(Photo: Matt Dine)

On June 6, 2025, Carnegie Hall hosted the American Symphony Orchestra’s concert revival of Richard Strauss’s first opera, “Guntram.” Rarely mentioned alongside “Salomé” or “Der Rosenkavalier,” “Guntram” reveals a young composer grappling with grand ideas. Strauss stumbled, learned, and went on to compose a total of fourteen operas.

Audiences can hear Wagner in nearly every bar of “Guntram;” call it musical fan fiction. Strauss moved beyond mere imitation and forged his own voice with the operas that followed. His bold attempt with “Guntram,” though unsuccessful, propelled him forward.

“Guntram’s” plot explores crime, punishment, and redemption through a clear three-act arc:

Act one: Guntram rescues Freihild and vows to reform Duke Robert.
Act two: He kills Robert during a peasant uprising and surrenders himself.
Act three: He refuses mercy, choosing exile to atone not just for murder in self-defense but for loving another man’s wife.

Premiere and Aftermath

Written between 1887 and 1893, “Guntram” premiered in 1894, under Strauss’s baton in Weimar, to a lukewarm reception. Munich’s judgment was outright cold, and the work faded into obscurity. The wound lingered until his death, but it did not stop the composer, who continued to write thirteen more operas.

The score carries Wagner’s imprint: a wandering minstrel, an oppressed duchess, a brutal duke—ideals pitted against power. Strauss wrote his own verses and wove recurring motifs into an uninterrupted musical fabric. In one unusual move, never repeated, he centered the drama on a tenor while tailoring the soprano role for his wife, Pauline.

Strauss’s success with tone poems like “Don Juan” (1888) and “Death and Transfiguration” (1889) showcases his talent for poetic narrative. That same talent shines in his libretto for “Guntram:” concise, vivid verses that propel the drama without a single wasted word.

Freihild (Act One, scene two)
“Don’t you see death there, hovering over the lake?
A gentle angel, promising redemption beckons to me…
‘Welcome,’ murmur the waters, ‘welcome.’”

Guntram (Act Two, scene one)
“I see a sumptuous, glittering feast,
the celebration of a victory won with blood;
I heard jubilant praising of strength
and flattering home to the victor’s grace!
Sadly I stand,
a stranger in the midst of all this glitter.
…I guard a memory,
a beautiful image,
I see peace,
floating in the rosy sky of evening.”

Orchestral Partnership

Seventy players in the pit gave the drama its lush current under Leon Botstein’s exacting direction. Bombast and intimacy traded places at every cue. Onstage, fourteen vocalists and the Bard Festival Choir under James Bagwell stayed tight. Carnegie Hall’s acoustics work against singers backed by a full orchestra; without a recessed pit, the band sits close behind the cast, forcing voices to either ride the sound or be swallowed up.

Range, shading, and presence made Angela Meade’s portrayal of Freihild’s turmoil evident. No libretto was needed; the emotion was self-evident. Meade’s squillo rang clear, and her strength was unmistakable. Of particular note was Freihild’s suicide attempt in Act one. The relatively short exchanges between her character and Guntram struck quickly and powerfully, with no drawn-out monologues. Strauss’s own verses carry the scene.

Strauss’s success with tone poems like “Don Juan” (1888) and “Death and Transfiguration” (1889) explains the opera’s vivid, striking imagery. He was already writing with dramatic color.

Angela Meade as Freihild met that challenge, cutting through the swell, her strength unmistakable.

Meade’s co-star, tenor John Matthew Myers, is a true heldentenor, with a deep, resonant sound. His voice never flagged even after extensive singing in Acts one and two. By the time Act three began, he had already logged over an hour onstage and still sang every phrase with gusto.

Supporting Cast

Other principals included bass-baritone Kevin Short as the Old Duke—his grave tone suited the part—baritone Alexander Birch Elliott as Duke Robert (Freihild’s husband), whose menace stayed grounded, and bass-baritone Nate Mattingly  jumping in for Christopher Job as Freihild’s brother.

Leon Botstein guided his band with steady hands, navigating both thunderous climaxes and hushed interludes without grandiosity, but with passion. Botstein’s approach isn’t about podium theatrics; his energy stayed controlled, always in service of the musicians, not himself.

Botstein and the American Symphony Orchestra built their reputation on reviving neglected scores, and this “Guntram” was no exception. Wagner’s influence is unmistakable, but you also hear the seeds of Strauss’s later triumphs. If there is a lesson in “Guntram,” it is this: early setbacks fuel future greatness. Success, as they say, is the finest revenge. And while Botstein and the musicians weren’t seeking to prove the 19th-century critics wrong, the evening was just that: a success.