MOZART: Don Giovanni (complete opera) – Johannes Weisser (Don Giovanni)/ Lorenzo Regazzo (Leporello)/ Alexandrina Pendatchanska (Donna Elvira)/ Olga Pasichnyk (Donna Anna)/ Kenneth Tarver (Don Ottavio)/ Sunhae Im (Zerlina)/ Nikolay Borchev (Masetto)/ Alessandro Guerzoni (Il Commendatore)/ RIAS Chamber Choir/ Freiburger Barockorchester/ Rene Jacobs, conductor – Harmonia mundi HMC 901964.66 (3 discs), 170:00 total ****1/2:
Rene Jacobs has finally gotten around to the third of Mozart’s great Da Ponte operas. I listened carefully to this and did quite a lot of comparison, seeing how his Figaro won so many awards and garnered so much praise. It proved an eye-opening experience.
Don Giovanni was a huge success for Mozart of course, at least in its premiere city of Prague, where success was almost guaranteed the composer no matter what he composed. The music of Figaro was still on everyone’s lips in that town when he arrived for a one- month period to mount Giovanni. The legend of the libertine Don Juan was well-known to the European world, and there had already been a number of operas on the subject. Da Ponte’s was not that different, sticking pretty much to the received tradition, but Mozart’s version—far more complex than anything that had ever been put into an opera to that point, including not only interaction of characters but musical advancements as well—leapt far beyond the common conventions of the time. There is hardly a moment when the central character is off stage, and even fewer moments when the on-stage conversation doesn’t concern him. Each of the characters is given very even treatment, and Mozart disperses the action (and arias) fairly equally among them. Mozart wrote the opera with his Prague cast and forces in mind, and when he went to Vienna (where the work had a much cooler reception) he made some changes, dropping some numbers and adding a few others. Each of these versions is acceptable, and Jacob’s avoid any sort of “merged” version as this would not make sense dramatically. He opts of the Vienna version here, with the Prague excisions included as an appendix at the end.
The ongoing debate, if one can call it that, centers on the core character’s innermost essence. Who exactly is Don Giovanni? Performing tradition has tended to concentrate on the more demonic aspects of the character, a man who wants to do better, but in the end is powerless to rise above his baser urges. He is often shown on stage as a dark presence, meant to reflect his inside state of mind, a sort of heroic anti-hero. This is probably the best description of him in my two favorite recordings, the best-ever Mitropoulos/Vienna Salzburg Festival recording (Sony) and the Giulini/Philharmonia issue from 1961 (EMI). There is much to admire in these readings, most of all the spectacular singing by all-star casts and conductors, and any opera, especially Mozart’s, in the end is all about the singing. But Jacobs is trying to restore a more primitive reflection of Mozart’s hero, more that of an incorrigible man who not only loves what he is doing, but will steadfastly refuse to correct his ways for love of them, even if it means his demise.
Eberhard Wachter and Cesare Siepi, both great Giovannis in their day, to me have always sounded much older and worldly than Da Ponte’s libretto makes him sound. After all, he is always getting into trouble and falling into situations that could have been avoided if he had been more careful, something a man with more experience and maturity could avoid. And the notion of an “older” seducer, while not out of the question (at least I like to think not, as I am in that cautious midlife category myself), seems a bit incongruous with the assumed ages of the ladies in the opera, though my favorite Giovannis certainly sound more of that age even though they were in their thirties when they made their recordings. Jacobs has a man only 27 years of age as his Giovanni, and his lighter, more agile baritone fit very well with the general conception of Giovanni as a young, attractive ladies’ man. Mozart was only 31 at the time of the composition, after all. But the fine singing of Johannes Weisser contributes greatly to the success of this set, his characterization lighter and perhaps a little immature. The opera is designated “dramma giocoso”, and so has many flightier moments, and even the great pull into hell at the end must be seen in this light.
This recording cannot compete solely on singing. Alexandrina Pendatchanska’s Donna Elvira is not in the league with either Elisabeth Schwarzkopf or Lisa della Casa, who each bring warmth of sound and inherent fluidity not present here. Things improve somewhat with Olga Pasichnyk’s Donna Anna, and I believe she actually tops Joan Sutherland in the Giulini recording, but falls short of Elisabeth Grummer for Mitropoulos. But Sunhae Im has just the right amount of girlish naivety that matches both Rita Streich (Mitropoulos) and Graziella Sciutti (Giulini). Lorenzo Regazzo does a creditable job here as Leporello, though the role is somewhat unforgiving and unrewarded. Overall the cast is quite homogeneous in nature and performs very well, though if you want truly great singing you might look to one of the other sets.
Rene Jacobs, as I have said before, approaches “period” music with a much broader attitude than many. He does not hesitate to put in pauses and unusual phrasing if he feels it makes the work more comprehensible, and does not feel in any way bound by period dogma. You will not find many pieces in this work that strike you as strange or unacceptable in their performance. There are several things I have concerns about, but more on the intellectual than emotional level. One is the continuo—though a fortepiano is used, the musings on this instrument during the recitatives strike me as being somewhat out of the park in reach, and I tend to think that Mozart would have kept them a little more under control and not as wild as some of these are. Another, not surprisingly, is the thinness of the strings. In places they simply cannot compete with the rest of the orchestra, and sound undernourished and tinny. Third, Jacob’s tends to view the andante marking as a lot faster than I do. It should be a measured walk, but in some places it sounds almost allegro, and that cannot have been what Mozart wanted; it detracts from the music and the emotional element of the particular scene. Especially noticeable is the opening of the overture and the mirror entrance when the Commendatore bellows “Don Giovanni” in the penultimate scene. And Jacobs treats the andante marking as referring to half-notes as well, so the tempo is rather off-putting at first hearing.
Nonetheless, the excitement and commitment are evident in every bar, and the great sound puts it a cut above. You simply must hear Mitropoulos (even in mono), for that is a recording for the ages, but Jacobs has proven he can box with the best, and this is a worthwhile reading by almost any standards.
— Steven Ritter
