For fifteen minutes, the crowd wept, cheered, and chanted his name. A laurel wreath awaited him onstage. On February 23, 1913, Arnold Schoenberg stood in the wings of Vienna’s Musikverein, refusing to face the audience. It was the greatest triumph of his career, yet he seemingly wanted little to do with it. Schoenberg began Gurre-Lieder in 1900 as a young man intoxicated with Wagner and Strauss, a self-taught composer entering a song competition. By the time he completed its orchestration in 1911, he had already written Erwartung and entered his period of free atonality. In 1913, the public was applauding a composer who no longer existed.
Compositional history matters for understanding recordings. Parts One and Two of Gurre-Lieder, composed between 1900 and 1903, drip with Wagnerian chromaticism and Straussian orchestral luxury. Part Three, orchestrated after Schoenberg’s break with tonality, is leaner, more granular. The Speaker’s narration introduces an early form of Sprechstimme as a formal device. What conductors, and singers, make of this structural schism determines everything. Some emphasize continuity, treating the whole as a single late-Romantic construct. Others lean into the rupture, finding in Part Three the seeds of what Schoenberg would become. The text, derived from Jens Peter Jacobsen’s verses about King Waldemar and his murdered mistress Tove, gave Schoenberg a vehicle for exploring love, death, blasphemy, and transcendence. The final sunrise, in which the narrator describes nature sweeping away tragedy and the chorus erupts in ecstatic C major, operates as both Romantic apotheosis and its ironic negation.
Here are ten essential recordings of Schoenberg’s Gurre-Lieder, in no particular order.
Seiji Ozawa / Boston Symphony Orchestra (Decca)
The case for this 1979 live recording from Symphony Hall begins with James McCracken’s Waldemar. An American tenor who had sung Otello at the Met, McCracken’s voice possessed the raw, almost baritonal power the role demands. His first entry sounds almost bass-like in its depth. His ascent to the climactic high B in “Ross! Mein Ross!” lands with thrilling security. McCracken could be coarse, yes, but coarseness in service of Waldemar’s desperation reads as dramatic truth. Jessye Norman, at thirty-three, was a soprano of overwhelming amplitude, a voice like velvet pulled taut over steel. Norman’s Tove possesses both erotic warmth and the vocal plenitude to ride the orchestra when Schoenberg marks fortissimo. The pairing with Tatiana Troyanos as the Wood Dove compounds the luxury. Troyanos brings a vibrant, exciting upper extension to her mezzo, making the lament for Tove’s death genuinely devastating. Ozawa coaxes voluptuous beauty from the Boston Symphony, who play with a warmth and tonal richness that later digital recordings seldom match. The Tanglewood Festival Chorus won a Gramophone Award for their contribution. Werner Klemperer, son of the great conductor and forever Kommandant Klink to American television audiences, delivers the Speaker’s narration with subtle intelligence. The analogue recording captures the bloom of Symphony Hall magnificently, though McCracken is sometimes too closely miked. A minor complaint. This is the version to which others must answer.
Riccardo Chailly / Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin (Decca)
Chailly’s 1985 studio recording has dominated critical recommendation lists for decades, and not without reason. The orchestral playing is supremely refined, beautifully engineered, with conducting that is both fleet and elegant. Chailly unearths transparency in Schoenberg’s dense textures without sacrificing weight. Siegfried Jerusalem, then in his early fifties, sings Waldemar with intelligence and musicality but lacks the vocal heft the role demands. His tenor, a little unsteady under pressure in the heroic passages, misses the visceral thrill provided by McCracken and Heppner. Susan Dunn is in gorgeous voice as Tove, luxurious, secure, and Straussian, which is a good thing. Brigitte Fassbaender, electrifying as the Wood Dove, brings the dramatic intensity the work requires. Hans Hotter, the great bass-baritone, speaks the narration with the gravitas of a singer who knew Schoenberg personally. Hotter sounds his age, seventy-something at the time, and even a little hollow in places, but his sheer understanding of the text more than compensates. The choirs are excellent if somewhat distantly recorded, thereby reducing the impact of the finale. Chailly’s Gurre-Lieder is, for many, a deeply accessible recording of the work that should be more than beautiful.
János Ferencsik / Danish State Radio Symphony Orchestra (Warner)
This 1968 live recording from Copenhagen survives on the strength of two extraordinary performances. Janet Baker’s Wood Dove remains one of the most admired in the discography. The depth, strength, and tonal variety she brings to the lament for Tove make some other mezzos sound underprepared. Baker’s voice rings with power yet finds delicacy in the phrases of quiet sorrow. She alone justifies ownership. Martina Arroyo, however, compounds the glory. Her dramatic soprano, the voice of an Aida or Amelia, brings genuine amplitude and richness to Tove. British lyric tenor Alexander Young, a singer not obviously suited to Heldentenor repertoire, surprises by focusing his smaller voice with cunning economy, cutting through the orchestra when it matters. Julius Patzak speaks the narration with stylized intensity, clearly familiar with the Viennese tradition. On the downside, the analogue sound is thin and hissy by modern standards, while the orchestra and chorus cannot match the virtuosity of Boston or Munich. But Arroyo’s Tove and Baker’s Wood Dove elevate this recording into essential territory.
Rafael Kubelík / Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (Deutsche Grammophon)
Kubelík never made a dull recording in his life, and his 1965 live Gurre-Lieder from Munich demonstrates why he commanded fierce loyalty. The Bavarian Radio Symphony plays with the warmth and flexibility of a chamber ensemble scaled to orchestral proportions. Kubelík finds poetry in the quieter passages that escapes more bombastic conductors, while his pacing across the work’s two-hour span never flags. The 1960s stereo sound remains pleasing, with genuine presence and plenty of bloom. The niggle lies with the almost comical mismatch between conductor and tenor. Herbert Schachtschneider labors through Waldemar’s music with a wobbly, pedestrian delivery that seems to belong to a different performance entirely. Where Kubelík floats and soars, Schachtschneider plods. Inge Borkh fares considerably better as Tove. Her laser-like top notes cut through the orchestral texture with thrilling precision, and she brings genuine temperament to the role. But her timbre tends toward the plummy and matronly, with a vibrato that flutters under pressure. Her reading is slightly uneven but thrilling nonetheless. Hertha Töpper’s Wood Dove is large-voiced if unwieldy. For Kubelík devotees, this recording offers irreplaceable evidence of his interpretive mastery. A fun parlor game might be to imagine what this performance would have been like with McCracken and Norman.
Pierre Boulez / BBC Symphony Orchestra (Sony)
Boulez brings clarity with his 1974 recording, revealing structural details other conductors bury in Romantic wash. The BBC Symphony plays with extraordinary precision, and the multiple choirs achieve remarkable transparency. Boulez relishes the aspects of Gurre-Lieder that seed Schoenberg’s future, emphasizing the leaner passages of Part Three while never skimming over the more Romantic sections. Jess Thomas sings Waldemar with a dark tenor ideally suited to the role. His trademark bleat at phrase beginnings may grate on some listeners, but the voice itself is magnificent. South African diva Marita Napier brings size and clarity to Tove without quite the warmth of Arroyo or Norman. Yvonne Minton rivals Baker as the Wood Dove. Her velvety mezzo, dusky in the lower regions and mellow at the top, delivers the lament with intensity. Günter Reich speaks the narration perhaps better than anyone else in the discography. His sense of rhythm, attractive speaking voice, and ability to rise into song for the final phrases without sounding effortful are perfect for the part. Where Boulez falls short is the finale, choosing cool control where the music demands release. His apocalyptic sunrise sounds angelic enough but not genuinely transcendent. A top-rank alternative that rewards close listening without quite sweeping the listener away.
Herbert Kegel / Dresden Philharmonic (Berlin Classics)
Kegel’s 1986 recording from the Lukaskirche demonstrates what a great conductor and orchestra can achieve even with imperfect casting. The Dresden Philharmonic plays with Romantic intensity and Wagnerian richness that surpasses nearly every other version. Kegel’s handling of the orchestral interludes, particularly the great passage before the Wood Dove’s entrance, is overwhelming. The combined choirs generate spine-tingling excitement in the Wild Hunt and the finale. The tenor Manfred Jung sounds more like Mime than Siegfried, throaty and elderly, with a bleat and blare that undercut the heroism Waldemar requires. Eva-Maria Bundschuh more than compensates with a powerful, impassioned Tove. Rosemarie Lang delivers a dignified if not especially intense Wood Dove. At budget price, this is indispensable for the orchestral and choral work alone. The digital sound captures the Lukaskirche ambience magnificently. When Kegel lets the forces rip in that final chorus, the result justifies Schoenberg’s monstrous scoring better than most other recordings.
Markus Stenz / Gürzenich-Orchester Köln (Hyperion)
Stenz leads a fairly recent recording that claims a place among the best. Captured in Cologne in June 2014, the sound is phenomenal, transferred at high volume with immense dynamic range. The Cologne orchestra, whose pedigree includes premieres by Mahler and Strauss, plays with transparent virtuosity. Brandon Jovanovich provides the most satisfying Waldemar since Heppner. His virile, tonally beautiful tenor is even throughout its range, and he nails the climactic high B with thrilling authority. Barbara Haveman sings Tove with juicy amplitude, though her vibrato may be too prominent for some tastes. Claudia Mahnke delivers an expressive Wood Dove with splendid top notes and a proper lower register. Johannes Martin Kränzle, a celebrated character baritone known for Beckmesser and Alberich, brings consummate actor-singer timing to the narration. The massed choirs, assembled from multiple Cologne forces, achieve clarity without sacrificing power. At premium price, this takes its place among the finest versions, particularly recommended for listeners who prize modern sound and vocal strength.
Giuseppe Sinopoli / Staatskapelle Dresden (Warner)
Sinopoli’s 1995 recording should have been definitive. The Staatskapelle Dresden is an orchestra of Wagnerian authority. Sinopoli conducts with passionate intensity. Deborah Voigt delivers a Tove of youthful sensuality and gleaming top notes. Jennifer Larmore, then fresh and trenchant, brings a plangent mezzo to the Wood Dove that ranks with the best. But then there is Thomas Moser. His brawny, bleaty Waldemar represents a big disappointment. Moser brawls where he should sing, barks where he should declaim. Because Waldemar has more music than anyone else and never duets with Tove, there is no escaping him. A would-be magnificent recording marred by its lead tenor.
James Levine / Münchner Philharmoniker (Oehms)
Levine’s career ended in disgrace following credible allegations of sexual abuse spanning decades. Some listeners may choose to engage selectively with his recordings, a decision that deserves respect. What follows is an assessment of the recording’s artistic merits for those who wish to consider it. On purely musical grounds, this 2001 live recording with the Munich Philharmonic may rival Ozawa for first place. Where Ozawa luxuriates, Levine drives. Where Boston sings, Munich blazes. The orchestra plays as if it were the greatest band in the world, with Levine building tension across the work’s two-hour span with a sure hand. One decisive advantage is Ben Heppner as Waldemar. In 2001, Heppner stood alone as the one true Heldentenor of his generation, a Canadian singer whose voice combined lyric beauty with heroic weight in a combination not heard since Jon Vickers. His Waldemar surpasses even McCracken in tonal beauty while matching him in power. The dazed tenderness of the love songs yields to genuine fury in the blasphemous outbursts. Deborah Voigt, still in her soprano prime, sings Tove with gleaming top notes and passionate intensity. Voigt is simply a dream. Waltraud Meier, with brooding luxuriance, delivers the Wood Dove with the dramatic authority of a great singing actress. Ernst Haefliger, the retired Swiss tenor, speaks the narration with stylized intensity. The finale, when those massed forces unleash the sunrise, will make your hair stand on end. Turn up the volume.
Esa-Pekka Salonen / Philharmonia Orchestra (Signum)
Salonen’s 2009 recording announces his arrival as music director of the Philharmonia with a performance that channels his inner Stokowski. We expect Salonen to provide X-ray transparency into Schoenberg’s dense orchestration, and he does. We expect modernist clarity rather than post-Romantic lushness. What we do not expect is such dramatic, almost frenzied pacing in Parts Two and Three. The Birmingham chorus lights up the sky. Soile Isokoski sings Tove with soaring beauty, shaping phrases that bloom rather than declaim. Stig Andersen brings power and anguish to Waldemar, his Danish quasi-Heldentenor making for a moving tragic hero even if he lacks the raw amplitude of McCracken or the tonal splendor of Heppner. Monica Groop’s Wood Dove is somewhat neutral compared to Baker but competent nonetheless. Barbara Sukowa delivers the Speaker’s role with exotic intensity. The Philharmonia’s sound is rich and full, and the finale builds to a sonically astonishing conclusion. For those who want to hear what a forward-looking conductor makes of this complicated masterpiece, Salonen offers compelling evidence that Gurre-Lieder anticipates the future as much as it buries the past.
Bonus
The obligatory historic document: Stokowski led the American premiere in 1932 at the Metropolitan Opera House in Philadelphia, and RCA Victor recorded it live. The forces assembled included Paul Althouse as Waldemar, Jeanette Vreeland as Tove, and Rose Bampton as the Wood Dove. The sound is inevitably limited by the technology of 78 rpm sides, but Stokowski’s unhurried mastery of the score comes through even under these constraints. For anyone tracing the interpretive history of this work, the Stokowski recordings, now available on various reissue labels, preserve a first-generation response to Schoenberg’s colossus.
