Weekly SpinOn: Jealousy

Jealousy is one of the most destructive human emotions, so it is no surprise that composers have returned to it again and again. This playlist explores how different artists transformed this green-eyed monster into music. From family tensions in the classical era to violent confrontations on the opera stage, these tracks show how jealousy can slowly poison relationships — and how composers turned that emotional tension into some of their most gripping music.

Track 1: Pelléas et Mélisande, CD 93, L. 88, Act 1: Interlude I – Debussy
Frederica von Stade (Mélisande) · Richard Stilwell (Pelléas) · José van Dam (Golaud) · Ruggero Raimondi (Arkel) · Berliner Philharmoniker · Herbert von Karajan

We open this week’s playlist with an opera centered on a destructive love triangle. Claude Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande (1902) tells the story of Prince Golaud, who finds the mysterious Mélisande lost in a forest, marries her, and brings her to his family’s castle. There, she develops a close bond with Golaud’s younger half-brother, Pelléas. This relationship triggers an obsessive jealousy in Golaud, which ultimately drives him to murder his brother.

The first Interlude provides the haunting setup for this tragedy. Positioned between the open forest of the opening scene and the arrival at the castle, this short orchestral transition establishes the tense atmosphere of the entire drama. Rather than writing conventional, romantic music for a new marriage, Debussy uses floating harmonies and avoids a fixed tonal center. The resulting musical unease mirrors the invisible threat of suspicion before the conflict ever breaks out on stage.

Recorded in Berlin in December 1978 and released by EMI in 1979, this production remains Herbert von Karajan’s only complete studio recording of the opera. He is supported by a magnificent cast, featuring Frederica von Stade as Mélisande, Richard Stilwell as Pelléas, José van Dam as Golaud, and Ruggero Raimondi as Arkel.

Upon its release, the international music press was captivated by the production’s intense emotional weight. In Gramophone magazine, critics praised the performance for its “extraordinary dreamlike concentration” and described Karajan’s dramatic pacing as a “great crescendo of inexorability.” Reviewers particularly marveled at José van Dam’s portrayal of Golaud, praising his ability to capture the devastating human descent into suspicion, from “chilling passive aggression” to the final, tragic outbursts of jealous fury.

 

Track 2: Trumpet Concerto in D Major: I. Adagio – Leopold Mozart
Maurice André (Trumpet) · Berliner Philharmoniker · Herbert von Karajan

We move from the darkness of Debussy to a different kind of jealousy. This time, it is about a father who could not separate his own ambitions from his son’s genius. Leopold Mozart was a respected composer and music teacher. However, history remembers him almost exclusively as the father of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Leopold controlled his son’s life for years with endless tours and strict rules. When Wolfgang finally broke free to live independently in Vienna, their relationship was ruined. Biographers still debate if Leopold was truly jealous of his son’s success, but the family dynamic was clearly toxic.

Interestingly, while Leopold wrote this Trumpet Concerto, his famous son Wolfgang never completed a solo work for the instrument. Family friends recalled that as a child, Wolfgang had a literal phobia of the trumpet. Its loud, piercing sound terrified him so much that just holding a trumpet near him was described as aiming a loaded pistol at his heart. He would turn pale and nearly collapse at the sound. While Wolfgang grew up to write masterpieces for almost every instrument, his childhood fear meant the trumpet was completely left out of his solo catalog.

Leopold, on the other hand, wrote his concerto before the big family split. The opening Adagio is elegant, calm, and shows that he really understood the instrument’s classical capabilities.

This recording was made in Berlin in May 1974 and released by EMI. It features Maurice André, a soloist who completely changed the history of the instrument. André actually started his life as a coal miner before studying music at the Paris Conservatoire. At the time, the trumpet was just a background instrument in orchestras. André changed that, single-handedly transforming it into a popular solo vehicle. He pioneered the use of the small piccolo trumpet, which allowed him to effortlessly play the incredibly high notes that other players thought were impossible. André made Leopold Mozart’s difficult high notes sound as easy and smooth as an opera singer. Instead of the loud, military noise traditionally associated with the trumpet, he achieved an unusually warm, round tone in this Adagio—a legendary performance that helped make the piece famous worldwide.

 

Track 3: Salome, Op. 54: Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils – Richard Strauss
Wiener Philharmoniker · Herbert von Karajan

We continue this week’s playlist with an opera where jealousy leads to a famous, bloody climax. In Richard Strauss’s Salome (1905), jealousy drives every main character. King Herod is obsessed with his young stepdaughter, Salome, and reacts with deep suspicion toward anyone else who looks at her. At the same time, Queen Herodias is furious because the prophet Jochanaan (John the Baptist) publicly condemns her marriage. When Herod begs Salome to dance for him—promising her anything in return—Salome uses the opportunity to demand the prophet’s head on a silver platter.

The “Dance of the Seven Veils” is the musical centerpiece of this conflict. As Salome slowly removes her veils, the orchestra describes the tension in the palace. Strauss did not write a typical, elegant waltz here; instead, he used heavy, exotic rhythms and a massive orchestral sound to show Herod’s growing obsession.

Rather than recording a complete opera production, Decca and Karajan agreed to focus on this single orchestral piece at the Vienna Sofiensäle in September 1960. The session was managed by the famous Decca producer John Culshaw, who used his signature multi-microphone setup to capture every detail of Strauss’s enormous score. In this acoustic setting, the Vienna Philharmonic brings out a dark, colorful, and highly seductive texture. Karajan emphasizes the transparent woodwind lines and the shifting rhythms of the percussion, making the dance sound like a fluid, hypnotic progression toward the final tragedy rather than just a heavy wall of brass.

 

Track 4: Pagliacci, Act I: Recitar! – Vesti la giubba – Ruggero Leoncavallo
Carlo Bergonzi (Canio) · Orchestra del Teatro alla Scala, Milan · Herbert von Karajan

We close this week’s playlist with the aria that has come to define operatic jealousy. In Ruggero Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci (1892), the aging clown Canio discovers that his young wife Nedda is having an affair. At the end of Act I, just before he has to step on stage to perform a comedy that mirrors his own heartbreak, he breaks down. “Vesti la giubba” is the moment he forces himself to put on his makeup and play the funny clown — while his heart is breaking with jealousy.

There is an irony in Leoncavallo’s own story that is hard to ignore. Pagliacci was his first major success — and essentially his last. Despite a long career, he never managed to repeat it. The opera that made him famous became the standard against which everything else he wrote was measured and found wanting. For a composer, that is its own kind of torment.

“Vesti la giubba” has a long recording history. Enrico Caruso’s 1902 version was one of the first recordings ever to sell a million copies, and the aria has carried that weight ever since—every tenor who takes it on steps into a very long shadow.

Carlo Bergonzi, widely regarded as one of the great Italian tenors of the twentieth century, brings a completely unique style to this role. Pagliacci belongs to the Verismo movement, which usually demands raw, explosive emotions, leading many tenors to perform this aria with a lot of shouting and actual sobbing. Bergonzi, however, was trained as a Belcanto singer, focusing on smooth, beautiful lines and strict vocal control. Instead of crying or shouting, he relies entirely on his vocal technique, holding the long operatic lines exactly as Leoncavallo wrote them. It turns the aria from a theatrical breakdown into a genuinely powerful piece of music.

This recording was made at the Teatro alla Scala in Milan between September 25 and October 5, 1965, and released by Deutsche Grammophon the following year. It comes from a period when Karajan’s relationship with La Scala was at its closest — a partnership explored in more detail in a dedicated Spotlight article on karajan.org.

It is a fitting close to this week’s playlist. Jealousy in “Vesti la giubba” operates on more than one level: Canio’s rage at his unfaithful wife, Leoncavallo’s inability to escape the shadow of his own masterpiece, and every tenor who records the aria stepping into the footprints Caruso left behind in 1902.

 

—  Pia Bernauer (Karajan Institute, Salzburg)