Ten essential recordings
The Ring of the Nibelung, Keilberth conducting, Bayreuth 1955 (Testament)
The Ring of the Nibelung, Chéreau directing, Boulez conducting, Bayreuth 1979-80 (DG DVD)
Tristan und Isolde, Furtwängler conducting (EMI/Pristine).
Tristan und Isolde, Chéreau directing, Barenboim conducting (DG DVD)
Parsifal, Knappertsbusch conducting, Bayreuth 1962 (Philips)
Die Meistersinger, Kubelik conducting (Myto)
Lohengrin, Kempe conducting (EMI)
The Flying Dutchman, Keilberth conducting, Bayreuth 1955 (Pristine)
The Flying Dutchman, Joachim Herz directing (UMass DVD)
Tannhäuser, Solti conducting (Decca)
Early operas
A nine-CD set on the Orfeo label offers first-rate live recordings of Die Feen, Das Liebesverbot, and Rienzi, stemming from a 1983 festival in Munich. Wolfgang Sawallisch conducts the likes of Kurt Moll, Hermann Prey, René Kollo, and Cheryl Studer. Edward Downes also recorded the first two operas for the BBC in the 1970s; these versions can be found in DG's set of Wagner's complete operas.
The Flying Dutchman
Wagnerites gravitate again and again to the Bayreuth Festival's golden age of the 1950s and early 60s, when star singers found rare dramatic cohesion under the aegis of Wieland Wagner. Two exceptionally gripping accounts are Joseph Keilberth's, from 1955, with Astrid Varnay as Senta and Hermann Uhde as the Dutchman; and Wolfgang Sawallisch's, from 1959, with Leonie Rysanek and George London. For those willing to venture into the Nazi era, Hans Hotter gives a staggering rendition of the title role in a 1944 broadcast led by Clemens Krauss. Otto Klemperer's 1968 version, with Theo Adam, Anja Silja, and the Philharmonia Orchestra, sounds stolid in comparison, but it is an important document of the conductor who helped to launch a revolution in Wagner staging with his 1929 Dutchman at the Kroll Opera (see Chapter 11 of Wagnerism). Among modern renditions, Giuseppe Sinopoli's for DG stands out, with Cheryl Studer a piercingly beautiful Senta. Among video recordings, Joachim Herz's film is available on DVD, as is Kupfer's classic 1978-85 Bayreuth production.
Tannhäuser
Wolfgang Sawallisch's 1962 recording from Bayreuth, featuring Bumbry as Venus, Anja Silja as Elisabeth, and Wolfgang Windgassen as Tannhäuser, gives a taut, persuasive account of the original Dresden version of Tannhäuser, with the Paris Bacchanale added. Georg Solti, as part of his brisk march through the Wagner operas, makes a cogent arguement for the 1861 Paris version, with René Kollo, Christa Ludwig, Helge Dernesch, and Victor Braun. Götz Friedrich's 1972 Bayreuth production, once scandalous and now classic, can be found on video alongside more modern accounts; of particular interest is Tobias Kratzer's 2019 staging at Bayreuth, in which the festival itself becomes the setting and the composer's great-granddaughter Katharina Wagner has a cameo role.
Lohengrin
Rudolf Kempe's celebrated 1964 EMI recording of Wagner's ur-Romantic opera is a fairy-tale in the deeper sense: enchanting on the surface, unearthly and a bit chilling at the climaxes. Jess Thomas and Elisabeth Grümmer are the charismatic leads; Gottlob Frick thunders as the king; Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Christa Ludwig plot deliciously in the shadows. Ludwig's Ortrud is even more electric in a 1965 live recording from Vienna under Karl Böhm, where she plays alongside her husband Walter Berry's Telramund; the Vienna audience can't stop itself from giving her an ovation after she invokes the pagan gods ("Entweihte Götter!"). A 1958 recording from Bayreuth, with André Clutyens, has an ideally balanced cast in Sándor Kónya, Rysanek, Varnay, and Ernest Blanc. Among more modern recordings, Claudio Abbado's for DG, with Siegfried Jerusalem, Cheryl Studer, and Waltraud Meier, stands out for its tonal beauty. In the dark-historical category, excerpts from Wilhelm Furtwängler's 1936 Bayreuth performances preserve the ringing Lohengrin of Franz Völker, who impressed Hitler by singing the Grail Narration uncut. On video, Hans Neuenfels's 2011 production at Bayreuth, with a scenario involving laboratory rats, proves unexpectedly haunting, and Klaus Florian Vogt gives an uncanny account of the title role.
The Ring of the Nibelung
The Ring discography includes five full-fledged studio recordings, several in-studio radio recordings, and dozens of complete live recordings. For a long time, the definitive account was considered to be Solti's set, released by Decca between 1958 and 1965. It is undeniably a landmark achievement, with John Culshaw's imaginative sound production delivering viscerally thrilling setpieces: the Entry of the Gods into Valhalla, the Ride of the Valkyries, Hagen calling the vassals with authentic steerhorns. Birgit Nilsson, as Brünnhilde, is at the peak of her powers. Yet Solti's interpretation comes across as too hard-driving, too brass-centered. It sounds "Wagnerian" in the pejorative sense — loud, aggressive, relentless. Subsequent studio recordings — by Herbert von Karajan, Hans Swarowsky, Marek Janowski, James Levine, and Bernard Haitink — have various points in their favor but suffer from various weaknesses of casting. Karajan's is the one most worth hearing, on account of the extraordinarily refined and detailed playing he elicits from the Berlin Philharmonic.
The live Rings put the studio versions in the shade. Chief among these, for me, is Joseph Keilberth's 1955 Ring from Bayreuth, which was intended for release but then withheld. Anchoring a legendary cast are the magisterial Brünnhilde of Astrid Varnay and the grandly harrowing Wotan of Hans Hotter. (In a 2018 New Yorker piece, I explain why Varnay is my favorite among Wagner dramatic sopranos on record.) Keilberth has no arresting interpretive scheme to offer; rather, he seems to disappear behind the drama, becoming invisible in the best sense. Some Wagnerians would instead opt for Clemens Krauss's 1953 Ring from Bayreuth, with most of the same singers; Krauss at times whips up more heat, but Keilberth's sound is superior. There are two deeply absorbing Wilhelm Furtwängler Rings, live from La Scala in 1950 and in the RAI studio in 1953; the first is especially treasurable for preserving the Brünnhilde of Kirsten Flagstad. Karl Böhm's 1967 Bayreuth Ring sets a headlong pace and hits its peak with the dynamic duet of Nilsson's Brünnhilde and Wolfgang Windgassen's Siegfried. Among latter-day accounts, Christian Thielemann's 2008 Bayreuth Ring showcases perhaps the most gifted of contemporary Wagner conductors, although Daniel Barenboim's 1991–92 Bayreuth cycle has a finer cast and greater drama.
As for excerpts and recordings of individual operas, Bruno Walter's 1935 recording of Act I of Walküre, with Lotte Lehmann, Lauritz Melchior, and Emanuel List, marks a zenith of old-school Wagnerian romance on record; Thomas Mann listened to it often. Furtwängler, just before his death, made a formidable studio recording of Walküre with Ludwig Suthaus and Leonie Rysanek — what was to have been a complete Ring. Karajan's live Rheingold from Bayreuth in 1951 is exceptionally lively, vivid, scherzo-like — very different for the conductor's later way with Wagner. A 1941 Walküre from the Met is notable for the sonorous Wotan of Friedrich Schorr and for an electrifying début by the 23-year-old Varnay — the first time she ever sang live in the theater. For a sense of earlier Wagner singing at its peak, look to HMV's "potted Ring" from 1926–32, with Frida Leider a luminous, unerring Brünnhilde.
Ten or more complete Rings are available on video, including Harry Kupfer's post-apocalyptic 1988–92 staging from Bayreuth (the source of the Barenboim recording above); Kasper Bech Holten's feminist interpretation from Copenhagen; and, for traditionalists, Otto Schenk's pseudo-naturalist production at the Met. But the ne plus ultra of Ring stagings to date is Patrice Chéreau's 1976-80 production at Bayreuth, with its allegorical picture of nineteenth-century society and its superbly detailed directing of singers. Chéreau's direction achieves a rare balance of intellect and emotion, history and heart.
Tristan und Isolde
Furtwängler's studio recording of Tristan was my first deep experience of Wagner's art, and I can hardly demote it in favor of any other, even if rivals outdo it in certain ways. The standard complaint is that the great Kirsten Flagstad is past her prime in the role of Isolde; this is true, although one can still appreciate the graceful, courtly power of her interpretation. Ludwig Suthaus is a Tristan of unusual lyric intensity, and the young Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau brings depth to the role of Kurwenal. The burnished intensity of Philharmonia Orchestra's playing under Furtwängler dominates the scene: listen here to the fathomless melancholy of the Act III Prelude.
The Wagner Discography site lists more than 300 other recordings of Tristan, dating back to 1928. Of particular interest are two 1930s recordings featuring Flagstad and Melchior in their prime (Fritz Reiner in 1936, Thomas Beecham in 1937); Frida Leider and Melchior in a spectacular Liebesnacht from 1929; Max Lorenz's Tristan in Berlin in 1943; Martha Mödl's fiery Isolde at Bayreuth in 1952, under an energized Karajan; Karl Böhm's 1966 recording from Bayreuth, with a blazing Birgit Nilsson; the piercing anguish of Jon Vickers in Karajan's studio recording; Vickers and Nilsson together at Orange in 1973; and Carlos Kleiber's furiously expressive DG set, with René Kollo and Margaret Price. If any recording could supplant my fondness for the Furtwängler, it would be one of Kleiber's — either that brilliant-sounding studio version or a sonically hazy but otherwise overpowering 1976 live performance from Bayreuth, with Spas Wenkoff and Caterina Ligendza.
Three notable video recordings of Tristan, all conducted by Daniel Barenboim: Jean-Pierre Ponnelle's luminous, impressionistic 1983 production at Bayreuth, with René Kollo and Johanna Meier; Heiner Müller's stark, minimalist Bayreuth staging of 1995, with Siegfried Jerusalem and Waltraud Meier; and, most impressively, Patrice Chéreau's 2007 production at La Scala, which characteristically juxtaposes grim-toned stage design with vital actorly emotion, suggesting the degree to which Wagner's characters are swept up in tides beyond their control. Meier, as Isolde, is the mesmerizing heart of the spectacle, nowhere more so than in her final monologue, when blood begins streaming from an unseen and perhaps imaginary wound in her head. Chéreau told Meier that it was the blood of a saint who has let go of life for the sake of a higher purpose.
Die Meistersinger
Wagner's ostensible comic opera too often lands with a ponderous and vaguely ominous thud. Rafael Kubelik's 1967 recording, withheld from release for decades on account of contractual difficulties, brings out the lightness, wit, dancing rhythm, and lyric contrast in this massive score. Thomas Stewart's Sachs leavens power with warmth; Gundula Janowitz's Eva gives sensuous allure to a somewhat one-dimensional character. Rudolf Kempe, on his Berlin Philharmonic recording, is even more agile in his handling of the score, but the lead performance by Ferdinand Frantz lacks the rounded humanity of Stewart. Hans Hotter, in Eugen Jochum's 1949 Munich recording, supplies a portrayal of unsurprising weight and depth, especially in the Wahn monologue. Toscanini's 1937 Meistersinger from the Salzburg Festival is a document of the conductor's implicit campaign to wrest Wagner back from the Nazis. For an offbeat choice, try a 1962 Torino performance in Italian, with Giuseppe Taddei as Sachs. (Wagner wanted his operas to be performed in the native language of the audience.) On video, the two most recent Bayreuth productions, by Katharina Wagner and Barrie Kosky, stage creative confrontations with the opera's antisemitic subtext.
Parsifal
Hans Knappertsbusch was in many ways an unattractive figure who attempted to ingratiate himself with Hitler by organizing the 1933 attack on Thomas Mann. (Hitler remained unimpressed, preferring Furtwängler.) That he was an unsurpassed conductor of Wagner's mystical opera of compassion is one of those ironies in which the history of art is all too rich. Knappertsbusch conducted Parsifal at Bayreuth every summer from 1951 to 1964, and many documents of those performances remain. The 1951 recording is notable for Martha Mödl's explosive Kundry and for Ludwig Weber's heart-rending Gurnemanz, but the 1962 version, radiant and rapt from the first bars, is most people's first choice. The trembling pillar of Hans Hotter's voice is nowhere more impressive than here. Superior later recordings include Solti's, subtler than his work on the Ring; Karajan's, sonically all aglow; and Barenboim's, grittier in approach. Various absorbing Regietheater interpretations are available on video, many of them positing the Grail Knights as a grim cult in a futuristic setting: Harry Kupfer's 1992 Berlin production, in a cold-toned sci-fi milieu; François Girard's 2013 Parsifal at the Met, an affair of wasted landscapes and lakes of blood; and Dmitri Tcherniakov's 2015 Parsifal in Berlin, where the knights wear wool caps and have the look of off-the-grid survivalists. In one or way or another, all tap the molten core of Wagner's last, most mysterious work.
Ten essential Wagner books
Barry Millington's The Sorcerer of Bayreuth: Richard Wagner, His Work and His World (Oxford UP) is perhaps the most up-to-date and discerning full-length account of Wagner in English.
George Bernard Shaw's The Perfect Wagnerite remains, after more than a century, a hugely edifying as well as entertaining study of the Ring.
Bryan Magee's Aspects of Wagner, published in 1968, holds its own as a concise, authoritative introduction.
Millington and Stewart Spencer's Wagner's Ring of the Nibelung: A Companion (Thames & Hudson) contains a superb translation of the cycle and a wealth of supporting material.
Patrick Carnegy's Wagner and the Art of Theatre is a near-definitive history of Wagner staging.
Carolyn Abbate's Unsung Voices contains an extraordinarily perceptive study of Brünnhilde.
Mark Berry's Treacherous Bonds and Laughing Fire (Routledge) is a brilliant political and philosophical study of the Ring.
Joseph Horowitz's Wagner Nights (University of California Press) is a pioneering study of American Wagnerism.
Laurence Dreyfus's Wagner and the Erotic Impulse (Harvard UP) does justice to the composer's idiosyncratic and often radical conceptions of male and female sexuality.
Jeongwon Joe and Sander Gilman's Wagner & Cinema gathers essays on Wagner's near-endless film legacy.
