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Ljuba Welitsch’s Salome, seen for the first time this year at the Metropolitan Opera on Monday evening, has the sweep, carrying power and effect of a whirlwind. It is a characterization which fills the stage with grandeur and excitement and galvanizes the on-looker, stuns him, stimulates him and gives him something he will not soon forget.

To Salome’s passion for the prophet Jokannan she brings the qualities of pride and frenzy. And when that passion, unsatiated, leads into depravity she launches into a savagery the part demands. As a result, from beginning to end, there is mounting tension; at no time is there a let-up; and at all times there is vibrancy and power to her portrayal. A power, I might add, which is considerable and had me all the way through quite under its spell.

The appeal of the opera itself has always struck me as being quite great, however basic it may be. There are few operas or theater pieces which frankly suggest the ecstasies of physical love so vividly. Tinged with a neurotic and fanatic flavor the story is out of the realm of our general experience – but not the emotions.

The music which Richard Strauss has given to this drama, then, is music which is sensual and stimulating. It may be ugly and repulsive almost unvaryingly, in both its tunes and dissonances, but it attracts and holds. It exerts, all in all, high pressure and is to classical music, I would say, what boogie-woogie is to jazz. At least it has much the same effect on its separate audiences, and serves the same purpose. And both need just the right interpreters to make the inner passions of the music explicit.

In the pivotal role of Salome, Miss Welitsch is red-hot and gives off, so to speak, all sorts of sparks that make her interpretation as fiery as it is immense. When she confronts Jokanaan, whom she has summoned from the cistern, the words of her passion spill out, she harangues, stomps in rage. When she is repulsed, she flings her cape in defiance, grits her teeth. And in the Dance of the Seven Veils, which she addresses to both the stepfather who is in love with her and to the unseen prophet, whom she loves and the apostrophe she sings to the head on the silver charger, she has become the frenzied, groveling beast. Quite terrifying. While the opera calls for singers who can first of all cope with the physical action, Miss Welitsch matches that acting with singing that is clear, cool, free and stirring.

In the cast with Miss Welitsch were Kerstin Thorborg, as the Herodias who registers considerable glee over her daughter’s shenanigans; Set Svanholm, as the lascivious and overwhelmed Herod; and Brian Sullivan as Narraboth – all of whom did fine work.

The Strauss opera was preceded by a witty, though unevenly sung production of Puccini’s short and comic “Gianni Schicchi.”

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