Teach Me To Love Parsifal

Some twenty years ago, someone wrote me with what I considered a most unusual request. He had read many of my posts in various internet groups over the years (from the old days of Prodigy, RecMusicOpera, Opera-L, etc.) and noticed my obsession with a few operas, but there was one in particular he was intrigued by, but could not get past a lot of his personal issues with it. He ended his request with the simple words: Teach me to love Parsifal.

Yeah, my head exploded. How does one begin to teach anyone anything, much less a complex, strange opera that many others have difficulty with? I began a series of posts and ramblings I feared would put him off, but instead, it did the opposite. He became even more intrigued, gave in and went on the journey to Montsalvat willingly. I wish I kept the correspondence from him, but his email address I had is no longer active, and the only thing I remember is that his name was John. I wish I had his full name, because by asking that seemingly simple question, John got me to put down in words things about this opera I’d always felt, and frequently spoke of, but had never committed to paper (or as here, the virtual equivalent of paper). The following is my first response of several I’d eventually send him. (Note: I’ve fixed a few typographical errors and tenses, but essentially it is unchanged from the original.)

_________

Very interesting request, John. Parsifal is my favorite of all operas. It hit me early on as a boy without my even understanding “why.” I was made fun of through half my youth because Parsifal was, by nearly everyone I knew, considered a bore . . . a joke even: "a long, boring opera - with even less action than Tristan." As I've grown older, Parsifal seems to have caught on much more than when I was young (or, more likely, I’ve just been exposed to more folk like myself) and where it once seemed to be a rare bird to produce for most houses, these days it seems to bne popping up all over the place. Good.

There are a handful of works which, from their very opening notes, seize my entire being, and the first Vorspiel to Parsifal is at the top of that very short list. Wagner begins it - and he does more than any other composer I know of - oh, so quietly, as though summoning us to the call, almost requiring us to lean forward in our seats in order just to even hear it that music. And . . . when we do, we feels as though we've entered into the middle of a thing that’s already begun. A sense of aural mystery begins to weave itself, drawing us into another dimension . . . another realm. Then (for at least some of us) come the tears. Full confession: I've given up even trying to hold them back, as such a battle shifts my attention to a place - a self-awareness which means it takes me away from the music. I want to be completely . . . entirely absorbed by fascinating thing. And so, I cry.

Perhaps I'm not the proper one to respond to your request, since I'm often accused of being in the Cult of Parsifal (which is not nearly so offensive as being labeled a Callas Widow – though, either term is a bit ridiculous and gives me a dose of the creeps). But, I will freely admit Parsifal is an obsession and, as with any marvelous obsession, I am eternally intrigued by every aspect of it: the more I think I know it, the more I realize how much more there is to discover. It is, for me, a never study. This does not mean it needs to be the same for every other listener or observer of Wagner's final work,  I'm just stating that that is where I'm coming from.

The character of Parsifal himself undergoes one of the more amazing transformations in opera. Merely reading the libretto, or looking at it pragmatically (not recommended) or from a structurally analytical perspective, it can and does seem static, even a bit on the ridiculously simple side. In Parsifal nothing happens - and then everything changes to become . . . the same. But, if one exercises patience, takes the time to examine the development of not just Parsifal's character – but the manner in which Wagner has all of the characters evolve, one just may find himself (as I do still), astounded. Completely.

There have always been complaints regarding Parsifal: the music is overly long for the minimal amount of words carved into the libretto . . . not enough movement or action either onstage, or in the score itself. These are but two often lobbed at Wagner’s final work, and yet, if one allows themselves to take it all in - in its own time, there are countless discoveries to be made . . . endless subtleties to discover in Wagner’s musical treatment of his own text, and how precisely, how perfectly, he sets it.

When we first meet him, Parsifal's speech is almost a stammer; he is coltish, abrupt, one might even say, unmusical. And so it remains until, by the end of the Act, after the conclusion of the first Grail ceremony, he is subdued by what he’s witnessed, completely overwhelmed. He is, in fact, rendered speechless and by this we see his being simultaneously divided between being both perplexed, and awestruck. Gurnemanz, frustrated at this silence, misunderstands, and berates his stupidity – but then, a voice from above reiterates the prophecy we've previously heard heard several times earlier:

Durch Mitleid wissend, der reine Tor 

(the King (and thus, the realm) will be healed by an innocent fool made wise through compassion.)

In the second act, we again hear the stammer-like element of Parsifal's speech, but added to it now is a sense of awe, as understanding and comprehension become clear to the hero. Ever the dramatic genius, Wagner achieves this effect by having Parsifal repeating certain words: Die Wunde! Die Wunde! . . .  Kläge! Kläge! . . . Oh! Oh! . . . Hier - heir!, etc, Through this effect, he allows the singer an opportunity, with each reiteration, to increase the intensity of emotion. In doing this, Wagner amps up everything in a manner that transforms the youth from dullard to enlightenment before our very eyes . . . and by using our ears.

By the end of the act the all of the young knight’s experiences have led to a genuine epiphany, and Wagner has given us us a front row seat to witness this miracle of Parsifal's awakening.

With that awakening comes his ability to know, to comprehend, and fully grasp the tragedy that befell not only Amfortas, but the entire brotherhood of the Knights.

During the duet that anchors this act - an intense exchange between Kundry and Parsifal - something extraordinary happens. Something that I believe is musically and dramatically unique in the entirety of opera, for here there is an intimacy typically reserved for operas more romantic or carnal, and yet Wagner has now transferred those elements into the spiritual realm, which should not be confused with the religious. So, "Don’t do that!" we think, but we need to just give in to Wagner here, for if we allow ourselves to go there, we too are immediat ely caught up in what is so revelatory in this moment: Parsifal's discovery of understanding . . . of compassion,  And it is soul searing. Wagner has invited us to witness the emerging of this empathy which will redeem the fallen Amfortas, heal his wound, and restore order, bringing peace to the suffering community of the Knights of Montsalvat.

One can, of course, mine the work for its rich symbolism which lends itself to as many interpretations as there are people. One can't begin to count the number of  books or papers about those - and I've devoured many of them over the years. But let's stay here for a moment. As we begin the first transformation scene, Parsifal states:

Ich schreite kaum, doch wähn' ich mich schon weit

(I scarcely move, yet already seem to have travelled far.)

Well, if that doesn't just prompt Gurnemanz to utter what is, for me, the greatest single line in in all of opera:

Du siehst, mein Sohn, zum Raum wird hier die Zeit.

(You see my son, time here becomes space.)

By bringing in the time/space continuum, Wagner has opened up an entirely new can of worms. He has introduced another dimension to the experience, and now, an element of the transcendental has inextricably woven itself into the tale. And it blows my mind every single time, no matter how many times I watch and listen to this opera. 

Then there is the character of Kundry - Wagner's fascinating distillation of a handful of women from the various Grail legends. I have written a lot about Kundry (who I consider the most fascinating character Wagner ever created) but will spare you any of that for now.  But be prepared, she is coming.

I haven’t even begun to go into the third act and, despite all these words  I've spilled onto the page, have truly barely touched the tip of the particular iceberg that is Parsifal.  Nonetheless I hope I've provided some semblance of why I love it so much, and why it’s been an obsession of mine since boyhood. 

I will end here by saying this: if we are willing to tune in to Wagner's sensibilities, take them as is  on their own (or his own)  . . . if we allows the entirety of it to wash over us , so to speak, the rewards truly are truly endless,  And yes:  time here does indeed become space.

Fierrabras: Say Goodnight, Franz.

Schubert's Fierrabras has long been poked fun at, considered musically uninteresting, unstageable and given every other imaginable excuse for rarely being produced. Needless to say, I was thrilled to receive the new DVD set starring Jonas Kaufmann. I can honestly say rarely have I been more let down by a production. Musically, it is terrific, but what I had to endure watching was dull, insipid and so over-directed I decided then and there to never warch this again.


Claus Guth's production occurs entirely in a pink-striped drawing room surrounded by 30+ doors, the only scenery, a riduclously oversized chair and piano, the dimensions of which are about 15 feet high with the lid open, and which occupies half of the stage. Seated at the piano is a chubby, diminutive actor miming Schubert, seated in a 4 foot tall high chair, working on (presumably) the score. Awesome. The Schubert Clone looks like James Levine doing a bad Jackie Mason imitation, and seems to have been directed throughout to look "nervous" - his mouth, more often than not, opened in the manner of an inflatable sex doll. It's both annoying and ghastly.

Dialogue is taken away from the characters and given to him, allowing us to hear him shrieking each and every syllable as if in audition for Volker Schlöndorff's "The Tin Drum." His major action is about the stage, handing singers freshly written music and, before they run out of notes, posing their limbs, heads, etc. as if mannequins, into gestures he finds heroic or tragic. The opera has been reduced to a single concept: Schubert staging this misguided pageant in the home of a patron, the characters garbed in the formal wear of the day. Schubert, identifying himself with all three of the heroes means, of course, Roland, Eginhard and Fierrabras are all costumed identically to the composer, right down to his little spectacles. When the four are grouped together, all I could think, "early 19th century boyband."

For the second act, the piano has been to one corner and, of course, tipped over. The men now sport breastplates and wield instead of shields, miniature evergreens. Genius. At the French front Schubert runs about the stage, opening doors to reveal the soldiers; men in suits, and wearing either a Fez or some sort of tiny helmet. To rally his troops, Eginhard pulls out a child's toy horn and blows. The moment is neither cute nor is it heroic.

Whenever a scene ends the stage empties, as Schubert wanders its width, open-mouthed (I swear I saw drool pooling in close ups) more and more bemused and confused than the last time. It's actually ugly and difficult to watch.

Fierrabras' glorious finale is ruined as we spy a prone Schubert atop of piano, feverishly completing the score, and racing to hand copies of it (he did his own copying?) to the chorus and soloists, then arrange them into concert formation as they sight read it, never taking their eyes from the music in their hands.

I can't begin to describe how angry I got watching this. Musically, Fierrabras remains the treasure trove of gorgeous melodies, solos, ensembles, choruses, military music, etc. that I fell in love with years ago, but I felt this a missed opportunity to surprise those who felt Schubert's only worth is to be found in his songs or symphonies. Schubert's symphonic style actually works brilliantly in the work's extended pieces, where solo moves into ensemble with consummate craftsmanship. the aria cum duet for Eginhard and Emma "Der Abend Sinkt Auf Stiller Flur" which morphs from an aria into a duet for Eginhard and Emma, is simply one the most beautiful things Schubert ever wrote.

I'm simply too exhausted . . . and angry from the watching this to go on about the singing other than to say, from top-to-bottom, it is well cast, everyone seguing from dialogue through song splendidly, notably soprano Twyla Robinson's in the most exciting performance of the evening. Kaufmann is predictably excellent (though it is a rather short role) Juliane Banse sounds dark and wild as Emma (reminding me of Mattila in the role some 15-20 years ago) and Laszlo Polgar shows he still has it all in spades. Franz Welser-Most has the Zurich forces working magic and the score really makes a strong case for the opera. If only the staging did.

What should have looked like this:




Instead looks like this:

Lyric Opera's opening night broadcast of Parsifal.

I sincerely hope others were able to tune this past Friday night for Lyric's premiere of their new "Parsifal" by Richard Wagner. There was some thoroughly beautiful singing in what sounds like (at least based upon the descriptions, photos and previews I watched) a tremendous and well thought out production with some magical theatrical effects.

For the naysayers, Paul Groves was (as I expected) the very model of a lyric Parsifal, almost consistently lovely with a fine and thoroughly moving interpretation of the role. There were many well thought out touches and nuances to his singing all night long. Though I only got to hear the radio broadcast, I have heard from a number of friends in attendance last night that Groves was heard just fine in that big house.

Daveda Karanas was a fine, feminine sounding Kundry, sounding more like a young woman than world weary curse victim usually portrayed in the first act. Unfortunately, in the upper reaches of the role in Act 2's great duet, she revealed about as short a top a singer can have and still be labelled a "mezzo." The sounds there were unpleasant, white-sounding shrieks, best quickly hit and forgotten.

Kwangchul Yung once again proved himself to be a Gurnemanz of the highest order, easily in the company of any singer of this role I've heard before him or currently singing it today (and I'm predisposed towards thinking several older singers "own" this role. It was simply gorgeous singing, full of emotion and gorgeous tone. Bravo!

Thomas Hampson was not having his best night, but still as he can usually be relied upon, delivered a touching portrayal of the tortured Amfortas.

Sir Andrew had the orchestra in mostly fine form (some expected brass glitches, etc.) and while no one complained, I did feel he could have used a bit more sweep and less grandeur at times to move things along (most notably during the 2nd transformation scene music). The chorus sounded lovely, particularly so during the opening of the first Grail scene and the operas hushed, closing, mystical moments.

If I could get to Chicago any time soon, I'd be so there!

Met's New Parsifal: Broadcast Review

A good Parsifal stays with me for days and last night's prima threatens (happily) to do just that. I remained awake much of the night thinking about what I heard (and wish I could have seen). For the principal roles I cannot imagine a cast better than last nights.

I had reservations about Ms. Dalaymanin the first act, I like a Kundry to be a bit more "pliable" vocally, and at times
Dalayman had a thickness to her sound that I felt occluded the writing.Nonetheless, in Act II, particularly after her first long narration, and her exchange with Parsfial beginning "War dir fremd noch der Schmerz" . . . here was genuine drama between the pair and I sat up straight for the remainder of the act, sometimes with chills, sometimes with tears.

Peter Mattei gave one of the most exposed readings of Amfortas' first Grail narrative in my entire experience, the voice gloriously rich and pouring out with a velvety sheen that made the character's torment all the more heart rending. Emotionally, it felt as if he was holding nothing back and the voice responded in a manner that enhanced every syllable of the text. Beginning with his pained cry/command to keep the grail covered ("Nein! Lass ihn unhenthüllt! Oh!") my heart began breaking for this wounded grail king. I can only imagine the effect it had on the innocent fool . . . going directly to Wagner's directions being alternately petrified, profoundly moved, and transported.


While some felt Jonas Kaufmann in the title role sounded "tired," I heard nothing that would make me think such. That burly, rich sound which annoys some and thrills others, feels just right in this music (perhaps more than any of his other Wagner roles, though his recent Lohengrin was amazing is still resonates with me powerfullly). His scenes with Gurnemanz both in the first and third acts were highlights and there were moments when the flow of one's voice into the
others revealed a quality that made me think they could've been long lost brothers. Act II slowly, but eventually took fire and Kaufmann truly came into his own at that critical moment singing "Amfortas! Die Wunde! Die Wunde!" with a strength and volume (at least over the radio) that altered the course of the story (as it should). This moment of epiphany was truly revolutionary and I FELT Parsifal's transformation immediately. Amazing, really.

Evgeny Nikitin was a tremendous, evil-sounding Klingsor. I was fully amazed at the almost complete change of voice he made from his entrance "Die Zeit ist da." with this almost thin quality - then growing into menacing mastery as he
summons Kundry forth. Nikitin was appropriately chilling. I look forward to (eventually) seeing how he plays this.

I first saw Rene Pape's Gurnemanz in 2003 (meeting him briefly the night before) and I immediately felt in both voice and interpretation he belonged inthe company of Moll, Salminen and Talvela. In the Good Friday music, Pape's Gurnemanz had me in the palm of his hands. The softening of this character from the first act to this is expressed so beautifully and Pape's command of the language ensures certain phrases that can slip by as little more than beautiful noise from non-native singers are turned into magic. This was particularly noticeable in a phrase like Nun freut sich alle Kreatur" where just the way he pronounces the word "Kreatur" is capable of creating a feeling that goes beyond the notes and the text. Far beyond.

I've seen some very mixed reviews so far on the conducting of Daniele Gatti. I liked what I heard, a lot. Sure there were some problems in the opening Vorspiel . . . enough at the very beginning to actually cause me to cringe a
couple of times, as the synchronization between conductor and about half the orchestra struggled to stay together. Finally, at about 5 minutes in (right around when all we hear are the flutes) . . . following a luftpause they all
seemed to pull together and coalesce and I felt the magic I feared I might not hear. A couple of other bumps along the way aside, I felt Gatti's slowish approach worked very well.

Slow, however, was not what we heard at the opening of the second act. Here, Gatti and the band blasted their way through Klingsor's music in a manner that would've made Boulez' head spin . . . it certainly did mine, and I LOVED the
almost dizzying effect Gatti provided here. (No, I don't want to always here it this way, but it was fun, and why not have a little horror house fun here?) I felt the temple scenes worked beautifully, Gatti and his singers finding the right (if frequently slowish) pace and the final moments were sublime.

I read where someone mentioned that listening last night the final sung note of the opera was completely inaudible. Not over my transmission and I've played it several times . . . it's ethereal and floating just the way it is supposed to.

I loved the inteviews with Terrance McNally and first lady of punk (and a personal idol) Patti Smith. Each offered their own thoughts on Wagner in general and Parsifal in particular. Insightful, contemporary and thought provoking from a pair I'd expect nothing less from.

So, all-in-all a terrific night of music making, the Met's musical forces allowing me to hear my favorite work while far away from Lincoln Center. That's a miracle in itself.