I was on the move somewhere deep inside The Royal Opera at The Square of Gustaf Adolf in Stockholm. I heard some musicians rehearsing somewhere in the close vicinity, and in the hall that I just passed through a dancer was practicing silently, making Swan Sea leaps with outstretched arms and legs, gallantly.
I was finding my way through the majestic and historically so important building – bustling with life till this day! – to join a select number of other reviewers, opera people and record company staff. We were called in to be present at the presentation of a very interesting new major Caprice Records series, this time issued in collaboration with The Royal Swedish Opera; thus the location.

The opera’s head of dramaturgy, Stefan Johansson, was conducting the presentation, but present were also researchers, like the masterly Carl-Gunnar Åhlén whose booklet texts in other Caprice issues are unparalleled, one singer to be represented later in the series - Kerstin Meyer - the person responsible for digital transfer, editing and mastering - Bertil Gripe - as well as the sound technician handling the technical processing and noise reduction - Alexander Häggström - and others.

Renowned Hjördis Schymberg, 94 years of age this year of 2003, would have joined, hadn’t she had an accident, but she sent her heartfelt greetings and a representative recited a story she would have told, had she been present.

Initially we heard a passage with Jussi Björling, rising bright and clear out of a track on one of the two new CDs; Giacomo Puccini’s Cortese damigella from Manon Lescaut. It was pure magic to sit in that parquet café and bar, hearing the voice of the legendary singer resounding, just a few paces from the stage where he had been singing when the recording took place, in 1959. For anyone with the least sense of history, this vivid presence of the singer, long since gone, in the very house where he sang, was almost eerie. It brought shivers down my spine anyway, and fond recollections of childhood way out in the Swedish countryside, where I lived in the 1950s as Jussi Björling became a household word in this land of secret poets. My parents were simple country folk, not at all interested or initiated in the world of opera, but it was a different thing with Jussi Björling; he was the common man’s singer, the simple man’s entrance to the world of culture. It was in his voice and in his attitude; he was loved far beyond the seats of the opera houses; he was as Swedish as the anthem, and his rendition of the song Sverige even got a popular nomination for a new Swedish anthem. He was spruce forests and archipelagos, mountains and valleys to the people of Sweden, and he was every man’s closest symbol of love and gallantry, in the 1950s, in Sweden. I know, I was there, I saw my father listening, keeping still at the kitchen table out on the farm as Jussi sang over the radio. Magic!

This 1959 recording sports all six of Jussi Björling's des Grieux solos, plus the whole final scene with Hjördis Schymberg from Puccini's Manon Lescaut from 1st November 1959. These recordings are in stereo, and they possess an almost unbearable beauty. They constitute one of Jussi Björling's last appearances at the Opera.

The story behind this new series is one of devotion and ambition, and a good measure of stubbornness! I simply love this digging into the archives, bringing up to the surface and out into the open hidden and often even forgotten treasures, on the brink of oblivion, letting them shine again like the restored murals of Michelangelo in The Sistine Chapel. Suddenly the dust and dirt of decades are lifted by technicians who almost have to be philosophers and for sure devoted music lovers with that uncanny feel for the hidden treasure, the way Nietzsche saw that proud statue sleeping in the rock. It takes a lot of diligence, a lot of patience… and again; stubbornness! Caprice Records and The Royal Opera have succeeded beyond expectations, though expectations are high, referring to Caprice’s earlier historical issues.

However historical these recordings may be, it is not first of all in that context they should be heard, I think. It’s rather in the purely musical aspect they should be seen, perhaps with the historical significance as a further amplification of the listening experience. This means that the people involved in the technical – and therefore, in this case, the artistic – considerations, have done a magnificent, careful and loving job, to be able to lay this masterly restoration of old reel-to-reels before us!

Stefan Johansson, Head of Dramaturgy of The Royal Swedish Opera, and one of the initiators of the series, had strange stories to tell about how these rare recordings actually were retrieved, in their raw state on reel-to-reel tapes. He said that there had always been rumors about private or semi-private recordings, and also of recordings made by staff of the opera, for one reason or other, back in the 1950s. Sometimes some personnel acted on commission from one of the singers, who perhaps wanted a tape copy to listen to afterwards, to further his art, or it could be for other reasons. One of the people employed at the opera – an intendent (curator); Valter Valentin - had a son who was a sound technician at The Swedish Broadcasting Corporation of those days, and he got involved with fixing gear and placing a mike.

The main course of this set, the almost complete Il Trovatore, was recorded by request from one of the singers - Margareta Bergström - from the wings by a member of The Opera Chorus. Since then, until the 1980s, when Stefan Johansson needed them for a radio program, the tapes had laid dormant in Margareta Bergström's linen cupboard!

Jussi Björling had appeared at The Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm fourteen times in five different operas during the season 1956 - 57. On this CD, because of Margareta Bergström's request and her linen cupboard, we hear the recording of the night of 26th January 1957.

It was all personal initiatives that initiated the actual recordings, either from singers who needed a study copy, or from someone else for what ever reason. These are indeed house recordings, not broadcast recordings or recording company recordings.
Well, anyway, researching the eventual availability of these tapes, Stefan Johansson found some at The National Archive for Sound and Moving Images. Initially he tracked down a listing of opera house tapes in a folder entitled List of Older Recordings at that institution, which listed recordings up to 1969, and with the assistance of knowledgeable archival staff he retrieved some recordings in various states, albeit some of them already transferred to DAT by the institution. After some bureaucratic hassle he gained access to them, having them all transferred to DAT, enabling the tedious cleaning-up process to begin in the digital domain. To begin with the honorable institution was reluctant to hand the tapes over to Stefan Johansson and the Caprice/Royal Opera recording venture, but when Johansson could produce evidence that all those tapes actually were stored at The National Archive for Sound and Moving Images as a deposition from The Opera, and thus was the property of The Opera, the institution became quite more collaborative, and in the end The Opera and The National Archive for Sound and Moving Images shared the tedious transfer work in good spirits!

However, as already mentioned above, some of the most interesting recordings were found in the linen cupboard of one of the singers of the opera; one of those who appear on these recordings: Margareta Bergström!

Some of the recordings that were borrowed from The Opera - and later from The National Archive for Sound and Moving Images - for studies at home, were not returned, perhaps just out of absentmindedness or amnesia, or a measure of ignorance, or even because they weren't supposed to be returned, but to remain in the custody of those who had asked for a recording. These recordings weren’t so important in those days. They may have been important for the singer who brought them home, for his or her studies, but they were hardly considered as historically important recordings when they were recorded. Stefan Johansson even goes so far as to state that we may have a lot to thank those negligent singers for, leaving the tapes in their linen cupboards, because it was customarily procedure at the institutions of the day to sort out old and outdated recordings after a certain period. You never knew what might be left after such a sorting-out spree… Some tapes were also reused, erasing whatever was on them initially… The private linen cupboards of the artists therefore proved a safety vault for these precious recordings, making at least part of this opera series possible!

Kerstin Meyer, the only original singer appearing on these series to attend the presentation at the opera parquet bar, also pressed the sensitive issue of recording pirates – bootleggers – in an unexpected direction. She said she had almost only praise for them. They made possible the spreading of concerts otherwise left unrecorded, and so these days one almost relies on former bootleggers for new releases. In the early days only the most famous singers, like Birgit Nilsson etcetera, were regularly officially recorded, so the singers acting just below the fame of the giants had no chance – or a very slim one – to be recorded. The bootleggers of the days, with their big reel-to-reels (how did they hide them?) were a blessing, in retrospect, for the majority of the opera singers! Yessir!

For these house recordings, semi-professional or not professional at all, the mike was sometimes hung in the wings, and a peculiar muffling of the sound at the end of pieces, when applause begins, is explained by the curtain moving shut in front of the mike, blocking the sound. Another time the recording mike was placed in such a manner that some stagehand believed it to be a cloth hanger, hanging his sweater on it, thereby muffling the sound out of all restorability… Those were the days! Often, though, the recordings were made from a box in the first tier.

Another peculiarity at the end of pieces might be that, instead of hearing the roar of applause, you hear some stage hands mumbling “Bravo, Jussi!” or something like that, revealing the placement of the mike.

However, Stefan Johansson points out – and I solemnly agree! – that the real wonder of these house recordings, be they non-professional or semi-professional – is their incredible presence. Johansson says – and he should know! – that nowhere else is there to be found such a close presence of Jussi Björling’s voice as in these recordings out of archives and linen cupboards! Nowhere! There are Swedish Radio recordings of the 1959 Manon Lescaut, but, as Stefan Johansson observes, these Opera house recordings with their totally unorthodox microphone placings hit home, probably just by chance, and deliver a presence which is unparalleled.
I take this to heart, pour a small shot of Glen Clova and sit down in some of the brightest vocal timbres of my childhood, reenacted today in my home – and extend my gratitude to the enthusiasts who made this possible.

The booklet here is not, which may surprise some, authored by Carl-Gunnar Åhlén, but by the opera’s Head of Dramaturgy, the above mentioned Stefan Johansson who also spearheaded the top notch presentation at the opera parquet bar. This, of course, is quite appropriate, since all the recordings have been conducted at The Royal Opera. His text is very interesting, filled with all the information one might hope for. He explains why the singers sang the way they did, still in the 1950s very influenced by the traditions of the 19th Century, when Italian opera first hit Stockholm, and he conveys many other musicological insights and a transparent stylistic analysis, plus short biographies on the key figures of this double-CD.

Look out for coming issues, two a year beginning now, until all eight issues have been released.
These are indeed historical historical releases. Don’t miss out on them!