That's the insightful comment in the program notes of my favourite recording of one of my all-time favourite operas, and a shamefully neglected one at that: Daphne by Richard Strauss. It's actually a spot-on description of a rather undramatic piece that specializes in rapturous lyrical melodies and warm, rich orchestration -- indeed, a work that is almost better suited for the concert stage than the opera house. That is precisely how I first made Daphne's acquaintance, at the Toronto Symphony under then-music director Andrew Davis. It was love at first hearing!
The libretto is not a strong one (relatively speaking) but the music Strauss built on this foundation is among his finest achievements. The more you come to know this late work (first performed in 1938), the more you realize what a masterpiece Strauss created. The opera builds steadily from scene to scene through its 100-minute span; there is no act break and rarely even a pause in the musical flow. All leads to the culminating moment where the nymph Daphne is magically transformed into a laurel tree. The composer depicted this transformation in a flow of lyricism unsurpassed in his entire output, five minutes of soaring melody and lush orchestral sound -- until the final moments when the voice of Daphne sounds, distantly, wordlessly, with one of her characteristic motifs used throughout the score. Her voice is surrounded by gently twittering woodwinds, and the musical portrait of the breeze stirring the leaves of the laurel tree couldn't possibly be any clearer.
In that Toronto Symphony semi-staged concert, the lights gradually assumed a dappled pattern across the front of the stage while soprano Catherine Malfitano took the entire 5 minutes to slowly turn her back to the audience, and just as slowly draw off her hooded white dress, revealing a green gown underneath with a mottled leaf-like pattern. That simple but effective change, combined with the flowering of the music, was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
The shame is that, as far as I know, Daphne has only ever been recorded in full twice. As well, there is a live performance recording from Vienna, made in the early 1960s, and conducted by Karl Böhm, to whom the opera was dedicated. Curiously, this performance produces no special advantage such as one might associate with a live staging. I think perhaps it is because Gundula Janowitz in the title role is too cool and precise, not involving enough. As well there are stage noises at a few moments to distract from the music.
However, EMI has recently reissued Bernard Haitink's studio recording from the 1980s, which stars the incomparable Lucia Popp, who was surely born to sing this role. The slightly girlish quality in her voice is admirable for the opening scenes, and she rises most effectively to the tragedy of her last great aria. Then, her voice is floated gently across those mystical final bars, with no sense of strain at all. Along with her, tenors Peter Schreier (as Daphne's mortal friend Leukippos) and Reiner Goldberg (as Apollo) both create their characters effectively, Schreier clearly drawing the frustration of Leukippos while Goldberg's voice rises to the heldentenor challenge of the god's confidence and power. Bass Kurt Moll and contralto Ortrun Wenkel are strong in the smaller roles of Daphne's parents, Peneios and Gaea. And the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra is in magnificent form throughout. The 1982 digital recording comes up clearer than ever, and the set includes a bonus 3rd disc with a detailed synopsis and the full libretto in a computer file -- an ideal cost-effective solution as opposed to printing a massive libretto booklet which would then require an outer cardboard sleeve to contain it beside the CD jewel box.
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