Too Cozy? "Luisa Miller" in Vienna

Verdi-LUISA MILLER: Lilian Sukis, Christa Ludwig; Franco Bonisolli, Giuseppe Taddei, Bonaldo Giaiotti, Malcolm Smith/Vienna State Opera Chorus & Orchestra/Alberto Erede, cond. (January 23, 1974); Orfeo C784 1021

Thank God that Giuseppe Verdi's LUISA MILLER doesn't play itself, unlike so many other of the Busseto composer's masterworks. Something of a hothouse flower amidst the robust Verdian output, LUISA is so delicate that it discourages opera houses and record companies from just throwing it together and letting the petals fall where they may.

LUISA occupies an experimental—one might even say eccentric—place in Verdi's middle canon. Pastoral in character, it shows Verdi trying out ideas such as the mono-thematic overture, a cappella quartet in Act II and preceding duet for basses, some more successfully than others. (One can never quite forget Albert Innaurato's description of "L'alto retaggio" as sounding "like two mastiffs braying at one another.")

Even so, LUISA stands head and shoulders above immediate surroundings that include IL CORSARO and LA BATTAGLIA DI LEGNANO. If she's a problem child in the Verdi family, LUISA is one that benefits from tender, loving care.

By and large, LUISA has received such TLC in the recording catalogue, into which a select few live performances have strayed. One such is Orfeo's resuscitation of the 1974 Vienna State Opera production, formerly available on the defunct Gala label. In light of Orfeo's access to the original broadcast tapes, this reissue supersedes all others and proves surprisingly viable as an account of the opera, not least for its protagonist.

LUISA MILLER had to wait 125 years for its Vienna premiere, heard on these CDs. It was a short-notice substitution for Meyerbeer's LE PROPHETE, which may explain some of the polyglot casting. For instance, Christa Ludwig would have been a natural Fidés but is certainly a generous choice for Verdi's Federica. While this production isn't predictably cast, it yields its own dividends. However ...

Gemütlichkeit is a Viennese term meaning "coziness" and the 1974 LUISA is altogether too cozy for the drama to flourish. Blame must be laid at the feet of conductor Alberto Erede, a then-ubiquitous routinier. The overture sketches the template for what is to come: Played without inflection and sedately placed. Nothing of great import to see here, Erede seems to say. The opening choral attack bodes ill—ragged and late—setting the stage for an evening of rhythmic uncertainty and spongy chording. Time and again, Erede will launch a number at a mild, easygoing tempo and it trundles along uneventfully for all concerned, Verdi especially. Given how the opera is loping along, Erede's cuts (second verses of cabalettas and such) are perhaps merciful.

Lilian Sukis is perhaps best known for having been the original Helen Niles in the world premiere of Marvin David Levy's MOURNING BECOMES ELECTRA. At the time of this performance she was five years into a 20-year career with the Bavarian State Opera and not the obvious choice for this venture. Luisa is a role which demands the agility of a leggiero, the cantabile of a lyric soprano and sometimes the punch of a spinto. Sukis rises surprisingly well to all of these requisites. Hers is a bright, sympathetic timbre, full of pathos, employed with strong interpretive instincts. The staccati and trills of Luisia's entrance aria don't come naturally to Sukis but she gives them her best shot (many interpreters don't). She also proves herself sinewy enough for "Tu puniscimi, o Signore" and its cabaletta, showing surprising fire. It's a distinguished assumption.

Giuseppe Taddei (as Falstaff)

Nothing fired Verdi's imagination like father/daughter relationships and Sukis enjoys a solicitous father in Giuseppe Taddei, Verdi baritone par excellence. Taddei was 57 at the time and it would be idle to pretend that his voice squares up on the pitch ideally or that the tone isn't worn from decades of Scarpias. But it remains a beautiful voice, one employed with care and an admirable sense of legato, underpinned by a glowing sense of humanity. As with Sukis, there is always plenty of "face" in Taddei's singing and, aside from Cornell MacNeil (see below), I am hard-pressed to think of a finder Miller.

The other standout assumption is Bonaldo Giaiotti's Count Walter. True, he hasn't warmed up sufficiently for his opening "Il mio sangue," but the bass quickly rallies. It's a handsome, burnished Italian voice that—like Taddei's—offers much sensual pleasure. His tone is aristocratic and his attitude of paternalistic authority is spot-on. By contrast, Malcom Smith, baser of vocal coin, only fulfills the minimum requirements of the oily Wurm. At least he sounds rough and nasty enough to distinguish master (Giaiotti) from man.

Franco Bonisolli presents a more difficult case. His trumpet-like tone and brazen approach seem rather overbearing, but the basic vocal material is right and undeniably thrilling. He rages through most of the role, softening aptly for "Quando le sere al placido." Bonisolli won't be denied high notes in his Act II cabaletta and they're good ones, aptly placed. One of the very greatest singers of the 20th century, Christa Ludwig makes little impression as Duchess Federica. Verdi never suited Ludwig especially well and she's simply out of sorts with Federica's chesty tessitura.

Orfeo revives all this in splendid, vivid stereo sound. Particularly effective is the opening of Act I, Scene 2, with its very antiphonal hunting horns and offstage choruses placed far to the left and right of the sonic spectrum. Still, for all the attractions of Sukis, Taddei and Giaiotti (the latter also heard in the Maag recording, of which more below), there are enough debilities—particularly the conducting—to keep this version out of serious contention.

Contrast Erede's mild-mannered attack with Fausto Cleva's involvement on the 1964 RCA recording, which sets the standard for LUISA MILLER on disc. From the start, tempi are urgent and the playing of the RCA Italiana Opera Orchestra fairly seethes with purpose. The sense of theatricality never lets up, thanks to Cleva and a largely unsurpassed cast. Anna Moffo never did anything finer on records than her Luisa, which has the coloratura facility and pathos you would expect, and sinew that you might not. Initially, this Luisa sounds more like the world-wearing Violetta, thanks to Moffo's plush tone, but one soon adjusts and the rewards are manifold ... even if her Act III apostrophe to la tomba is strangely chipper.

As Federica, Shirley Verrett shows how the role should go, as it lies indecently well for her. Cornell MacNeil, like Taddei, is not without strain but also manages persuasive gruppetti, as well as sledgehammer tonal power and makes an authoritative father figure. As the malign parent, Giorgio Tozzi is almost too noble and sympathetic, although it's perhaps churlish to complain about such vocal plushness. With his plump tone and air of smug malice, Ezio Flagello is the essence of Wurm. Carlo Bergonzi's Rodolfo is altogether a more sympathetic, stylish and vocally appropriate choice than Bonisolli. Only a generalized interpretive approach can be held against him.

Not so Luciano Pavarotti on the 1975 Decca recording. Pavarotti is at his finest, conveying a young lover's ardor and wonderfully specific of intent. Montserrat Caballé dazzles with her pinpoint staccati but is always larmoyante, even Luisa is meant to be happy. An experienced Miller, Sherrill Milnes perversely opts to engage in a tempo tug-of-war with conductor Peter Maag, while Anna Reynolds is a conscientious Federica.

Beyond Pavarotti, the major plus is Maag's leadership. His reading is measured, opting for pictorial evocation in place of Cleva's urgency, and he points up the opera's kinship to German Romanticism. Giaiotti is again Count Walter, chillingly aloof, and Richard van Allan is the most oleaginous of Wurms.

If you prefer 'Wurm as dirty old man,' go for creepy, mealy Paul Plishka on the Sony recording, led in hard-sell fashion by James Levine. It's a plausible attempt at casting the opera with appropriate voices at a time (1991) when they were in short supply. Aprile Millo is a sympathetic Luisa, one who doesn't shirk the role's technical challenges, Vladimir Chernov's Miller rings out bravely, and Jan-Hendrik Rootering (Walter) and Florence Quivar (Federica) were inspired choices. Wendy White is by far the loveliest of Lauras. Overall, however, the prevailing impression is one of brashness.

Sixty one years on, it's still Cleva/RCA in a walk. Its across-the-board strength is undeniable and it makes the most ardent case for LUISA MILLER. Maag/Decca is worth hearing for Pavarotti, Giaiotti and the conducting. As for the newest entrant, it won't cause anyone's blood to boil. It remains cherishable for Sukis and Giaiotti, and anything Giuseppe Taddei did is worth hearing. But the essence of LUISA MILLER is smothered in Schlagobers. Schade.—David McKee