Best Recordings of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute)

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No opera in the repertory has as many sides as Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute), which was his first and only opera for a popular rather than a court theater. Its success was immediate —197 performances in two years — and today it is one of the few works that can enchant children and adults alike. Had Mozart not died 10 weeks after Flute premiere, what might he have given us as an encore?

The Magic Flute is lots of things: a fairy-tale opera filled with mysticism, much like the German romanticism to come; a political opera espousing Masonry, which was beleaguered in 1791; and finally, a kind of burlesque containing formal arias interspersed with bad jokes and a naive, cowardly birdcatcher. It is also an opera that may one day awaken the Police of Political Correctness for transgressions both sexual and racial. Men are seen as superior to women at several junctures (although Pamina is elevated at the end), while the Moor Monostatos is a caricature that could make even Amos ‘n Andy fans blush. Consider, too, how cruel the supposedly wise Sarastro can be toward practically everyone in the cast. And this in an opera that Wilhelm Furtwängler thought might be considered “a sacred drama…a temporal realization of all that is elevated and noble.”

The Magic Flute is, properly speaking, a Singspiel, which is simply a German opera with spoken dialog separating the musical numbers. The text, written by Emanuel Schikaneder with Mozart’s collaboration, puzzled audiences in the 1790s and continues to do so today. It takes some sleight of mind to grasp how Sarastro emerges as the good man and the Queen of the Night as the evil woman. The second act in particular is difficult to sort out and remember: Probably the three strands of plot (Tamino-Pamina, Papageno-Papagena, and Sarastro-Queen) are one too many for bringing Act II to a good conclusion. Perhaps the plot rests too much on Papageno, a role originally taken by Schikaneder himself. This role, though, is a delightful one, both musically and dramatically: he’s the character most people remember as they leave the opera house. One thing, though, is clear: we never would listen to this text had it been set by Salieri.

Unlike Mozart’s Italian operas, the music for The Magic Flute is a mishmash of styles, ranging from the pyrotechnics of the Queen of the Night to the folk- song style of Papageno’s arias. The overture shows fugal elements, while the scene with the men in armor is baroque in style. The lengthy accompanied recitative with Tamino and the Sprecher points ahead to Beethoven’s Fidelio and the 19th century.

Apart from the Queen of the Night, none of the roles is technically very difficult. And yet it is seldom cast well from a dramatic point of view. The Queen, who starts out looking good but turns bad, needs to project some terror, but her music suggests a light, agile coloratura. Little wonder the Queen often sounds younger than her daughter Pamina. Sarastro should have the strength of a real bass, but at the same time he should sound wise and grandfatherly, not virile and authoritative. Pamina is an ingénue in Act I who must become deeply mature by “Ach, ich fuhl’s”; not many sopranos can service both sides. Tamino must be naïve enough to fall in love with a picture before becoming heroic and enlightened in the Act I finale.

Even when the casting doesn’t make dramatic sense, though, a particular performance can have a lot to offer because we appreciate it on so many different levels: as stern Masonic philosophy; as a fantasy piece with little serious intent; or as a musical comedy with beautiful tunes. Perhaps for this reason, almost none of the two dozen recordings can be dismissed as wholly unworthy. The general level is very high.

PRELIMINARIES

I listened to the operas chronologically by recording date, and no, I am not at all tired of the piece. Honest. The audio chain began with a Rotel RCD-955AX transport, then through an Audio Alchemy DTI 2.0 and DDE 3.0 to a Rotel RC-990BX preamplifier and RB-980BX power amplifier, ending up with either Mirage M-7si speakers or Grado SR125 headphones.

The complete dialog probably takes about 25 minutes, so early studio recordings omit it, as do some later conductors up through the ‘60s. It’s easy to understand why record companies didn’t want to use extra 78 sides for mere text, but in the LP era it’s harder to condone conductors like Herbert von Karajan (1950), Karl Bohm (1955, deleted), and Otto Klemperer (1964) cutting it altogether. I learned the piece with Bohm, and for years had almost no idea what it was about so I believe you should have the text on at least one of your versions (you can expect it to be condensed on most studio versions). Among early versions you can have dialog in the live performances (Arturo Toscanini, 1937; Furtwängler 1949 and 1951), and in one later case (Cohn Davis) you can buy it either way: with dialog on 3 CDs, or without on 2 budget CDs. Remember, too, that you can’t trust the timings in the accompanying table to sort out the quickly from the slowly paced: The amount of dialog varies, as does the speed of delivery.

HISTORIC RECORDINGS (MONO)

Sir Thomas Beecham’s prewar Magic Flute is one of the landmarks of sound recording, and with good reason. The impetus came from producer Walter Legge, who wanted to record Mozart’s greatest German opera in Germany with the best cast available. One singer Ludwig Weber) declined, and two Richard Tauber and Alexander Kipnis) were Jewish and could not risk the expo sure. Nonetheless, the final cast was excellent for its period, though today our tastes have changed. Now we expect less portamento and find Helge Roswaenge’s Tamino too heavy. Compared to pre sent-day Papagenos who exploit the humor, Gerhard Husch’s rich Papageno seems too serious (though in balance I don’t think anyone has sung Papageno better). Husch’s portrayal is one you will appreciate more if you know the role well, while Tiana Lemnitz’s Pamina is lovely but too mature in “Ach, ich fuhl’s”; she sounds older than her mother the Queen, sung by a wonderful but not intimidating Erna Berger. Rounding out the principals is a firm, strong Sarastro from Wilhelm Strienz. In the end you must put aside modern conceptions of how the opera should be cast and hear it in a new (i.e., old) way.

No allowances, though, need be made for Beecham, who, in the work’s first complete recording, elicits the spirit of Mozart as well or better than anyone since. Everything is gorgeously shaped and expertly weighted, and nothing sounds rushed. Seldom have the dual purposes of lighthearted magic and Masonic sternness been so convincingly combined. It is reported that Josef Krips, himself a wonderful Mozartean, listened to this recording about six times a year to remind himself of the standards he was aiming for. The sound is closer to AM radio than hi-fl and the singers are too forward, but you quickly get used to it and concentrate on the music. Since this performance is out of copyright, anyone can issue it, and Schwann Opus lists four versions, of which two (Pearl and Nimbus Prima Voce) were submitted for review. Nimbus has made the transfers with a digital Ambisonic system, which effectively minimizes surface noise. With Pearl you get undoctored 78 sound, including a steady stream of noise, but with more exciting highs. (Also, the two are played at slightly different speeds, so the total times are different.) I prefer Pearl’s sound, but the Nimbus has a terrific 252-page booklet.

From the same period comes Toscanini’s Salzburg Festival version (July 30, 1937). For a conductor who often missed the mark in Mozart, this Flute is surprisingly good spirited yet supple. The cast is excellent for the period (despite a flawed Julie Osvath in “O zittre nicht”), though the recording is compromised by stage noise, hammy overacting, excessive dialog, and very thumpy timpani. The third CD is filled out with the NBC Symphony playing Mozart’s Symphony 40 (Carnegie Hall, March 21, 1953).

Also from Salzburg come the 1949 and 1951 performances conducted by Furtwängler. The two differ mainly by replacing Walter Ludwig and Karl Schmitt-Walter (as Papageno and Tamino) with Anton Dermota and Erich Kunz. We have four versions in the catalog. Music & Arts’ 1949 set contains bonus tracks of the Dermota and Kunz e from 1951, while Arkadia’s is the other way around: 1951 with the 1949 excerpts added. The EMI and Foyer editions are straight 1951. Of the four, Arkadia has eliminated the most noise to achieve a remarkably fine sound. The 1951 performance has a splendid cast, with Furtwängler showing wonderful humanity and maturity We know from his writings that he thought Flute a profound work containing the whole of nature. Silliness and slapstick, which can be a legitimate part of the opera, are replaced in Furtwängler’s view by a maturity and joy that never sound stodgy or contrived. The dramatic sections (e.g., the beginning of the Act I finale) have lots of impact, and the sublime parts (“Bei Männern,” “Ach, ich fuhl’s,” “Tamino mein!,” etc.) are wonderfully expressive.

Furtwängler’s Salzburg casts pretty much owned the opera around 1950, at least in Austria. Karajan’s studio version (1950) uses the same five leads (except Ludwig Weber as a grandfatherly Sarastro) as Furtwängler in 1951. The performance is tidier lighter, but less dramatic and involved than Furtwängler’s. Per haps the biggest difference is Karajan’s omission of dialog. This is a fine document in decent sound, but, choosing one, d take Furtwängler.

The 1953 Karajan performance for Rome radio (with audience in attendance) is distinguished by Nicolai Geckla and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf as Tamino and Pamina. Schwarzkopf’s presence is particularly welcome be cause in mid-career she limited her Mozart roles to Fiordiligi (in Cosi), Donna Elvira (Don Giovanni), and the Countess (Figaro). But here’s the kicker: this Flute was presented as a Christmas concert for children, so it is sung in Italian with local actors taking the dialog. The libretto (Italian only) helps, but even so, some spots—like the 11- minute section of dialog midway through Act II—are rough going. On the whole, though, the opera is well sung, including a fine Papageno from Giuseppe Taddei and an accurate, chirpy Queen from Rita Streich.

Fricsay’s 1954 account suggests a con cert rather than a stage performance. The dialog is delivered by actors rather than the singers, who are recorded close and with more subtlety than you can achieve in the theater. For some the cast will be wanting: it’s a lot like an oratorio with a terrorless Queen (Streich again) and a sophisticated Papageno (Fischer-Dieskau), but I enjoyed it throughout. Fricsay’s conducting is crisp, and the musical values come through beautifully. Sonics are excellent for the period.

George Szell directs yet another Salzburg production, this one from 1959. It gets off to a frenetic start as Leopold Simoneau, normally a most elegant tenor, comes on yelling “Zu Hilfe!” instead of singing the notes. That said, the main reason to get this recording is probably Simoneau (since the 1955 Bohm is now deleted and Walter Beny’s Papageno can be heard with Klemperer). The other highlight is Lisa Della Casa’s Pamina, which culminates in a quietly intense “Ach, ich fuhl’s.” Szell pushes several tempos, usually to poor effect. Sonics are noisy and some times harsh and distorted, clearly below the best of the period. It’s too bad Szell never made a commercial recording of any Mozart opera. Unfortunately, this does little to fill the gap.

THE STEREO ERA

The early stereo period has long been dominated by Klemperer’s recording, which has, with good reason, attained legendary status. There is no dialog, but the cast is strong, including perhaps the finest Three Ladies ever assembled:

Schwarzkopf, Christa Ludwig, and Marga Hoffgen. Klemperer brings out a level of detail and loving concern for the music that others do not match. Tempos are not fast, but they do not sound slow because the orchestra articulates so nicely. The absence of the dialog cuts most of the silly comedy, so what’s left in Klemperer’s unhurried tempos is the nobility and sheer beauty of Mozart’s score. Nicolai Gedda lacks the sweetness of the best Taminos, and Gundula Janowitz may be too sophisticated a Pamina for some, but this one is a keeper. Walter Berry is a heavy, jolly Papageno, while Lucia Popp is a fine Queen and Gottlob Frick sings one of the finest Sarastros ever. The sonics seem a little overloaded in loud spots, but I wouldn’t be deterred by the sound.

I have not usually liked George Solti’s conducting, particularly in 18th- century music, where his intensity seems out of place. His Flute, though, is an exception. The playing is very alert (and perhaps over pointed), but it is seldom driven or lacking in warmth. Hermann Prey has just the right voice to make Papageno a likeable oaf and the other principals are fine. Only Christina Deutekom’s rather harsh Queen will invite controversy, though at least here she won’t be easily con fused with a nice lady. Martti Talvela would be an ideal Sarastro if he sang with more compassion and sounded less like a school principal.

Otmar Suitner’s version is well conducted and paced, with Peter Schreier’s Tamino the main vocal attraction. Theo Adam’s Sarastro is wobbly, Gunther Leib’s Papageno is thin-voiced, Helen Donath vocalizes beautifully but doesn’t convince in a slow “Ach, ich fühl’s,” and Sylvia Geszty’s Queen is unexceptional.

Herbert von Karajan’s live Salzburg performance (July 26, 1974) is one of the few Flutes I can safely tell you to disregard. None of the principals is outstanding (Prey is better with Solti). The high light for me was Edith Mathis’s “Ach, ich fuhl’s.” Sonics are boxy and often harsh.

Karajan’s 1980 Flute was both his first digital recording and DG’s first digital opera. It also comes in Karajan’s “mature” style, when he smoothed everything out, minimizing rhythmic point in Sivor of sensuous beauty. Karajan was not a great Mozart conductor in that period, as any one who remembers his symphonies will testify. Fortunately, this Flute does not suffer from over-smoothness, but the slow tempos for all the main arias let the drama slip away. As was common for Karajan in this period, the cast is light weight (particularly José van Dam’s Sarastro). One exception is Francisco Araiza’s Tamino, which has projection and grit, his scene with the Sprecher is particularly fine. The rest of the cast is good (Mathis repeating her Pamina), but unexceptional. On the whole, too much oratorio, too little opera.

The special distinction of James Levine’s recording is also its curse. Here the dialog is recorded complete, so we have background and character motivation more detailed than elsewhere (and a performance close to three hours). If you want the full import of the sexism and racism in The Magic Flute; choose this recording! I was quite drawn into the performance, but I doubt I will want to do it again soon because this is an opera we love much more for Mozart’s music than for the story. Levine’s cast is very good. Eric Tappy is a Tamino of the right heroic cast, and Ileana Cotrubas has just the right timbre for Pamina (though her aria is not special). Talvela is less impressive than he was for Solti, and José van Dam proves his proper role is the Sprecher, not Sarastro. Sonics are on the reverberant side, but good.

In his first recording of a complete opera, Bernard Haitink sought musical rather than dramatic values and gave no cheap thrills. His is one of the few readings I would call “beautiful,” but at the same time it is a bit drab and stern. Wolfgang Brendel is a big-voiced Papageno, while Siegfried Jerusalem’s Tamino is a touch too heroic. Edita Gruberova (who also sang for the 1980 Karajan) is a hefty Queen, who (at least) doesn’t sound like Pamina’s sister or daughter, and Roland Bracht is a deep but tremulous Sarastro. Haitink includes two sentimental returns: Lucia Popp, the Queen in the legendary Klemperer set, is now a fine Pamina, and Erich Kunz, who owned Papageno in Vienna for a quarter century takes the small role of Second Priest.

Like Haitink, Cohn Davis conducts Flute for its sensuous beauty. Everything is tasteful and stylish, which means moderately slow tempos, smooth articulations, and an almost maddening sense of poise. With Davis the music never leans forward with urgency or, dare I say, excitement—it’s all a bit prissy. The cast is headed by Peter Schreier’s Tamino, which is ideal casting, particularly in Act One, where the hero is impetuous and bewildered. Luciana Serra, though, sounds too young and vulnerable to be a credible, evil Queen, while Margaret Price’s technique (she sings “Bei Männern” virtually without vibrato) doesn’t allow much enjoyment. Her dramatic sections in Act II, though, are better Kurt Moll’s firm and wise-sounding Sarastro is one of the very best, and Mikael Melbye’s Papageno is nicely sung and characterized. As a dramatic performance the Davis is odd: the spoken parts are taken by actors who in some cases sound very different from the singers. The problem can be avoided, though, because this recording is also available without dialog on a budget 2-CD set (Philips 442 568-2).

The recordings from the early ‘80s (Karajan, Levine, Haitink, Davis) all place emphasis on the serious sides of the piece at the expense of the fun. Neville Marriner’s recording rights some of the balance by taking the lighter sections crisply while leaving the serious parts (“Dies Bildnis,” “Bei Männern,” “Ach, ich fuhl’s,” etc.) for slow, even romantic treatment. The overall effect, though, is fast-paced, and a few spots sound frantic. Araiza returns (from Karajan) for a Tamino with just the right timbre and heroism. Kiri Te Kanawa’s Pamina is gorgeous, and Olaf Bar’s fine Papageno is characterized with enthusiasm. Samuel Ramey is a noble, authoritative Sarastro, but not quite in the class of Frick or Moll. Cheryl Studer is exciting and accurate in the Queen’s arias, though to me she doesn’t sound wholly comfortable with the role. The voices are recorded very close, and Philips includes more stage noises (thunder, etc.) than normal.

Sir Charles Mackerras’s Flute has quick tempos throughout, but to his credit the music doesn’t sound rushed or fast for its own sake. In terms of vocal timbre the performance is as fine as any. Jerry Hadley is an ardent but not overbearing Tamino; Barbara Hendricks’s Pamina is sweet and appropriately vulnerable; June Anderson as the Queen is both exciting and menacing; Robert Lloyd’s Sarastro is deep and gritty; and Thomas Allen has charm and humor as Papageno. The only casualty is Pamina’s “Ach, ich fuhl’s,” which is too fast to register much grief. Mackerras also adds a small number of ornaments and appoggiaturas, which he defends in the notes but which annoyed me. Another small drawback is the preponderance of English-speaking singers in a German opera. All five principals are English or American and the three boys are Scottish, so the diction occasionally sounds non-native. One small bonus is a Tamino/Papageno duet that librettist Schikaneder inserted in an 1802 production. He claimed it was authentic Mozart, but it’s a minor piece no matter who wrote it. Telarc’s sonics are excellent, not so bassy as I often find them, with lots of realistic thunder, lions, and the like.

PERIOD-INSTRUMENT PERFORMANCES

To date four recordings on period instruments have appeared, with the earliest (1982, conducted by Ton Koopman) now deleted. Another version, this con ducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt (1988, also deleted), uses gut strings in another wise modern orchestra.

Roger Norrington’s Flute, like so much of his work, aims to remove the veneer of generations of performance and return to something more authentic. This means breathlessly fast tempos and aggressively articulated music that has too little contrast between the serious and comic sections, and very little personality. The things I love about the piece—the charm, the whimsy, the sensuous beauty of “Bei Männern” or “Tamino mein” —are ploughed under by Norrington’s slash-and-burn approach. Positive mention should be made, though, of Anthony Rowe Johnson’s nicely shaped Tamino and Dawn Upshaw’s spunky Pamina (though “Ach, ich fühl’s” is, again, too fast). Andreas Schmidt plays Papageno straight, which must have seemed strange to Olaf Bar, himself a fine Papageno (for Marriner), but here consigned to be a woolly Sprecher sans authority Beverly Hoch does the Queen’s arias with excitement, but her voice is so light she sounds like Pamma’s sister. Cornelius Hauptmann is an under-characterized, insubstantial Sarastro, due in large part to Norrington’s romp through his music (particularly a chipper “In diesen heil’gen Hallen”). Excellent sound, with lots of realistic thunder.

Like Norrington, Arnold Östman conducts a brisk Flute, but nowhere do the tempos seem artificially fist or doctrinaire. What distinguishes performances like this is less the period instruments than the casting. Every role here is sung by a lighter, more supple voice than we would have expected 20 years ago. Supporters assert that these voices (and the smaller halls they can fill) are closer to what Mozart knew. The inevitable result is that the drama and emotional level are less intense, and the slower tem pos of older singers are neither necessary nor desired. (This is, I should add, not a recent phenomenon; remember 20 years ago, when Karajan was casting Wagner with smaller voices?) But Östman’s cast however “lite,” is a fine one: Kurt Streit (Tamino) and Barbara Bonney (Pamina) are at least the equals of Rolfe Johnson and Upshaw for Norrington. Kristinn Sigmundsson’s Sarastro won’t remind you of Gottlob Frick, but in this context he’s fine. The same could be said for Sumi Jo’s Queen, whose stunning portrayal is too light to show menace. In sum, this is a convincing performance beautifully recorded, if on a chamber-opera scale,

William Christie’s recent recording is similarly small-scaled. He brings a few new ideas — reinstating the cadenza for the Three Ladies’ trio, rhythmic changes in the first quintet, etc. and in general makes a convincing drama. Hans Peter Blochwitz as Tamino makes the best impression among the principals; the others are good, but basically nondescript. Given the light voices, the tempos are well chosen and occasionally sound a little slow (“Der Vogelfanger bin ich ja,” “Der Hölle Rache”). And, of course, Pamina’s aria is too fast for me (though the ending is nice) as is the Act II quintet. Christie’s Flute is a musical, soft-edged affair, less spirited than Östman’s.

CONCLUSIONS

If you don’t already own a Magic Flute, or if you’re fairly new to Mozart, I suggest Marriner as a first choice and Mackerras as a backup. Both have strong casts, a good sense of the drama, and vivid sonics. If you have a lackluster recording but already know the work, you should get both Klemperer and Beecham. Again, the casts are excellent and the conducting is superb, though neither has dialog. For period instruments I find Christie a bit more interesting than Östman and a whole lot more satisfying than Norrington. And for Honorable Mention let me include the Arkadia Furtwängler (the most gorgeous “Tamino mein” of all!), Fricsay (for its crisp musicality), and Davis (for individual performances by Moll and Schreier).