A Tale of Two Dutchmen

Lise Davidsen, photographed by Fredrik Arff

Wagner-THE FLYING DUTCHMAN: Lise Davidsen, Anna Kissjudit; Stanislas de Barbeyrac, Eirik Grotvedt, Gerald Finley, Brindley Sherratt/Norwegian National Opera Chorus & Orchestra/Edward Gardner, cond.; Decca 487 0952 (2 CDs)

Wagner-THE FLYING DUTCHMAN: Jennifer Holloway, Maya Yahav Gour; Bryan Register, Richard Trey Smagur, Brian Mulligan, Ain Anger/Netherlands Radio Choir & Hong Kong Philharmonic Chorus/Hong Kong Philharmonic/Jaap van Zweden, cond.; Naxos 8.660572-73 (2 CDs)

An opera than ends with a sinking ship might be a too-apt metaphor for the present estate of Wagnerian singing. That being said, Richard Wagner’s first canonical music-drama has enjoyed a spate of recordings in recent years, suggesting The Flying Dutchman’s performance demands can still be met. As though to put that proposition to the test, a pair of recordings digitized in 2024 have just hit the market. One is lost at sea with all hands, while the other sails encouragingly into port.

Voyaging chronologically means starting with Naxos’ Hong Kong-based recording, which follows upon Jaap van Zweden’s well-received Ring Cycle for the same label. Unfortunately, laurels are not in order for the newcomer. Gleaned from two June 2024 concerts, the Naxos recording doesn’t even qualify as mediocre.

Van Zweden starts promisingly with an overture that’s very Allegro con brio. The orchestral image, though, is muddy, recessive and brass-heavy. Piano and pianissimo playing tends to get lost. The Hong Kong Philharmonic executes elegantly, its bright palette seconding van Zweden’s buoyant approach. Some ballast would be in order: van Zweden’s snappy treatment of the Scene One climax doesn’t carry any weight or sense of culmination, just more of the same.

Senta’s ballad is somehow both bouncy (even flippant) and slow, seeming to run out of energy between each verse, ultimately feeling interminable. The ensuing “Das Schiffsvolk kommnt” ensemble is a meaningless scramble. Similarly, the transition into Scene Three is so much orchestral busywork, while the sailors’ celebration is innocuous, even trivial, like van Zweden’s overall reading.

The massed choruses are tidy and not a bit characterful. The women in Scene Two sound downright ecclesiastical when spinning their wheels. Daland’s crew is comparably civilized, even when taunting the Dutchman’s crew, a polite bunch here.

Signs of shipwreck abound. The once-fine Ain Anger sounds rusty, almost decrepit as Daland, his voice quavering under pressure. He encompasses all the notes but affords scant pleasure. His Steersman, Richard Trey Smagur, is strained, leathery and even painful to hear.

The other tenor, Bryan Register’s Erik, fares little better, his metallic voice making heavy weather of the frequent turns in his florid vocal line. Erik’s cavatina is just awful, labored of execution and ugly of tone. The only properly working voice belongs to Maya Yahav Gour’s well-knit Mary, characterful and tonally reminiscent of Felicity Palmer (Daniel Barenboim’s Mary).

My only previous encounter with Brian Mulligan, Naxos’ protagonist, was as a laborious Herald in a truly catastrophic Lohengrin from the Metropolitan Opera. Wagnerian performance can surely sink no lower than it did that dismal afternoon. Mulligan’s voice is light and aggrieved-sounding, a Dutchman whose vocal distress exceeds his dramaturgical agony. His is not first-rate vocal material and is reminiscent of flannelly William Dooley, the Dutchman of the Met’ 1970 broadcast. In “Die Frist ist um,” Mulligan is affecting in the “Dich, frage ich” midsection and has some power for the “Wen alle Todten” cabaletta, but he’s punching above his weight at the climaxes.

Mulligan’s voice could be described as a Helden-yawn, featuring a rattly vibrato and sobby glottal attacks. He has some nice phrases in “Wie aus der Ferne” and in his Scene Three peroration, but must pick his way carefully. He’s negotiating survival in the stretta of the former and phlegmatic when he should be thunderstruck at the climax.

Not wholly inappropriately, Jennifer Holloway’s Senta has a wild voice, as well as the requisite dreaminess. She’s also very good with the text and has a mostly appealing sound. However, it turns wiry in the E-F-G region, where Senta must pour it on, and her high notes are querulous. She also finds the sortita of Scene Two to be rough sailing and “Wohl kenn ich dich” in the finale suggests one of Macbeth’s witches in its harshness. “Preis deinen Engel,” gusty and strained, ends the performance on a disastrous note.

Amazingly, this calamity has been hailed in the pages of BBC Music Magazine and Gramophone, suggesting that critics across the Atlantic have abandoned ship. But is it really “about as good as you get nowadays”?

The answer came from Oslo, later in August of last year. Four concert performances of The Flying Dutchman yielded Decca’s new recording, which shows how right one is to hold out for better than what Naxos offers. Stage effects, formerly a Decca trademark, are absent from this version, accentuating its concert-platform origins. But the Oslo performance is better on almost all counts than its Hong Kong rival.

The fundament for success is Edward Gardner’s conducting, which displays a strong viewpoint on the piece. It’s evident from the Hell-for-leather opening. The Overture hints at an approach of extremes: The Andante of the second theme is more of an Adagio and an un poco ritenuto direction brings an all-out response from Gardner. Once the curtain goes up, his interpretation is moderated without being neutered. The Norwegian Opera Orchestra’s horns are a bit anemic but its cellos and basses are silken, and the timpanist is a major presence.

The conductor sets a jaunty pace for the Steersman’s shantey and shows himself to be a flexible accompanist throughout. There’s tremendous lift to the cabaletta of the love duet and the ensuing sailors’ music has a most infectious snap. Gardner doesn’t let the energy level flag in transitions between scenes, where some maestri slacken, and yet he gives the frequent pauses full weight.

Decca’s decision to record Dutchman near the site of the Nordic action is validated by the Norwegian Opera Chorus. The men are a sturdy bunch, idiomatic in a way that recalls the Bayreuth Festival ensembles of Wilhelm Pitz and Norbert Balatsch. The nimble women don’t sound as fresh but are equally characterful. Their chiding of Senta has a nasty, bullying edge and, with Gardner spurring them on, “Das Schiffsvolk kommt” is a delightful vignette. No mere busywork here!

Shipwreck occasionally threatens to occur, especially when Brindley Sherratt’s Daland launches the action rustily. More grandfatherly than paternal, the venerable bass makes Ain Anger sound like a mere stripling, so barnacled are his tones. (Ironically, the superannuated-sounding Sherratt is five years younger than Gerald Finley!) Sherratt may not have warmed up properly, for he sounds better in his duet with the Dutchman. 

But Sherratt’s at his most gerontic when introducing Senta to her phantom suitor. At least “Moegst du, mein Kind” moves along smoothly, swiftly and well, propelled by Gardner’s helpful beat. Since Daland is normally a can’t-miss role, Decca’s casting seems perverse. Was Günther Groissbock not available?

The other fly in the ointment is Stanislas de Barbeyrac’s Erik. He’s got a plangent, spinto voice and a sense of purpose. Unfortunately, that purpose is mostly to browbeat Senta. Not only de Barbeyrac bellow his endearments, in Scene Three he yells at his fiancée, by way of leading into a gracelessly phrased cavatina. The tenor’s high notes are tight but at least his baritonal underpinnings serve him very well in Scene Two’s dream narration, which is the best moment of his performance.

Eirik Grotvedt is a fresh-voiced and secure Steersman, sensitively phrasing his shantey. The bosomy voice and imperious presence of Anna Kissjudit’s daunting Mary suggest a domestic tyrant.

The protagonists must wait in the wings no longer. Gerald Finley (above), a Dutchman by way of Amfortas and Hans Sachs, inspires a maelstrom of conflicting sentiments. He’s one of the most beautiful-sounding Dutchmen on discs, his legato highlighted by Lieder-like phrasing. Too much so, perhaps: As though in misguided tribute to Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (see below), Finley doesn’t sing through the phrases, pouncing on verbal highlights instead.

Let one example suffice. In his duet with Daland, the Dutchman twice sings, “Laeßt du dem Bund dich erweichen,” with a piano dynamic marked on “Bund.” Instead, Finley hits it with an obtrusive sforzando, the opposite of what Wagner directs.

Gardner seems to hold back at some of the stormier climaxes to spare Finley’s resources.  For all the commitment and evident study of the role, Finley seems quite unlikely to be a stage Dutchman. He excels in cantabile passages like “Dich, frage ich,” his appeal for release, and high notes are steady and dead-on. F-sharp holds no terrors for Finley. 

“Wie aus der Ferne” also plays to his strengths, although he ultimately sounds too continent for a tormented wanderer. Finley is touchingly eager when asking for Senta’s hand and, with the finish line in sight in the finale, the baritone can finally cut loose, approximating the needed vocal heft. But overall, he's a light cruiser attempting to fire battleship broadsides.

Photo by James Hole

If Lise Davidsen leaves most of her costars in the dust, it is scarcely her fault. These performances were her first, last and only Sentas. What a way to set it down for posterity! Senta is what Davidsen ought to be singing now, but instead she is being rushed into the Isolde/Brünnhilde breach. What a shame, for her Senta deserves to be placed in the ring of honor that includes Leonie Rysanek, Astrid Varnay and few others. (Adrienne Pieczonka sang a thrilling Senta for Bayreuth but didn’t stick around for the ensuing recording.)

While her costars often sound like they’re reading off scores, Davidsen is living her part, as in the vivid storytelling of the Ballad. From the get-go, this is clearly a voice in a million, with interpretive instincts to match. The tart edge to Davidsen’s tone is reminiscent of the young Varnay, although her instrument is softer, more malleable than that thrilling vocal sledgehammer of yore.

Sounding like she’s been singing Senta for years, Davidsen takes charge forcefully. With Gardner’s seconding, she takes the Ballad at a quickstep (quite different from Varnay’s massive pace), seizing eagerly on the words, and secure at soft dynamics, especially in the passaggio. If there’s a qualm, it’s that Davidsen’s top notes don’t have the freedom and spin of Rysanek’s, which makes the climactic “Preis deinen Engel” disappointing—and Rysanek was in her glory at that moment.

Ultimately, Davidsen doesn't quite match the fervor or otherworldly tonal glow of Rysanek's uniquely possessed interpretation. But she comes remarkably close. And to be mentioned positively in the same breath as Rysanek and Varnay is an indication that she's doing very well for herself indeed.

If you’re searching for an antecedent to Finley, you’ll find him in Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, aboard a 1960 Dutchman which has plied the waves on a variety of labels, most lately Brilliant Classics. Even some tactfully close microphoning can’t conceal that Fischer-Dieskau is a shade light for the role, but he makes a surprisingly persuasive stab at it. Only at the very climax (“Du aber sollst gerettet seen”) does one miss the ultimate heft of a Hans Hotter or George London.

Fischer-Dieskau’s is an anguished Dutchman, heartbreakingly vulnerable rather than bitter. Also, the sometimes-wayward baritone is on his very best behavior. Would that more interpreters of the part had such tenorish ease in the upper register, such floated pianissimi and such seamless legato.

He has a stalwart father-in-law: Gottlob Frick. The bass is no spring chicken, yet it would be churish to complain in the face of Frick’s plummy tone, easy command of the role and personable vocalism. Fritz Wunderlich is an appealing Steersman. However, Marianne Schech’s Senta is shuddery above and below the stave, and curdled of tone throughout—altogether the wrong aural image for a fervent young maid. She’s too-aptly paired with Rudolf Schock, whose beefy tenor and vocal bench-pressing are maladroit for Erik’s Italianate lyricism.

The conducting of Franz Konwitschny is a mite stodgy but it brings out the score’s Biedermeier charms, as does the tangy (if imperfect) playing of the Berlin State Orchestra. Konwitschny’s approach is wholly preferable to the ruthlessly streamlined—and ruthlessly cut—one of Karl Bohm in a 1963 Metropolitan Opera broadcast (Gala, OOP). The East Berlin chorus isn’t of Bayreuth caliber but nevertheless manages to sound like lusty, beer-drinking men and womenfolk.

For a big-voice Dutchman, the obvious choice is the pairing of Leonie Rysanek (above) and George London (on Decca), a true artistic partnership. They are marvelously responsive to each other and each is wonderful in their own right. London is a Dutchman steeped in bitterness and implacability, and those preferring this big, black column of sound to Hotter’s lesser tonal density will find no argument here.

Senta’s punishing tessitura, with its reliance on the upper third of the soprano voice, puts her right in Rysanek’s sweet spot and the Austrian soprano delivers unstintingly. Her characteristic abandon could have been made for this rapt, obsessed role. Together, Rysanek and London were the stuff of legend, and the venerable Decca recording captures why.

They get variable support. Karl Liebl is an uncommonly sweet-toned and imaginative Erik, while Rosalind Elias’ Frau Mary deserves special mention. However, Richard Lewis is the most genteel Steersman imaginable, while Giorgio Tozzi’s bluff Daland (though perfectly well sung) is lightweight. An admirable artist, he put in the shade by the likes Georg Hann (see below), Gottlob Frick and Ludwig Weber (Testament), with their idiomatic grounding, tonal darkness and deeper vocal ballast.

We are here a world away from Konwitschny’s Berlin ensemble, judging by the blandly international work of the Covent Garden chorus and orchestra. Antal Dorati is very attentive to Wagner’s markings but is more inclined to follow the singers than lead the performance, and seems to lack an unifying point of view on the score.

One Dutchman that has never been out of the catalogue for long, if ever, is a 1944 broadcast from Munich (latterly on Opera d’Oro). The Bavarian State Opera Orchestra is hardly a virtuoso body, let’s say. Yet Clemens Krauss spurs them thrillingly through the score, and Hans Hotter (Dutchman) and Georg Hann (Daland) set the standard for their roles. Hotter’s is a singularly haunted protagonist, the registers of his voice glinting like the richly colored caverns they were. By contrast, Hann’s utterances are a solid, plump pillar of tone, used every bit as expressively as Hotter’s more varied instrument.

The performance nearly founders on the sour-toned Senta of Viorica Ursuleac (Frau Krauss). But even her disagreeable vocalism is securely underpinned, as are the ringing tones of Karl Ostertag, who also shows what can be done with Erik. Krauss, incidentally, restores the earlier, brass-heavy version of the Dutchman’s exit recitative and presents the opera in three-act format.

One obvious alternative to Gardner and van Zweden would be James Levine (Sony). But I find this recording, despite its all-star cast (Voigt, Svendén; Heppner, Groves, Morris, Rootering), inflated and pretentious. It’s early Wagner seen through the lens of Gotterdammerung, quite the wrong perspective.

Another recording deserving of mention—and of preference—is the first Decca Dutchman, thrillingly waxed (in spectacular stereo) at Bayreuth way back in 1955 and now on Testament. It wears its 70 (!) years lightly. “Light” could also be applied to Hermann Uhde’s Dutchman, but it’s a major interpretation and he has Astrid Varnay for his imposing Senta. Ludwig Weber is one of the finest, most endearing of Dalands and Joseph Keilberth’s conducting has earthy weight. Throw in Josef Traxel’s superlative Steersman and you have a Dutchman whose strengths and weaknesses are perfectly complementary to Dorati’s.

(Varnay also appears on a Metropolitan Opera broadcast of The Flying Dutchman, currently on Naxos. She was standing in for Ljuba Welitsch that 1950 afternoon and delivers the goods. She has Hans Hotter for her Dutchman and Fritz Reiner on the podium … but there are deep cuts and the sound will not be competitive with studio recordings. Just an FYI.)

So, as we finally drop anchor, upon what shore are we left? Van Zweden’s Dutchman is good only for doing duty as a coaster—or perhaps an emetic. Gardner’s stacks up impressively in several respects, but not quite enough to dislodge Dorati from the topmast. Indeed, after Dorati, Keilberth and Konwitschny (in that order of preference) Gardner makes it into the upper echelon but as one’s only Flying Dutchman, older remains better. DMc