Well, these are interpretive quibbles. With the coming of Act 2, wherein the action among the principals begins to develop more organically; atmosphere becomes a more central element; and Sachs moves to the fore, the reading begins to take hold more compellingly. Here and in the Workshop Scene, Thielemann gives his cast plenty of space with a supple, rubatoed feel, and though Zeppenfeld is the only singer able to regularly take advantage of this, it lends a welcome sense of flow to the development. I was interested to read that Thielemann often thinks of Der Rosenkavalier in relation to Die Meistersinger, because I’d been struck by his fragrant, lilting treatment of all the waltz figures in the Beckmesser/Sachs dialogue in the second part of the Workshop Scene, not always 3/4—we get 9/8, 6/8, 3/8, but all with the waltzlike pulse—and the resemblance pointed up by the many little Ochs-like figures for Beckmesser (“Ihr habt’s wohl schon memoriert;”  “ihr’s freundlich heut mit mir meint?“; “Beckmesser, keiner besser!”) The capering movement of the whole scene is made delightfully clear. (Of course, the implied influence here is of Wagner on Strauss, not the other way around.) The only relative letdown in Act 3, Sc. 1, unfortunately, is the with the Quintet, but this is because the singers can’t quite seize their gestures to keep us moving through the suspended moment. It is followed, though, by a wonderful playing of the transition and, granted that the last scene is almost surefire, this one is spectacularly good. There is choral singing of great beauty and impact, and the tempi are full of springy life—I can’t recall ever hearing the exhilarating dances given such zest, balance, and instrumental precision. When the layout of tempi across as long a span as Meistersinger‘s brings the piece home so convincingly, it means that however fidgety one might have felt at certain spots, the destination has been in sight all along.

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I don’t know the full story, but the Kubelik/Munich performance had difficulties finding its way to market and staying there, and has slipped at least partway through the cracks when it comes to critical assessment. But I have always had affection for such of this conductor’s symphonic recordings with various orchestras as I have heard (e. g., a fine Mahler Ninth with the same orchestra we hear on this Meistersinger; a splendid Tchaikovsky No. 6 with the CSO), and though he did not record a great deal of opera, I have admired his Lohengrin reading, again with the Bayerischen Rundfunk forces, and a couple of the same principals (Gundula Janowitz and Thomas Stewart). Over the years, I’ve met with divergent opinions on his Meistersinger, ranging from “one of the top two or three” to “terrible—couldn’t believe it was Kubelik” (that from a colleague whose ears have generally heard things about the way mine do).

I can’t quite buy into either of those judgments. But before entering a few words on Kubelik’s work, I should note that, first, we have a very different set of recording conditions than those of the Salzburg performance, and, second, that the Kubelik set is the more conventionally and, with a couple of important exceptions, the better cast of the two. Here, we will not encounter the voice-in-limbo vexation. Nothing’s in limbo, except in the sense that all recordings  (especially of opera) are, relative to the music’s intended mode of reception. Everything’s up front and at times borderline brash, with the voices closely miked—typical of DG recordings from the same time and venue. It’s not to every taste and mood, but it is clear, present, and alive, and we are never adrift or wondering exactly what the performers are up to.