To be honest, I'm one of those people who cannot stand the queeny opera bore. 'Well, my dear, she wasn't Birgit Nilsson, now, was she?' Well, given that I was 3 when Nilsson retired, I can't testify. Thdre's a sickness in endlessly comparing what is now with what had gone before. But what's really irritating is how right those heritage queens can be. Fritz Wunderlich is a case in point. The tenor had been dead for 15 years by the time I was born, so I really had no connection whatsoever with his life or career. But during an intensive period of work on Schubert, countless people urged me to listen to his recordings. And how addictive they are. My latest dependency is on this re-released boxed set of opera highlights. Recorded not as complete recordings, but as bleeding chunks, they offered showcases for Wunderlich's talents. We are treated to his Pinkerton, Rodolfo, Don Ottavio and Lensky (among others). The icy tenderness of 'Che gelida manina' and Lieder-like 'Dalla sua pace' are pretty wonderful, but cannot prepare for the finest recording of Lensky's Act 2 aria on disc. Like Toby Spence in the recent ENO production of Eugene Onegin - see, modern singers can do it - Wunderlich perfectly expresses unfulfilled ambitions. This isn't someone ready for death, but a man on whom death has been forced by convention. The foggy murmur of Bayerisches Staatsorchester strings and an improvisatory clarinet solo weave around his entirely destroying rendition. Perfect. Click here to order a copy of the boxed set.
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