Die Spaziergaengerin Von Sans Souci

Our Leo Fall cycle continues with Die Rose von Stambul. This operetta in three acts offers music that is full of feeling. This highly emotional work celebrated its premiere with great success at the Theater an der Wien in 1916. Die Rose von Stambul’s 422 straight performances made it the most successful operetta in the history of the Theater an der Wien, next to Franz Lehár’s The Merry Widow. Within the shortest time performances followed throughout Central Europe. However, like Emmerich Kálmán’s The Csárdás Princess, it did not become an international success – primarily because of World War I, since the theaters of the Allied countries had stopped staging German-language works.Achmed Bey, the son of a Turkish minister, is married to Kondja, “The Rose of Stamboul”. However, she has exchanged letters with a passionate novelist and fallen in love with him. What she does not suspect: none other than her husband is behind this pseudonym – which provides plenty of opportunities for the expression of emotions – rendered in the Viennese waltz mode (“Ein Walzer muss es sein”) or tunes of Oriental flair.

Soprano Edith Mathis has had one of the leading international vocal careers of the twentieth century and was particularly well known for her Mozart and Strauss roles. She studied at the Lucerne Conservatory and made her stage debut there as the Second Boy in Mozart's Die Zauberflöte. After singing in Zürich, she joined the Cologne Opera in 1959. Remaining with the company until 1963, she began singing the major repertory roles.

Christian Thielemann writes: I see Die Meistersinger as the pivot and central point of Wagners entire oeuvre. On the one hand it is a reaction to Tristan; on the other, he had found himself in a blind alley with Siegfried, and together those two works showed him the way out of it. The fascinating thing about Die Meistersinger is that you can find everything in it. Hero and anti-hero, comedy and tragedy, upperclass and lower-class lovers, burlesque and reflection, the old and the new, in short a whole world. The magic words summing it up for me are atmosphere and poetry. How can I, as a conductor, make the music glitter in its exaggerations and parodies, and at the same time lend it authority? Conversely, how can I make its emotionalism sound not false but genuine, emphasizing the deeply felt popular note in the music? Wagner is fundamentally asking his interpreters to square the circle, which is what makes Die Meistersinger such a difficult work to perform. Perhaps it can succeed only by osmosis, if we open ourselves up entirely to all its moods, colours and aromas, inhaling them so deeply that they naturally emerge from us again at the right moment.

The focus of our second collaborative venture with the Cappella Aquileia and Marcus Bosch for the Beethoven Year is formed by the complete recording of The Ruins of Athens, an incidental composition penned by Beethoven for the opening of the recently constructed theater in Pest (today: Budapest) in 1812 and an occasional work set to a text by the then popular writer August von Kotzebue. Those who perform this work today are faced with a dilemma. If they perform Beethovens music without the spoken text, then a work in which language and music are closely intertwined is reduced to an arbitrary sequence of musical numbers.