New Looks at the Operatic Stravinsky

Although we don’t usually think of Igor Stravinsky as an operatic composer, opera looms large at crucial points in his long career.

“Le Rossignol,” as it’s usually called, whatever the language of its presentation (the original is Russian), was begun in 1909, before “L’Oiseau de feu,” and completed in 1914, after “Le Sacre du Printemps,” thereby representing the composer in the first flush, or flushes, of his greatness.

“Oedipus Rex” (1927) is a high point of his lengthy neoclassical period, and “The Rake’s Progress” (1951)--his sole full-length opera--the neoclassical grand finale and a prelude to the serial-dominated creative twilight.

While a new recording of “Rake” is overdue, both the shorter, but by no means lesser, operas are newly available on single CDs.

“Le Rossignol (The Nightingale)” has a libretto by the composer based on a story by Hans Christian Andersen.

Its instrumental point of departure is Rimsky-Korsakov’s enchanted sound world, with infusions of Debussyan mystery, some “Lakme”-like vocal acrobatics and plenty of post-”Sacre” tension in the big orchestral interlude, which has achieved a separate life as “The Song of the Nightingale.”

“Le Rossignol’s” wise and lovely story deals, in brief, with an aged Chinese emperor and his two nightingales: one, the genuine avian article, the other a dinky mechanical replica that momentarily catches his attention, giving the real bird fits. It is the real one whose sweet song ultimately charms Death himself into sparing the Emperor, his intended victim.

The recorded performance (Erato 45627), sung in Russian, is a marvel of instrumental subtlety in the hands of Pierre Boulez and the BBC Symphony, who play like angels--and, when needed, in the “Song” interlude, like raucous, inspired devils.

The Nightingale is sung by soprano Phyllis Bryn-Julson, an artist of rare intelligence who also possesses the requisite coloratura equipment, if not quite Reri Grist’s purity of line in Sony’s composer-directed version.

In other important roles, Ian Caley brings his sweetly pallid tenor to the duties of the Fisherman who is the Nightingale’s companion. As the Emperor, baritone Neil Howlett is somewhat of a cipher, certainly no match for the late Donald Gramm in the Sony recording, which, however, is available only as part of the 22-CD “Igor Stravinsky Edition.”

The strongest competition to the latest recorded “Oedipus Rex,” which has Esa-Pekka Salonen leading the Swedish Radio Symphony and Chorus (Sony 48057), comes in even less accessible form: a long out-of-print 1951 production conducted by the composer and not to be confused with the crude 1960s version contained in the “Stravinsky Edition.”

By keeping the temperature relatively low, Salonen gives the musical climaxes--and those of Jean Cocteau’s text, the sung portions in Latin, the narration in French--their thunderous due. And in concentrating on clarity of texture, the conductor shows us the imaginative inner workings of a spare, stunningly potent music drama.

The orchestral playing is first-rate, the Swedish brasses displaying unexpected heft in addition to their customary clarity, while the male chorus is lusty and ultrarefined as the occasion demands.

Vinson Cole is, as he was in the 1989 Salonen-L.A. Philharmonic performances at the Music Center, a lyrical, youthful-sounding protagonist, with just enough steel in his voice to make Oedipus at once pitiable and heroic.

Anne Sofie von Otter brings comparable freshness of voice and characterization to her Jocasta. The “Oedipal relationship” is especially poignant and believable when, as here, there is the suggestion that Jocasta was little more than a child herself when she gave birth to Oedipus.

Simon Estes is pleasingly robust and hail-fellow as Creon and a bit too much so as the Messenger; while Hans Sotin brings poker-voiced dignity to Tiresias’ profondo prophesying, and Nicolai Gedda, himself a distinguished Oedipus in younger days, contributes an effective cameo as the Shepherd.

However, as the Narrator of Cocteau’s fire-and-ice spoken text, actor-director Patrice Chereau is low-key almost to the vanishing point.

Another debit: Someone in quality control seems to have dozed off during the manufacturing process. In Track 3, just past the three-minute mark, there is a sound dropout--that is, the sound goes dead and a line of spoken text is lost. No big deal for musical browsers but potentially irksome for the serious listener.