Jonas Kaufmann (tenor)
Doppelgänger
Helmut Deutsch (piano)
rec. 2023, Park Avenue Armory, New York
Sony 19439781382 CD/DVD [2 discs: 151]

This is a peculiar but rather wonderful release, the latest recording that confirms Jonas Kaufmann’s step towards Lieder rather than opera, yet one that only reinforces his credentials as a great musical dramatist. 

His very fine Dichterliebe is worthy to sit alongside other great tenor traversals of the cycle in the catalogue. You can tell that this lieder singer is also a man of the theatre, so keenly does Kaufmann bring to light the dramatic elements of each song. More importantly, however, the voice has a lovely sense of feeling its way towards meaning, taking each song as a step on the road and building an overall picture piece by piece, so that the listener is drawn into the cycle as a journey into an overall experience rather than as sixteen distinct songs. Unsurprisingly for this stage in his career, much of the youthful juice has seeped out of Kaufmann’s voice, but he turns that to his advantage in Dichterliebe, making this sound like the frustrations of an older, more experienced artist rather than a blithely innocent young one. His articulation of the language is used to further the drama at every point, be it in the way he uses the short words of Die Rose, die Lilie to evoke restless urgency or the way in which he relaxes into the long vowels of Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’ to suggest gently distant longing. The austere solemnity of Im Rhein, im heilige Strome comes as a surprise after the lovelorn earlier songs, and there is powerful intensity to the high climax of Ich grolle nicht. A dazed wonder seems to enter the voice at Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen, but it’s swept away by the urgency of the later songs, and ends with unarguable conviction as he seeks to bury his love in an irretrievable coffin.

Right from the off, however, you can tell that this realisation of the cycle is a partnership of equals, with Deutsch’s piano line speaking of the deep and lasting collaboration of these two artists. They recorded it during lockdown, presumably at one of their homes, and the intimacy of the collaboration is palpable. Deutsch’s grasp of the musical drama is every bit as perceptive as Kaufmann’s whether he is filling in some dreamy subtext in the opening songs, evoking faux fairytale innocence of Ich will meine Seele tauchen, or mirroring the singer’s obsessiveness in the repeated tolling of Ich grolle nicht. That obsessiveness transfers into the piano line as it links Und wüsste die Blumen, die kleinen into Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen in a darkly whirling perpetuum mobile, before dissolving into the fractured chords of Hör ich das Liedchen klingen and the very unconvincing jollity of Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen. The pauses in the piano are as important as the notes in Ich hab’ im Traum geweinet and the merry twinkling of Aus alten Märchen sounds convincingly hollow. It’s telling that Schumann gives the piano both the first word and the extensive last word in this cycle; Deutsch recognizes the piano’s significance, and he rises magnificently to the challenge, being very much the other side of the coin to Kaufmann’s singing. 

It’s interesting to go from this to compare the six bonus Dichterliebe songs from Kaufmann’s student days. The voice is almost unrecognizable, paler and more fragile with less dramatic insight. There is little indication of the star tenor to come, aside perhaps from the breathless urgency of Die Rose, die Lilie, but this only underscores how great Kaufmann’s achievement has been in the intervening years. The pianist is no Helmut Deutsch either, but he’s perfectly fine. This, therefore, is diverting and interesting, but it’s the least compelling reason to acquire the set. 

The Kernerlieder, on the other hand, is perhaps the most. This is my favourite among Schumann’s song cycles – I have no idea why more lieder singers don’t programme it! – so I guess I was well disposed towards it anyway, but Kaufmann and Deutsch understand as well as anyone what a treasure chest they have on their hands. Again, that partnership element is all there, egging one another on in passionate intensity in Lust der Sturmnacht, and the meditative solemnity of Stirb’, Lieb’ und Freud’ is very moving, not least the quasi-falsetto quotations from the young nun which can sometimes sound silly but not here. Impetuous energy is the hallmark of Wanderlied and Wanderung, moderated into poetic maturity in Auf das Trinkglas, and the bliss of nature is very evident in Erstes Grün and Sehnsucht nach Waldgegend. Wonderful tenderness enters both the voice and the piano for the later love songs, rising to a climax at Stille Tränen – seldom can the word Schmerz have sounded so tunefully pained – and the twin final songs have about them an air of wounded dignity and strangely inconsolable melancholy that’s very moving to listen to, the final phrase taken so slowly it’s as though both singer and piano are reluctant to let go of it. This doesn’t replace my favourite Kernerlieder, by Matthias Goerne and Leif Ove Andsnes, but if you want a tenor version – and there are surprisingly few available – then this could well be a top choice. 

Having set the expectations high, the curiosity in the package could for some be its USP. Doppelgänger comes from the time when Pierre Audi was Artistic Director of New York City’s Park Avenue Armory and was looking for ways to expand the venue’s artistic breadth as well, presumably, as seeking a wider audience for song. It seems to have been his idea to present a staged version of Schubert’s song cycle Schwanengesang (with a couple of extras thrown in), starring Kaufmann and Deutsch, but it was director Claus Guth who realised it with, if we’re to believe the booklet notes, Kaufmann’s input.

It’s a quirky idea that doesn’t always work but which is, nonetheless, sometimes puzzling but always interesting and curiosity-inducing. Guth fills the vast space of the Armory’s Drill Hall with hospital beds, a haunting tableau that’s transfixing to look at. Deutsch’s piano sits in the middle while, around him and Kaufmann, seventy (!) silent actors play wounded soldiers and field nurses from the era of the First World War, and Mathis Nitschke’s eerie electronic soundscape, sparingly deployed, adds atmosphere. Schubert’s songs are re-ordered to construct a narrative of a semi-deranged, wounded soldier on the brink of death, surrounded by his comrades, reminiscing or fantasising about a lover he will never see again.

Some parts are more convincing than others. The falling red petals – poppies or roses? – of Frühlingsehnsucht induce delirium in the singer, but form a very persuasive visual trope for the rest of the staging. Ständchen becomes yearning for a lover far away at home, coming after soldier Kaufmann has been shot, while in this context Abschied becomes coldly ironic. Towards the end, in Die Stadt, Kaufmann walks right out of the hall onto the traffic and pedestrians of Park Avenue, and returns with his Doppelgänger for the chilling final song. 

I wasn’t completely persuaded by the overall context of finding a dramatic staging for a song cycle. Call me a bean-counter, but I kept on reflecting on how phenomenally expensive the whole thing must have been to mount! Not disconnected from this, surely song derives so much of its power from the fact that it’s an intimate, internal drama of the soul which communicates to the audience with powerful directness, more sharply than you’ll find in any operatic staging. Consequently, I found much of Guth’s action a bit too hyperactive. It’s at its best when Kaufmann lifts himself out of the action and sings directly to the audience, such as in the final Doppelgänger song or in the heartbreaking Ihr Bild, and in fact he sings the whole thing with real incisiveness. Deutsch lives up to his moment in the spotlight, too. At the mid-point of the presentation, he plays the slow movement of Schubert’s final sonata, for unclear reasons that don’t seem to do much for the developing drama, but it’s quite moving to see all the characters sitting still and giving Deutsch their full attention. Anyway, if you want to hear Kaufmann in Schwanengesang then this is currently your only option, though the vast, booming acoustic doesn’t flatter the intimate music; I found it more successful to listen in 2.0 stereo rather than in 5.1 surround. 

The Schumann is the thing here, however, and it’s worth it on its own. Take Doppelgänger as a curious bonus. Taken as a set, these discs showcase Kaufmann’s developing and deepening interest in and insights into the art of lieder singing. The packaging puts both discs into a fold-out case, and the booklet note contains a helpful essay and an interview, together with the full sung texts of the Schumann songs and photos of the New York staging. However, Sony gets a major black mark for glueing the booklet into the package, making it very difficult to hold and follow while listening to the CD. 

Simon Thompson

Contents
CD:
Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Dichterliebe, op. 48
Kerner Liender, op. 35
rec. 2020, Herrsching am Ammersee, Germany
Bonus: Six songs from Dichterliebe, Jan Philip Schulze (piano) rec. 1994, Munich
DVD:
Doppelgänger: Dramatized staging of Franz Schubert’s Schwanengesang
Commissioned and produced by Park Avenue Armory
Claus Guth (director)

Doppelgänger production details: 
Mathis Nitschke – original music and sound composition
Michael Levine – set design
Constance Hoggmann – costume design
Urs Schönebaum – lighting design

Technical details
Picture format: NTSC, 1080i/16:9; Sound format: PCM Stereo/DTS 5.0
Region code: 0 (worldwide)
Sung in German; Subtitles: German, English

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