The Recordings

It is perhaps rather odd that the first discography that I have attempted should be of a singer who is not among my particular favourites. The project came about because I had acquired a number of Onegin Schallplattes and was curious about what else she had recorded and where mine fitted into her discography. I therefore, of course, turned to Record Collector and found that the only discography was one by James Dennis which dated from October 1950 (Vol.5 No.10). This was a very creditable attempt for its date, but items were missing (though surprisingly few, considering that acoustic Schallplattes can hardly have been thick on the ground in England in 1950) and there were no matrices or dates included. I therefore started to add matrices from items I had, and, like Topsy, it just growed. One advantage of not being a dyed-in-the-wool fan, however, is that I can perhaps be more objective in assessing Onegin’s records. There is always a danger of special pleading for, or indeed downright deafness to, the faults of a beloved singer.

Operatic and religious recordings

Onegin recorded a substantial number of operatic items, many of them more than once. Her particular vocal quality is, plainly, essentially Teutonic, and so she tends to be more successful in the German repertoire. It is, then, surprising to find that of the 17 operas from which she recorded excerpts, 7 are Italian operas, 4 are French and only 6 are by German composers (and those 6 include Gluck’s Orfeo and Handel’s Rinaldo).

The three Wagner excerpts she recorded are among her best operatic records, and it is disappointing that she recorded no Wagner electrically. “Weiche, Wotan” is an almost ideal performance. Onegin has exactly the hieratic, trance-like delivery for the all-knowing earth goddess awoken from slumber to warn Wotan. Her lack of dramatic urgency is a positive asset here, and the high E’s, which can elsewhere seem dead and lacking resonance, add to the sense of mystery. The numerous low C sharps are rock solid. The only slight disappointment is that the tempo is a little too fast - but that is the fault of the limits of a 78 side, not of Onegin. Watraute’s Narration is also very fine, though at times it lacks the urgency needed to convey the character’s mission, and here the lack of attack on high notes is a liability. She does, however, characterise the phrase “dann noch einmal zum letzten Mal!” (then again and for ever) very movingly, and there is more sense of drama at “Zagen und endlose Angst” (terror and never-ending fear). Brangäne’s Watch begins disappointingly, with a lack of legato and some dubious tuning, but improves steadily and “hab’ der Einen Ruf in Acht” (heed this solitary voice) is close to the ideal. (This is also one of those sides where the pleasure is compromised by that characteristic Schallplatte noise in the background, as though someone were dragging sacks of coal through the studio - does anyone know what caused it?). In “O schöne Jugendtage”, Onegin makes all that can be made of this lugubrious piece, and here again her voice production suits the music perfectly. There is an absolutely wonderful, disembodied G flat towards the end of the aria. Onegin recorded Orfeo’s aria three times, of which I have had access to the first and third versions. The first on Schallplatte is in German, the third on Victor in Italian. There is not a great deal of difference between them, though the Italian version is quicker and not quite as somnolent as the German. It does, however, have even more extreme (and inappropriate) portamenti in several places (and she still refers to her beloved as ‘Oiridike). The Schallplatte in German uses the 1762 version which ends without the higher, more impassioned “senza il mio ben”, but with a repetition of the preceding phrase, giving an even less dramatic end to an already enervated performance. The final German operatic item is from an opera with an Italian text by that naturalised British composer, Handel. “Lascia ch’io pianga” is very definitely pre-“authentic” Handel, though the tempo is not as funereal as might have been. There are, again, a couple of extreme portamenti which really do not work on any level, though the legato is very fine.

The Italian excerpts are a distinctly variable lot. The vibrancy and seat-of-the-pants delivery which really are essential for a convincing Amneris or Azucena are entirely foreign to Onegin’s musical and vocal personality. A disembodied hoot is exactly what you don’t want at the climax to the Aida Judgement Scene or “Stride la vampa”! The Aida excerpt is really quite a bizarre record, unlike any other performance I know. It starts at “Già i sacerdoti” (it is actually sung in German - in all the following comments on the Italian excerpts I will refer to the Italian words even when Onegin sings in German), then cuts Radames’ lines and restarts at “Morire!”. The extreme ralentandi at “vivere” and “trono” are something I have never heard any other singer make, and the tone quality is about as far from the usual fire-spitting Italian mezzo as you could imagine. It is undoubtedly impressive, but I do feel a little like Dr McCoy in Star Trek: “It’s Verdi, Jim, but not as we know it”. Il Trovatore is the Italian opera from which Onegin recorded the greatest number of excerpts, though it is perhaps difficult for us to understand why. The crazed, child-murdering gypsy seems about as far from Onegin’s vocal personality as one could imagine (but then again, those similarly stately galleons Louise Homer and Kirkby-Lunn were also noted singers of the part in their day). Onegin recorded “Stride la vampa” three times. The first, in German as “Lodernde Flammen”, is almost comic in its total lack of any sense of the dramatic situation; she sings it as though it were from Elijah. The acoustic Brunswick is little better, but the electric Bunswick is a vast improvement, being a very credible performance and conveying a definite sense of Azucena’s manic character through a roughness of delivery quite at odds with Onegin’s usual placidity. “Die Hände in schweren Ketten” (Condotta ell’era in ceppi) is not very successful. I would defy anyone who didn’t know the opera to guess that Azucena is telling Manrico about the brutal burning alive of her mother; she could be singing a recipe for rissoles for all the drama here. It does improve towards the end, and the agitato section “Quand’ ecco agli egri spirti” shows much more sense of the situation, but at “il figlio mio avea bruciato!” (I had burned my own son) all drama is lost again. The F’s are beautifully placed notes, but their stately grandeur is utterly wrong in this context. The two Brunswick duets with Chamlee are much better. For a start they are in Italian, and in both, Azucena’s character is less ‘crazed’ than in the solos. The high notes in “Mal reggendo” are a little too carefully placed, but Chamlee’s forthright style rubs off onto Onegin. Best of all is “Ai nostri monti”. Here, what is needed is exactly what Onegin was good at - a beautiful, if somnolent, line. The wistful memories of the sleepy Azucena find just the right expression in Onegin’s singing of them. However, we are back on foreign ground in “O don fatale”. There is some sense of drama, but the top B flat at “o mia beltà” is again too ‘placed’ to work in this context. “O mia regina” is better, the line being beautifully sculpted, but the coda lacks fire. The non-Verdi operas are more successful, or perhaps the excerpts were just more judiciously chosen. “O mio Fernando” is a very curious confection which could almost be called ‘Gems from O mio Fernando’. We get all the preceding recitative, then the aria cut to ribbons, then the linking recitative followed by a heavily abridged cabaletta. The performance is really rather good. There is some sense of situation in the recit; the weight given to the low D in “oh mia vergogna estrema!” nicely conveys Leonora’s sense of shame. The bits of the aria which are sung are given a smooth line, and the cabaletta, if hardly fiery, has some sense of urgency (and a couple of fine trills). Unfortunately, I do not have the “Voce di donna”, which leaves us with the Italian item which she recorded most often and for which she is most famous among record collectors - the Brindisi from Lucrezia Borgia. Onegin recorded this four times, once in German and three times in Italian. As we have already seen, the use of an Italian text gives an extra life to Onegin’s singing, and, certainly, the Schallplatte in German has by far the least sense of having found the secret of happy living. Having said this, however, the performances are very consistent. Though the Victor has the most spectacular trill, I think my vote would go to the electric Brunswick as being the best; the tempo is the quickest and the detail the most characterful. Indeed, this is as close to skittish as Onegin was capable of being.

Although there are only four French operas in her recorded repertoire, there is only one fewer aria than in the Italian set. Two of Onegin’s most recorded operas are French, and result in four excerpts from Carmen and three from Samson et Dalila, the multiple recordings of which give 21 sides. Again, there is this curious contrast between Onegin’s vocal character and that of her (apparantly) favourite roles. Both Carmen and Dalila are sexy, vampish, man-eaters - does that sound like your mental picture of Sigrid Onegin? No, nor mine.

I will look at Carmen first. Onegin recorded the Habanera twice, in German and French. The German text really does the aria no favours at all, and this particular “oiseau rebelle” rather reminds me of Galli-Curci’s comment on hearing Melba’s record of “Lo, hear the gentle lark” - “It sounds more like a turkey”. The Brunswick is helped by the French text, and, while hardly seductive, does have some character and avoids the extreme portamenti found in the Schallplatte version. There is only one Séguidille, an electric Brunswick, which is taken at a very stately tempo and sounds more like an invitation to come to tea at the vicar’s than one to indulge in manzanilla in a seedy dive. The screeched top B at the end is not a comfortable note for either singer or listener. There are two versions of the Chanson Bohème: acoustic and electric Brunswicks. They are both well sung, though the very delicate way she sings the first “Tralalas” does not bode well. Fortunately things improve as both records progress and the latter parts are quite lively. These are not quite the debauched, riotous knees-up which the situation implies, but they have more “oomph” than might have been expected. The piece which suits her best is the Card Scene, which she recorded only once, in German. It could be argued that this is more Erda than Carmen, but the deep, baleful tone gives a sense of foreboding which is very effective, and her handling of the text is detailed and committed.

Samson et Dalila wins by a mile in terms of number of recordings. Surprisingly, she did not record “Printemps qui commence” for Brunswick, but there are Schallplatte (German) and Victor (French and German) recordings. The Schallplatte is wonderfully vocalised at a very slow tempo and with superb breath control. It doesn’t quite have the delicacy of Schumann-Heink’s great performance, but it is very effective. True, it is more earth-mother than temptress, and has barely a nodding acquaintance with French style, but I find it captivating. The German Victor is also very good, but doesn’t have quite the legato or smoothness of the Schallplatte. Incidentally, the two versions use completely different translations. While the other Victor has the undoubted advantage of the French text, there is otherwise little to choose between them. Strangely, she only recorded “Amour, viens aider” for Brunswick, in two recordings of which I only have the electric. The opening recitative is imperious and shows a Dalila who means business. The aria itself just misses the ultimate distinction. The line lacks that sense of momentum which a more passionate singer would have brought to it. Top of the Onegin pops is undoubtedly “Mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix”, with a remarkable seven performances (six published) spread over three of the four companies for which she recorded. Onegin’s rich tone satisfies, even if it is chaste rather than seductive, and she quite misses the eroticism of the chromatic slither on “Ah! réponds à ma tendresse” (Ah, respond to my tenderness). All are fine, and, indeed, remarkably consistent; I can find no real differences between the Schallplatte and Brunswicks. The Victor recordings are markedly quicker than the earlier three and do not contain that prolongation of the C before “Ah! réponds à ma tendresse”; they are generally more perfunctory (I have not heard the Victor which was only published in Switzerland). Perhaps, by the tiniest margin, the electric Brunswick again comes out on top, but all of the earlier three performances are excellent.

The two remaining French operas are both by Meyerbeer. The Victor of “Nobles, seigneurs” is one of Onegin’s most famous records, but the very opening phrase tells us exactly what is going to be missing in this performance. The careful placing of the E and F sharp fatally undermines any sense of sparkle and mischievousness which the young page should have. The legato at “Une dame noble et sage” is effective, but “Vous pouvez croire que nul seigneur” and the repeated “nons” are again without any zest. A splendid trill, though. The character of Fidès in Le Prophète is much better suited to her than the page Urbain, and on the other side of “Nobles, seigheurs” is “O prêtres de Baal” (like “O mio Fernando”, cut to ribbons), one of Onegin’s undoubted tours de force. But even here we can see her failings as a vocal actress. She makes very little of the contrast in the recitative between “Frappe, toi qui punis tous les enfants ingrats” (Strike, thou who punishes all ungrateful children) and “Non, non, non, grâce pour lui” (No, have mercy on him). “O toi qui m’abandonnes” is effectively sung, and the final section shows her remarkable skills in fioriture to advantage, every note being precisely articulated. However, I did not have access to a score, and even with the libretto in front of me, her enunciation is so poor that in this final section I could not work out which bit of the scene she was singing! From the same opera she also recorded that tedious dirge “Ah mon fils” three times, of which I have the electic Brunswick and the Victor. This is the sort of thing that Onegin did very well. The tone is rich and the legato excellent, and here at “S’élève ma prière” (particularly in the Victor) she makes wonderful use of the sort of withdrawn high note that can be such a liability in other music. However, overall I again find that the Brunswick has just that bit more life and engagement than the Victor.

I will include in this section the religious works which Onegin recorded. The first is one for which she is particularly famous among collectors: the “Alleluia” from Exultate, jubilate. She recorded this four times. This time, although as usual the recordings are very consistent, the Victor comes out on top. The tempo is just a little quicker and there is at least a vestige of joy in the performance, unlike the very po-faced Schallplatte and Brunswicks. At the opposite emotional pole is “Erbarme dich” from the Matthew Passion. This is much more Onegin’s cup of tea, and she gives a moving performance. There are one or two portamenti which are a little too much (even to someone with as unapologetic a loathing of all things “authentic” as I), but the performance as a whole has just the right grieving quality. The aria “Dank sei dir, Herr”, which Siegfried Ochs passed off as being by Handel, was much recorded before the war, and is again the sort of thing Onegin did well. She captures its gravity, if without quite rivalling Gerhard Hüsch’s wonderful record, largely because the use of too much rubato robs it of a sense of flow.

Lieder and Song recordings

Onegin gave many lieder recitals throughout her career, and this is reflected in her recorded legacy. The Lieder recordings encompass all the main composers from Mozart to Brahms, and, like all singers of this period, are rather generalised in comparison to singers of our own time. The two Mozart songs are rather heavy-handed, especially “Das Veilchen”, which is given a sense of tragedy which is not really warranted. “Sehnsucht nach dem Frühling” (recorded twice, virtually identically) is better, though still lacks the light touch. The two published recordings of the “Wiegenlied” by Fliess which was once attributed to Mozart are smoothly sung, and her soporific style is here entirely appropriate. Onegin recorded Beethoven’s “Ich liebe dich” twice, the 10” recording being one of her rarest records. The 12” is a lovely performance, with a wonderful legato and a real feel for the text. The line “Schütz und erhalt uns beide” (protect and keep us both) is movingly sung.

Onegin made several recordings of Schubert, including songs which are rarely performed even today. We must pay tribute to the enterprise of the German Grammophon company. To be recording songs such as “Der Kreuzzug”, “Verklärung” and “Freiwilliges Versinken” (not to mention complete acoustic recordings of Mahler’s 2^nd and Bruckner’s 7^th) during the rampant inflation and unemployment of Weimar Germany is truly remarkable. “Der Kreuzzug” is sung with a beautiful legato, and the simplicity of the description of the monk watching the crusaders from his window is perfectly caught. Listen, too, to the way the voice gets more distant, like the departing ship, at “ist bald nur wie ein schwann” (and soon is but like a swan). Later, as the monk thinks of how he is also a pilgrim like them, despite remaining at home, his identification with them is nicely conveyed by the extra weight on “wie ihr” (like you). In the philosophical rumination on approaching death of “Verklärung”, Onegin catches both the dramatic and contemplative sides effectively, with a triumphant conclusion at ”O Grab, wo ist dein Sieg? Wo ist dein Pfeil, o Tod?” (O grave, where is thy victory? Where is thine arrow, o death?), though there is more to this song than she finds. “Freiwilliges Versinken” is another unusual song, in which the sun god, Helios, considers his “Voluntary sinking” at the end of each day. The start is a little rocky, with some slightly dubious tuning and an over-elongated middle B which attains the actual pitch rather too late for comfort. This recording is generally less satisfactory, missing, for example, the grandeur of “Ich scheide herlich” (in glory I depart). The ‘light relief’ song in the Schallplatte set is “Die junge Schäferin” (which was actually composed to an Italian text). This is a little heavy-handed, with little sense of the innuendo of the middle part of the song, but the fioriture is beautifully turned and there is plenty of light and shade. The selections she recorded for Brunswick, Electrola and Victor are, conversely, all standard songs - “Der Lindenbaum”, “Erlkönig”, “Du bist die Ruh’” and “Das Lied im Grünen”. I do not have the Brunswick of “Der Lindenbaum”, but her other Brunswick, “Erlkönig”, was not only the first Onegin I ever acquired, but was also the first time I had ever heard “Erlkönig (I was about 13 at the time, and swapped it for a Broadcast 12 of “Ain’t misbehaving” - what odd, inconsequential details one remembers). Perhaps for this reason, it has always held a place in my affections, but I don’t think that it is only this which makes me think it one of her best records. She expertly delineates the three characters: her deep, resonant lower voice is ideal for the father, and she is able to lighten it to convey convincingly the rising panic of the child. Her use of a wheedling, nasal tone which turns suddenly nasty for the Erlking is wonderful, and I particularly like the rolled ‘r’ at “so brauch ich Gewalt” (I’ll take you by force). The downward portamento when the child says that the Erlking has hurt him (ein leids getan) is chilling. The Ian Bostridge school of Lieder singing will doubtless find the final “war tot” (was dead) too silent-film-melodramatic, but I think it is a perfectly good alternative to the standard, modern, deadpan delivery of these lines. This is a record to put alongside the Emma Eames’s “Gretchen am Spinnrade”, and I think it is my favourite of all Onegin’s records. The Victor remake is good, but is not as compellingly characterised, and although it has the advantage of a piano accompaniment, it has the disadvantage of a more distant recording. “Du bist die Ruh’” is well sung, but does not really convey the intensity of the peace which the beloved brings. In “Das Lied im Grünen”, the sense of joy is similarly underplayed. Neither of these interpretations really gets beyond the surface.

Onegin recorded three songs by Mendelssohn, the obvious “Auf Flügeln des Gesanges” and the distinctly less-obvious “Die Liebende schreibt” and “Es bestimmt in Gottes Rath”, of which I know only the first two. “Die Liebende schreibt” is a performance with many lovely touches. At “Die einzige; da fang ich an zu weinen” (only that hour; then I begin to weep), the high F on “einzige” is a wonderful note, and she phrases it through in a seamless span to “an”. The intensity of “Mein einzig Glück auf Erden ist dein Wille” (your will is my only happiness on earth) is very well captured. “Auf Flügeln” is unfortunately very muddily recorded, but this cannot disguise the exquisite line of the performance. Her two Loewe recordings are both lovely. “Süsses Begräbnis” is a touching account of the funeral of a shepherdess, and is perfect for Onegin. Here we are not dealing with the sort of profundity which can find her a little out of her depth, as in “Verklärung”, but with a song whose wistful sadness she knows exactly how to capture. Her tender legato could hardly be bettered. “Der heilige Franziscus”, the story of how St. Francis found the greatness of God in the song of the cricket, perhaps needs a more lively sense of story-telling, but, apart from one or two exaggerated swoops, it is well-characterised. Onegin recorded settings of Heine’s “Die Lorelei” by Liszt and Silcher. The setting by Silcher, which has attained almost the status of a folksong in Germany, is sung with a lovely legato and a simplicity which is very effective. The more musically interesting, if less melodically memorable, Liszt setting rightly evokes a much more detailed response to the words. The radiant high F sharp on “Im Abendsonnenschein” beautifully captures the effect of the evening sunshine. There could be a more erotic charge at “Und singt ein Lied dabei; Das hat eine Wundersame, gewaltige melodei” (and sings a song the while, a song that has a wondrous, compelling melody), but the succeeding tale of the boatman who is drowned by the Lorelei has a breathlessly intensity that is very effective. From Schumann’s opus, Onegin recorded only “Ins Freie”, ”Frühlingsnacht” and “Die Lotosblumen”. “Ins Freie” is not one of Schumann’s more inspired songs, and the hearty, out-of-doors feel is not something that one associates with Onegin. She makes a better fist of it than might have been expected, but it all sounds rather ‘jolly hockey sticks’. “Frühlingsnacht” is better, but she seems to be trying to sing a different song than that which the piano accompaniment clearly indicates. She appears to want to make the line a smooth legato, quite against the intended restlessness of the song. By far the best of the three is “Die Lotosblume”, where her velvet legato is used to lovely effect. It is not a detailed performance, for example she makes nothing of “zittert” (trembles) in the last verse, but in a song such as this a beautiful line is the main requirement.

The composer who stands at the centre of Onegin’s recorded repertoire, with far and away the highest number of sides, is Brahms. This seems entirely appropriate; hers is a voice whose rich, mahogany timbre could have been designed specifically with that composer’s sound-world in mind. Her vocal personality also fits Brahms like a glove; the undemonstrative melancholy of so much of his music finds an ideal interpreter in Onegin. Although her two most substantial recorded items are both by Brahms, the Vier ernste Gesänge and the Alt Rhapsodie (her husband, Fritz Penzoldt, entitled his biography of her Alt Rhapsodie), I’m afraid that it must be said that the first of these is not among her best recordings. The Vier ernste Gesänge are not easy to bring off, but one only needs to listen to the Kipnis recording to see what is missing. To let one example suffice, listen to the start of the second song “Ich wandte mich und sahe alle, die Unrecht leiden unter der Sonne” (I turned and saw all who suffer injustice under the sun). Onegin provides a nicely inflected, piano line with a little too much portamento: but with Kipnis we can actually see him turn round, and we feel not only his intense sadness as he sees those who suffer unjustly, but also a touch of anger through the emphasis on “Leiden”. This is an altogether higher plain of interpretative communication. Onegin is at her best in the third song, “O Tod, wie bitter bist du”. In the first line, the keening downward portamenti are genuinely expressive of her grief at death’s bitterness, and the enunciation of “bitter” is beautifully done. Later on, the gorgeous legato at “O Tod, wie wohl tust du dem Dürftigen” (O Death, how well you serve him that is in need) is indeed like sinking into the arms of a restful, welcome death. The Alt Rhapsodie is in the main very good. There is, perhaps, again a lack of precise detail in the first part; both Janet Baker and Christa Ludwig make more of, for example, “Ach, wer heilet die Schmerzen des, dem Balsam zu gift ward?” (Ah, who heals the pains of him, for whom balsam became poison?), but there are many lovely touches, and it is difficult to imagine a sound or a legato which would be more perfect for the concluding “Ist auf deinem Psalter” section. “Erquicke sein Herz” (refresh his heart) does exactly that. I think Steane (The Grand Tradition, p.204) is a little unfair when he talks of the second part of the Rhapsodie causing “much wincing in listeners with a sensitive awareness of pitch”. Granted, not everything is bang on, but it is nowhere near as inaccurate as this comment implies.

It is likely that Onegin’s first published side was a Brahms song, “Von ewiger Liebe” - only the probably-unpublished Achileus sides have lower catalogue numbers. It is a lovely performance. The first stanza is sung in an exquisite mezza-voce which mirrors perfectly the darkness and stillness of the landscape. But when the young man speaks of how he would sooner their love ended than that she should suffer insult on his behalf, Onegin shows a passionate expression not always to be found in her singing (perhaps it stirred memories of how she had to sneak off to London to marry). The second recording for Electrola does not have quite the commitment of the Schallplatte, nor the legato or variety of expression. That hardy perennial “Sapphische Ode” was the song Onegin recorded most often, but I have only two of the four performances. The Schallplatte is a little disappointing; the legato is not all one would have expected and the tuning is rather approximate. The electric Brunswick is not a great deal better. They are not bad performances, but this is the sort of song where one would have expected Onegin to excel, and she doesn’t. Much better is the Schallplatte of “Die Mainacht”. This is another really lovely performance, with an exemplary legato coupled to a sensitivity to words and colour which make for a most satisfying record. Listen, for example, in the first stanza to the way she darkens the tone at “Nachtigall” in anticipation of the “traurig” (sadly) in the next line - here is a singer thinking about what she is doing. Exactly the same can be said of her performance of the much less well-known “Nicht mehr zu dir zu gehen”. The despair of the obsessive lover is very well caught, with words at times almost gasped out, a world-weary tone and a vocal line full of little breaths and pauses. This is one of her finest records. Onegin recorded “Auf dem Kirchhofe” twice for Brunswick, of which I only possess the electric version. It doesn’t start especially well, with a very untidy swoop up to the first note, but this is another of the sort of song which suits her well. I especially like the last line of the first stanza where the singer, standing in the graveyard, looks at the old gravestones “Die Namen überwachsen, kaum zu lesen” (the names overgrown, barely readable). Onegin’s softening of the tone very nicely conveys the ambiguity of the feelings - sadness that everyone is ultimately forgotten, but also comfort at the thought of death as a release from the storms of life. The last Brahms song she recorded was “Ruhe, Süssliebchen” for Electrola. This is a perfectly good performance, but is not especially memorable, and contains rather too many ugly little scoops up to notes.

There are also a few serious songs from outside the area of the German Lied, and also, of course, what may be called encore material. Rubinstein’s “Neue Liebe” is lively, committed performance, but I have been unable to discover even the name of the poet (it sets neither Goethe nor Mörike’s poem of this name), let alone obtain a text, so it is difficult to be specific. Onegin’s recording of her husband’s “Ave Maria” is touching for what it is, and is well sung, but it is unsurprising that no other singer seems to have taken the song up. I cannot imagine why the Schallplatte of Hildung’s “Wo du hingehst” (coupled with the Handel/Ochs “Dank sei dir, Gott”) should be one of the most common of the Schallplattes - it is a lugubriously uninspired piece. Onegin sings it better than it deserves. The two Swedish folksongs, which she recorded both acoustically and electrically for Brunswick, are beautifully sung, and there is little to choose between them as performances. The “Vaggvisa” especially is sung with as much care as if it had been a Bellini aria. The three songs by Weckerlin are all charmingly sung with considerable delicacy. “O ma tendre Musette” has a sweet melancholy, and the “Menuett d’Exaudet” a lightness that is captivating. Of the two Massenet songs, the better is “Ouvre tes yeux bleus”, which has a delightful use of light and shade. The “Sérénade” is a little under-characterised, missing the narrator’s sly humour at the girl’s expense. “Caro mio ben” and “Dormi pure” are rather dull songs and there is little to choose between acoustic and electric versions. It is interesting that, as with the “Herdegossen”, Onegin felt the need to transpose “Caro mio ben” down between the acoustic and electric Brunswicks. I know only the electric version of the two English songs. In “The blind ploughman”, Onegin is incomprehensible, and, for all the expression she puts into it, possibly uncomprehending, too. “The fairy pipers” is verbally slightly better, and has a nice lightness of touch. It is most notable for the long, sustained crescendo on the E flat, followed by a trill on the same note. The Victor of the vocal arrangement of the Chopin A flat Impromptu is a truly absurd thing, though it is a remarkable technical tour de force. Arditi’s “Leggiero invisibile” is again a remarkable piece of singing, but it does lack the sort of uninhibited sparkle that the piece really needs. There is a touch of the maiden aunt about it.

So, having listened to about 90% of the published sides, which would I recommend to someone unacquainted with Onegin? Of the operatic sides, all the Wagner are good, and I love the Schallplatte “Der Sonne sie lachte”, for all its very un-French style. The Lucrezia Borgia Brindisi is unavoidable, and I think the electric Brunswick marginally the best. The other inevitable item is the “Alleluia” from Exultate, jubilate, this time in the Victor version. As an example of her coloratura technique, I think “O prêtres de Baal” is the best overall. Of the Lieder, I would suggest the Brunswick “Erlkönig”, Loewe’s “Süsses Begräbnis” and Brahms’s “Von ewiger Liebe” (Schallplatte version), “Die Mainacht” and “Nicht mehr zu dir zu gehen”. From the non-German songs, I think Massenet’s “Ouvre tes yeux bleu” and either recording of “Vaggvisa”. Taken as a whole, I was rather surprised to find that the Brunswicks show her at her best, despite the much greater cachet which the Schallplattes have among collectors.