In 1935/36, the middle-aged German composer Carl Orff did something remarkable: He made a concerted effort to cease his earlier style and make an entirely new start. The result was his Carmina Burana, “Songs of Beuern,” referring to the texts which came from a medieval manuscript conserved at the Benediktbeuern Abbey in Bavaria. The piece moved Orff from relative mainstream obscurity to distinctive popularity.

The texts were set to Orff’s original music (and thus disregarding the original music for a few of the poems, which survives and has been recorded elsewhere). It combined Orff’s interest in the middle ages and antiquity with more than a passing influence from Igor Stravinsky’s stripped-down, folk-inspired work Les Noces. While that debt has often been cited, the key thing that makes Carmina Burana stand apart from Les Noces is that Orff had a touch for short, song-like structures which makes his cantata of scenes from medieval life easily relatable to audiences, whereas Stravinsky’s wedding celebration remains arcane and at arm’s length to many listeners. To this day, the Orff work – especially it’s opening ‘O Fortuna’ chorus – has become a staple of classical music, film, and popular culture. The problem with the work is that its fame has blinded many conductors to the truth that it is actually a very tricky score to incorporate all of the composer’s hundreds of detailed markings and still give it an overall shape. Most approximate it, resulting in surprisingly few great recordings of it. This list is an attempt to cite ten worthy recording, and one bonus.

Seiji Ozawa / Boston Symphony Orchestra (Sony)

Not to be confused with the later, lower-voltage recording Ozawa made with the Berlin Philharmonic for Philips, this is his earlier RCA (now Sony) recording in Boston from 1969, when the conductor was still at his considerable peak of youthful energy. He conveys an excitement about the color and power of this music, and derives many insights from close attention to the score. His tempos are sometimes broad, but with strong rhythmic snap. Sherrill Milnes is also a considerable asset as baritone soloist.

Kurt Eichhorn / Münchner Rundfunkorchester (RCA)

This 1975 recording could be ruled out as a top contender on the grounds of sound alone, for from its original release (Eurodisc) to more recent remasterings (RCA), it has always been bass shy, not a characteristic you want in a piece that makes its impact in numerous places with the bass drum. And Eichhorn can in places be fussy, interpolating breathing pauses where no one else seems to need them. But arguably the one reason for citing it is the thrilling delivery of the baritone solos here by Hermann Prey. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (in Eugen Jochum’s stereo recording, see below) may be more polished and many others are more note-for-note accurate, but Prey’s solos seethe with life. You believe he’s a desperate gambler in the ‘In Taberna’ songs, and you feel his longing in the more lyrical solos. It’s an unforgettable emotional approach, worth considering for Prey alone, though Lucia Popp in the soprano solos is not to be overlooked, either.

 James Levine / Chicago Symphony Orchestra (Deutsche Grammophon)

Whatever personal failings James Levine proved to have as a human being, at his professional peak, he was a highly effective conductor. His 1985 Carmina Burana (Deutsche Grammophon) is strongly colored, with Germanic pronunciation of the demotic texts by Margaret Hillis’ Chicago Symphony Chorus. Both singers and players provide an extra level of sheer power, though the alacrity also comes with a certain inflexibility. Bernd Weikl gives some nice touches to the baritone solos.

Herbert Blomstedt / San Francisco Symphony (Decca)

The go-to recording for those impatient with performances that explore the more languorous side of the work, the 1990 Blomstedt recording (Decca) has considerable fire in places (and joyfully vigorous percussion!), and the conductor always makes at least a nod toward Orff’s details. It’s not a rendition for sensualists, though, with everything just a little bit too squeaky clean and tidy. I like my Carmina Burana to sound earthy and a little wild, where Blomstedt’s sounds more like a lively church group excursion off to see how the other half lives. The ‘In Taberna’ section, in particular, sounds like a pre-midnight gathering for highly caffeinated teetotalers. The recording is bright and vivid, the soloists good within the parameters of Blomstedt’s approach.

 

Christian Thielemann / Orchester der Deutschen Oper Berlin (Deutsche Grammophon)

Thielemann characteristically aims for more spacious tempos than just about anyone else in his recording for Deutsche Grammophon. Not everyone will find this meditative approach ideal, but Thielemann sustains it effectively, in spacious recorded sound. Compared to more tightly argued performances, it feels discursive, but Thielemann conjures up magic in places that makes it worthwhile. In other places, he gives the impression that he thinks he’s far too important to have to bother with all of Orff’s tempo adjustments. Simon Keenleyside’s baritone solos are excellent, though Christina Oelze’s ‘Dulcissime‘ sounds like it’s being sung by Elektra.

Kristjan Järvi / MDR-Sinfonieorchester (Sony)

Järvi enjoys speed thrills in a couple of places in this 2012 Sony release (and an exaggeratedly slow ‘Ave Formosissima‘), but it is truly a performance that has both a grasp of the score and a fine sense of theater. Combine the crisp performance by orchestra and chorus with good soloists, all couched within a beautifully captured sound picture, and you have one of the notable recordings of the modern era.

Andrew Litton / BBC National Orchestra (BBC Music)

Subscribing to the BBC Music Magazine is a bit of a lottery, with some releases of the cover CDs which come with (or can be downloaded from) each issue featuring numerous different composers and performers, which is a nightmare for those of us trying to organize a library of recordings. But it proves worthwhile because of the occasional bright gem, such as this 2015 recording. Andrew Litton is a fantastic conductor, and he looks beyond the popular image of Orff’s composition as a party piece and does the work to absorb and embody Orff’s meticulous details, while at the same time shaping the work on the large scale. An additional attraction is the suave baritone solos of Christopher Maltman. Strongly characterized and performed, this recording is well worth tracking down.

Toshiyuki Kamioka / Sinfonieorchester Wuppertal (MDG)

The most spectacularly clear recording of the modern era is also a first-class performance. Alas, it flew under the radar when issued by MDG in 2005 and has never received the attention it deserves. What’s worse is that it no longer shows in the active MDG catalog. Tracking down a copy is worth it, though, for Toshiyuki Kamioka leads a vivid and distinctive performance in stunning sound (surprisingly gathered from live concerts!). Particularly delightful is Kamioka’s way of giving permission to the percussionist to bang the hell out of the tam-tam, which is the only way it should be played in the climaxes of this work. (As an aside, eternal shame to the normally astute Antal Dorati, who let his Decca recording reuse the take of the opening chorus for double use as the closing chorus, thus omitting the crucial tam-tam slam that should crack open the final chorus apocalyptically). Kamioka’s chorus is arguably slightly small, but that litheness of tone allows instrumental and rhythmical details to register as they do in no other recording. The recording is also blessed with tenor Thomas Piffka, who offers the best modern-era performance of the roasted swan’s song (‘Olim lacus colueram‘), which then provokes baritone Kay Stiefermann to follow it with an equally riotous ‘Ego sum abbas‘, the song of the drunken Abbot of Cucany (Cockaigne in the English-speaking world). Truly a hidden gem.

Eugen Jochum / Orchester der Deutschen Oper Berlin (Deutsche Grammophon)

For folksy color, no performance exceeds Jochum’s. Vivid and tart, the 1967 performance (Deutsche Grammophon) makes one believe, at least momentarily, that this is what the Middle Ages must have sounded like, and the recorded sound holds up well. Some listeners may be startled by the extremely individual interpretation of Gerhard Stolze in the song of the roasted swan (I happen to love it), but Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Gundula Janowitz are luxury casting for the other solos. Though Jochum is not as wayward in his tempos here as he famously was in his Bruckner recordings, it is true that he takes a fairly casual attitude to some of Orff’s finer adjustments.

Riccardo Muti / Philharmonia Orchestra (Warner)

For sheer sweep, excitement, and outstanding singing, I know of no better performance than the 1980 performance by the Philharmonia Orchestra and Chorus under the direction of Riccardo Muti (EMI/Warner). Muti leads with the big picture in mind, treating each main section— In the Tavern and The Court of Love—as operatic acts or symphonic movements. This doesn’t preclude some extraordinary details, like the whining phrasing of the bassoon in ‘Olim lacus colueram’, the thrilling acceleration of the male chorus at the end of ‘In taberna quando sumus’, or the utter perfection of Arleen Augér’s exquisite ‘Dulcissime’. No other performance sweeps the listener along so irresistibly, while at the same time managing to incorporate the numerous slight tempo adjustments that Orff wants.

Bonus

It’s too bad that the great Klaus Tennstedt never recorded this work commercially, for the evidence of an aircheck recording of a live concert with the Cleveland Orchestra on July 14, 1978, suggests that he had an explosive way with it. It’s from a summer concert at the outdoor Blossom Festival, and suffers the compressed sonics of an off-air recording (though the fine, spacious acoustics of the Blossom Pavilion are still discernable). If this remains in the orchestra’s archives, they should make a proper restoration and release of it, for it completely blows away the manic-depressive and oddly recorded version Michael Tilson Thomas made with the orchestra in 1974 (Columbia/Sony). As a seasoned Mahler conductor, Tennstedt looks at the piece not merely as a sequence of short songs, but as large parts equivalent to a Bruckner or Mahler symphony. Thus, he builds the sections with an eye on momentum, not fussy detail, though he does, in fact, hit most of Orff’s requests. Certainly, many other recordings of the piece are tidier, but Tennstedt characteristically goes for drama and maximum visceral impact, and the Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus at full tilt is breathtaking. At this point, the recording is only available by mail order through the St. Laurent Studio rarities label, at their website and through the Berkshire Record Outlet. It deserves to be much better known.