Some operas pose a casting headache. Ariadne auf Naxos is one such work, demanding seemingly incompatible accomplishments: a dramatic soprano capable of Ariadne’s sustained lament; a coloratura for Zerbinetta’s twelve-minute aria, among the most technically brutal ever composed; a trouser-role mezzo who must embody the Composer’s adolescent fervor without parodying it; and a Bacchus who won’t audibly bark through one of Strauss’ most demanding tenor tessituras. The great studio recordings each sacrifice something, the discography becoming a series of compromises, each recording asking which flaws one can live with.
The work itself began as a hybrid that pleased few. In 1912, Strauss and Hofmannsthal attached a one-act opera to a German adaptation of Molière’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. The combination lasted over six hours. By 1916, Hofmannsthal had replaced the Molière with a sung prologue, and this is the version we know: the Composer watches his tragic opera get butchered by commercial demands, then the Opera proper gives us Ariadne abandoned on Naxos, longing for death, interrupted by comedians, and finally transfigured by the arrival of Bacchus. The scoring is deliberately restrained, roughly forty players, heavily weighted toward woodwind and percussion. Conductors who approach it with symphonic weight destroy its gossamer qualities. Those who prioritize refinement risk making it precious. That unresolved tension between tragedy and comedy is the fault line that runs through every recording.
The persistent failure of Bacchus casting is not incidental. It is the clearest sign of how difficult it is to reconcile the opera’s heroic aspirations with its chamber-scale reality. Hofmannsthal believed the work explored the encounter between spiritual and material worlds. Strauss, more pragmatically, favored Zerbinetta over Ariadne. The woman fixated on transformation remains frozen by that belief, while the one who believes in nothing but the next embrace is free to move. When Zerbinetta shrugs at the opera’s end and observes that Ariadne simply needed a new man, she is both right and wrong. The goddess who longs for death gets a god instead. The coquette who expects nothing gets to be right.
Here are ten essential recordings of Strauss’ Ariadne auf Naxos, in no particular order.
Herbert von Karajan / Philharmonia Orchestra (Warner)
The 1954 template against which all subsequent versions are measured. Karajan establishes that Ariadne should sound conversational rather than monumental, with Zerbinetta floating above a chamber orchestra rather than battling a Straussian wall of sound. Irmgard Seefried’s Composer sets a standard for the role: impetuous, ardent, heartbroken when her art is compromised, radiant when she sings of music as “the most sacred of arts.” Rita Streich’s Zerbinetta combines technical security with genuine charm, her voice small but shimmering. Elisabeth Schwarzkopf’s Ariadne, a role she never sang on stage, brings dramatic intelligence to what can be a passive figure, though her mannerisms, the over-pointed consonants and exaggerated inflections, grate on ears accustomed to more natural delivery. Rudolf Schock’s Bacchus manages the high tessitura without distinction. Walter Legge produced it in mono with characteristic obsessiveness, and the Philharmonia plays with clarity and lightness in comic passages that remain unsurpassed. Essential for Seefried and Karajan’s conducting, which shapes the meandering final scene into something coherent.
Rudolf Kempe / Staatskapelle Dresden (Warner)
The strongest studio alternative. Gundula Janowitz’s Ariadne established her claim to the role: silvery, pure, capable of floating pianissimos that seem to come from nowhere, yet with enough body in the lower register to ground the character’s grief. For such a light soprano, she finds real depth in her portrayal. Teresa Zylis-Gara’s Composer has the ideal warm travesti soprano that can alternate puppydog boyishness with a rapt, soaring line. Sylvia Geszty’s Zerbinetta sparkles without the edginess that would later characterize Gruberová. The problem, again: Bacchus. James King struggles, his tone cloudy under pressure, phrasing without imagination, the role’s relentless high tessitura exposing every weakness. Kempe’s conducting prioritizes detail over sweep, elucidating textures Karajan smooths over, bringing out wit, delicacy, and grandeur while allowing the chamber-scale scoring to breathe. The Dresden Staatskapelle produces a warmer, darker sound than the Philharmonia. If the Karajan is a demonstration of how to shape the work, the 1968 Kempe is a lesson in how to appreciate it.
Karl Böhm / Wiener Staatsoper (Orfeo)
Böhm, eighty-two and implacable, presiding over a 1976 cast that had mostly recorded these roles before. The Orfeo release documents something studio sets cannot capture: risk of failure. Janowitz’s Ariadne has matured since the Kempe, adding vocal weight without sacrificing purity; her “Es gibt ein Reich” assumes a devastating stillness. Agnes Baltsa’s Composer burns with conviction, her German idiomatic, her phrasing urgent, her gutsy mezzo making an excellent contrast to the stately Ariadne. Edita Gruberová, caught early in her international career, has a freshness later recordings would lose; you hear her runs as argument, each note a small violence against the music’s decorum, trills that induce genuine astonishment. The supporting cast (Berry, Zednik, Equiluz, Unger, Jungwirth, McDaniel) represents the last generation of Viennese comprimarii who understood this repertoire in their bones. King’s Bacchus remains imperfect, but the live context forgives what the studio exposes. Böhm conducts with an affection absent from his more disciplined studio work. This is the recording to play for anyone who thinks studio perfectionism is always preferable.
Giuseppe Sinopoli / Staatskapelle Dresden (Deutsche Grammophon)
Sinopoli’s operatic swansong, released in 2001, shortly after his death while conducting Aida in Berlin, offers the most satisfying modern alternative. Deborah Voigt’s Ariadne brings amplitude without sacrificing line, singing high-lying passages with an ease that rivals Janowitz, B-flats pouring out with a purity that makes the role sound less punishing than it is. Anne Sofie von Otter’s Composer has characteristic intelligence and textual clarity, more vivid than she often sounds elsewhere. Natalie Dessay’s Zerbinetta is technically immaculate and dramatically engaged, though some find her too gentle where more acid would sharpen the character’s edge. The revelation is Ben Heppner’s Bacchus. For once, the role sounds like music rather than an endurance test. Heppner’s tone remains refulgent under pressure, his phrasing musical, high notes secure. He transforms the final scene from obstacle course into genuine apotheosis. Once you have heard Heppner in this role, it becomes difficult to accept the usual compromises. Sinopoli’s conducting favors breadth over momentum, and the Dresden Staatskapelle produces textures of exceptional richness.
Kurt Masur / Gewandhausorchester Leipzig (Decca)
What other leading versions do not offer: Jessye Norman. Where Janowitz is silvery and Voigt is pure, Norman is tectonic. Her Ariadne arrives grand and sweeping, stately and impassioned, six years after her landmark Vier letzte Lieder with the same forces. Julia Varady surprises as the Composer, a soprano taking a role usually assigned to mezzos, bringing silvery beauty and vibrant strength. Gruberová, slightly heavier on the vibrato than in her earlier assumptions, repeats her world-famous Zerbinetta with the trills and money-notes intact. The downside: Bacchus again. The disparity in vocal amplitude between Norman and Paul Frey’s pale tenor is hard to overlook. Masur conducts with affection if not always fire, though the Gewandhaus Orchestra plays with impeccable Straussian style. The recording cannot match Sinopoli’s for casting consistency or the Böhm’s from 1976 for theatrical electricity, but Norman’s assumption alone makes it essential.
Karl Böhm / Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (Deutsche Grammophon)
Böhm’s 1969 studio recording, albeit compromised by Hildegard Hillebrecht’s strained Ariadne where Janowitz should have been. But it has one compensating virtue: Jess Thomas, one of only three tenors (alongside Heppner and Max Lorenz) who ever truly conquered Bacchus. Thomas makes poetry of the top A on ‘Bist du auch solch eine Zauberin?”’ where others yell. Tatiana Troyanos contributes a vibrant Composer, and Reri Grist makes a charming Zerbinetta. If you need to hear what a properly sung Bacchus sounds like in studio conditions, this is the recording. The flawed Ariadne means the 1976 live remains Böhm’s definitive account, but Thomas’s achievement should not be overlooked.
Joseph Keilberth / Kölner Rundfunk-Sinfonie-Orchester (Capriccio)
A 1954 sleeper recommendation from the mono era. Hilde Zadek’s Ariadne is grand and imposing, Sena Jurinac’s Composer warm and flickering, Rita Streich’s Zerbinetta pure, piping, captivating. The mono sound is good considering the vintage, the orchestra superb, and Keilberth lets the singers relish the long lines without haste. For collectors seeking alternatives to the Karajan, this Cologne radio broadcast rewards investigation.
Karl Böhm / Wiener Staatsoper (Preiser Records)
Historical document: a wartime 1944 performance attended by Strauss himself on his eightieth birthday. Maria Reining’s regal Ariadne and the young Seefried’s mercurial Composer preserve a Viennese tradition that subsequent generations inherited. The sound is inevitably limited, but Böhm’s conducting has an authority that his later recordings would refine without surpassing. For anyone tracing the interpretive history of this opera, essential listening.
Erich Leinsdorf / Wiener Philharmoniker (Decca)
The first stereo Ariadne, recorded in 1958, and for many collectors still the most viscerally exciting. Leonie Rysanek’s Ariadne arrives grand and fearless, her huge voice occasionally overwhelming the microphones but producing an effect no other recording matches: absolute conviction that this woman has known genuine abandonment. Where Janowitz floats and Schwarzkopf points, Rysanek dwells. Her ‘Es gibt ein Reich’ burns with a searing radiance that later, more controlled Ariadnes sacrifice for refinement. Sena Jurinac’s Composer ranks with Seefried’s as definitive: warm, flickering, heartbroken when art meets commerce. Roberta Peters comes across as a reluctant Zerbinetta, less dazzling than Gruberová but then again, a touch more sympathetic, avoiding the clockwork-doll precision that makes some Zerbinettas feel mechanical. The weak link, as so often: Bacchus. Jan Peerce’s rather dry, monochrome tenor hardly suggests a young god, though he manages the tessitura without strain. Leinsdorf conducts with more urgency than Karajan, keeping the action moving, giving the performance a theatrical immediacy that studio perfectionism sometimes suppresses. The Vienna Philharmonic plays with characteristic warmth. For Rysanek and Jurinac, this recording remains indispensable.
Georg Solti / London Philharmonic Orchestra (Decca)
A recording of fascinating contradictions. Tatiana Troyanos delivers one of the most thrilling Composers on record, her top register excitingly full, her final aria in the Prologue unstinting in tone and emotion. This alone justifies this 1977 set. Edita Gruberová’s Zerbinetta, captured two years after her sensational Vienna debut, shows virtuosity and theatrical self-awareness, qualities that define her assumption of the role across four decades. René Kollo, young and ardent, sings Bacchus with genuine tonal beauty, untroubled by the killer tessitura that defeats most tenors. The problem, surprisingly, is Leontyne Price’s Ariadne. Her lyrico-dramatic soprano, magnificent in Puccini and Verdi, sits uneasily in Strauss’ silvery world at this stage of her career. “Ein schönes war” is gorgeous, but the great aria vaccilates between vulgar and exquisite, the voice at times too heavy for the chamber texture. There are plenty of glimpses of what might have been had she recorded this role a decade earlier. Solti conducts with affection and style, the London Philharmonic responding with evident enjoyment. For Troyanos’s Composer and Gruberová’s Zerbinetta in pristine Decca sound, this recording rewards investigation, even with its flawed centerpiece.
Bonus
For those who want to see the opera as well as hear it, and who have grown weary of the Bacchus problem, this 2014 Vienna production, released on Arthaus Musik, conducted by Christian Thielemann offers a rare solution. Johan Botha sings the role with heroic brilliance, the high tessitura causing him no apparent strain. Soile Isokoski’s Ariadne radiates vocal beauty, shaping endless nuances in phrases that bloom rather than declaim. Sophie Koch brings warmth and intimacy to the Composer. Daniela Fally dispatches Zerbinetta’s coloratura with flexibility and nonchalant coquettishness, vivacious without becoming mechanical. Thielemann conducts with care and a naturalness that has made him the preeminent Straussian of his generation. Sven-Eric Bechtolf’s production, set in a Jugendstil salon, develops the characters and their relationships with the work’s delicate irony intact. For collectors familiar with the classic audio versions, it demonstrates ho much a fully realized Bacchus contributes to the work’s proportions.
