Burana”, a work of dazzling brilliance. It forms part of his triptych Trionfi alongside “Catulli Carmina” and “Trionfo di Afrodite”, each of which is equally represented in this edition under the musical direction of Herbert Kegel. Die Kluge is a modern fairy-tale in the manner of a Brechtian moral fable, telling the story of a king, a peasant and the peasant’s clever daughter. The recording is one of the most important in the extensive ETERNA catalogue and remains a benchmark to this day on account of its sound quality and musical interpretation. The conducting repertoire of Herbert Kegel was so wideranging and its special features so unusual that it would be difficult to “sell” him as a specialist for a single composer or a particular era of musical history – indeed, it is tempting to label him a “specialist for everything”, which may sound contradictory, but sums up his abilities in a way that would be suitable for very few other conductors. Kegel’s series of Carl Orff recordings – Carmina Burana being a work he recorded twice for ETERNA – seems out of place (from today’s conventional box-ticking perspective) for a conductor known for his passionate commitment to the modernist works of the Second Viennese School, works he successfully championed in the GDR, as is to be seen – in premiere recordings, of course – from their copious documentation in the catalogue of the state-owned VEB Deutsche Schallplatten record company. Herbert Kegel’s aesthetic horizon crossed borders of every kind and made no compromises in its expansiveness. The same painstaking refinement that he applies to Webern’s filigree textures is prominent in his treatment of Carmina Burana, often presented as a larger-than-life audience-friendly “showpiece”, but here endowed with a rarely experienced aura of ritual solemnity and seriousness.

ORFF Antigonae • Wolfgang Sawallisch, cond; Martha Mödl ( Antigone ); Carlos Alexander ( Creon ); William Dooley ( Chorus Leader ); Fritz Uhl ( Haemon ); Marianne Radev ( Ismene ); Paul Kuen ( Guard ); Joseph Traxel ( Tiresias ); Kurt Böhme ( Messenger ); Lilian Benningsen ( Eurydice ); Bavarian RSO & Ch • PROFIL 09066 (2CDs: 143:06) Live: Munich 1958


Every collector knows Orff’s Carmina Burana . Many are acquainted with the Catulli Carmina . Fewer know that Orff, after World War II, produced three theater works that aimed to create a contemporary equivalent of the ancient performances of Greek tragedy, heightening the texts with his paradoxically archaic-sounding modern music, and with dance. Antigonae first in 1949 and then Oedipus der Tyrann in 1959 make use of the highly expressive 1804 German adaptations of the Sophocles plays by Friedrich Hölderlin. ( Prometheus , from 1968, sets Aeschylus’s Greek.)


As in the setting of Catullus poems, the orchestra is stripped of much of the color that makes Carmina Burana so popular, while retaining the visceral impact of a large ensemble. Antigonae requires six pianos, four harps, six each of flutes, oboes (three doubling English horn), and muted trumpets, nine double basses, and a large battery of percussion. The combination makes a wonderful noise in full cry, though Orff uses the whole orchestra sparingly and, much of the time, quite delicately. Opera singers of the first rank are required, but it is not an opera as such. The text is generally sung with little accompaniment, frequently at the extremes of the range, in an intensely rhythmic chant. Piano and tuned percussion are used to establish key, add color, and punctuate the line. Occasionally greater forces are used to amplify emotion, as in Creon’s and Antigone’s pivotal scenes, and to accompany the chorus. There are, however, lengthy stretches of heroically declaimed, sparsely accompanied German. This may sound monotonous, but throughout the many hours spent listening to three versions of the two-and-one-half hour work in review, plus a recording of the later Oedipus , I did not find it so.


I say this despite little German comprehension, and the recording’s lack of texts, or even a reasonable synopsis. One may secure a translation of Hölderlin’s verse, which Orff set line-for-line, but at more than half of the cost of the recording. Doing so will add to the appreciation of the work, yet in truth, with some knowledge of the story, Orff and the extraordinary performers make this a moving experience without translation. For those fluent in German, the wonderful diction and clear recording should make a libretto unnecessary.


If lack of text is a weakness—and in fairness, this is common to all releases—it is the only one. If one is going to issue a recording of such an obscure work, one best make it a superlative one, and that is just what Profil has done. On disc, the work has been almost exclusively the property of the Bavarian Radio. After the 1949 premiere at Salzburg, recorded but currently out of print, all but one CD release has been made in Munich either by the Radio Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, or the State Opera. Georg Solti’s 1951 recording on Orfeo is distinguished by the incomparable Creon of Hermann Uhde, but is put out of contention for a general recommendation by some rather scrappy orchestral and choral execution. Ferdinand Leitner’s is a studio recording from 1961, notable for the conductor’s subtle and nuanced pacing, which gives a spiritual quality to a performance that emphasizes character delineation. Inge Borkh is a vulnerable Antigone, heartbreaking in her grief and moving in her preparation for death. The recording, which I admire greatly, is currently available only as a download, so the discovery and release of this Sawallisch live recording from 1958 is particularly welcome.


Sawallisch was recording a fair amount of Orff in this period: a 1956 monaural EMI Carmina Burana that rivals Jochum’s classic account (DG) for acute conducting, and splendid recordings of the two fairy tale operas, Der Mond and Die Kluge , also for EMI in 1956–57. He was therefore an old hand at Orff by the time he led this performance. He does not linger as much as Leitner—his performance is more than a quarter-hour faster—exchanging some poignancy and understatement for an implacable sense of impending doom. Martha Mödl’s imperious Antigone fits into this approach perfectly, as does Carlos Alexander’s pitiless Creon and Fritz Uhl’s desperate Haemon. Paul Kuen is a fine Mime-like Guard, but must give pride of place to Gerhard Stolze’s conspiratorial reading for Leitner. William Dooley sings the Chorus Leader movingly, and the men of the Bavarian Radio Choir are the finest group to record this music, even preferable to their subsequent outing three years later. The remaining singers are equally fine, with special mention necessary of Kurt Böhme’s sonorous Messenger.


The recording itself is a marvel, showing almost no sign of its age. It is monaural, but with subtle ambient processing that provides some sense of space without adding artificial reverberation. (The booklet is silent on the matter, but the effect is pleasantly audible, and visible when scoped.) The sound is detailed and immediate, with remarkable percussion transients, solid bass, and the voices placed naturally in relation to the instruments. (Leitner achieves some of his delicacy and intimacy through forward placement of the voices.) The audience is almost completely silent. In all, this is the most desirable of the recordings of this work, a superb introduction to Orff’s too-seldom explored Greek tragedies, and a gripping dramatic experience.


FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames

This fine performance sounds better than ever in its latest remastering, and remains a Carmina Burana of choice, leagues ahead of Ozawa's dreary Berlin remake for Philips. True, the soloists aren't the best, with Evelyn Mandac touching in quieter moments (In trutina) but somewhat shrill otherwise, Milnes oddly wooden, and tenor Stanley Kolk, well, who cares about the single excruciating tenor solo anyway? Still, the performance thrives on Ozawa's energy, the vigor of the BSO, and the lusty, boisterous, unsubtle singing of the New England Conservatory Chorus (among whom was none other than CT.com's own Editor-in-Chief David Vernier). But the presence of my beloved partner in crime is not the reason why I still recommend this fine recording. It's a fresh, young-sounding version that hasn't dated a day, and it comes with complete texts and translations. Enjoy. [6/2/2004] --David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com