Magnificent Götterdämmerung

I had to miss Act III, but listened to it this morning and remain entirely overwhelmed by the experience.

Hans Peter Konig thrilled me as Hagan, his "Hei ho" bit having nearly the same snappy, snarl and oily blackness of Matti Salminen who (for me) remains the greatest interpreter of the role in my experience. Just marvelous.

I really (really) liked Jay Hunter Morris, but still feel he was nearly "too pooped to pop" in Act III, and yet his intensity and natural feel for the role won me over. I get a sense he will learn to better pace his Siegfried and be terrific in the role in the future. I really hope I'm right!

Debbie . . . Debbie had me in tears during the Immolation Scene. Maybe it's lack of sleep on my part, but I was electrified throughout and, while, at several moments, I may have wished for more of a way with the words (though very few moments, actually), and a less curdly-note here and there,Voigt's feel of the role overwhelmed me. Magnificent. I think she shocked the pants off rather a lot of naysayers and predictors of doom. Brava, Madam Voigt, brava!

Maestro Luisi's handling of the entire act (and the entire evening) was propulsive in a way that recalled, for me, Boulez in Bayreuth. While some may complain about the "excessive" speed of the final 20 or so minutes, I found this to be one of the most riveting, thrilling (jaw dropping, in fact) finales in my entire "Ring" experience. Wagner's amazing score truly SOUNDED like water with the aural equivalent of waves and swirls, rapids and falls violently tumbling across the earth. It was shaped so perfectly I am still sitting here, entirely amazed, but the opposite of numb. Before anyone takes sniper shots at me and labels me a heathen, idiot (or worse), let me answer: YES, I've heard, and am a fan of, Furtwangler, Knappertsbusch, Böhm, et al., but this was a unique, wonderful (modern?) reading (despite some blemishes from the band I expect will smooth themselves out over time) that held me as if spellbound.

By the end, I was completely overwhelmed and loved hearing the audience response and the nearly deafening ovations. That made the horrible booing for LePage and Co., all the more horrifying. I really didn't expect it and could not believe the bloodlust of the booing. That it continued straight through,through the rest of the ovation (save the final individual bows - but returned) made me a bit sick. While it may have failed to live up to the expectation and hype, could this have been THAT horrible a production to deserve such a violent interruption to an otherwise emotionally satisfying evening? All I could think, was, "what ill-bred monsters these booers be". I must say, listening to it over the airwaves (ether?) I was startled Margaret and Will didn't mention the booing during their post-performance narrative.

I'm going to listen to the finale again . . . but will stop just short of Maestro Luisi's bow! What a thrilling, wonderful performance and I envy those who were in the house. Bravo a tutti to the Met, Maestro Luisi, the cast . . . and most of all,
to that ol' devil, Wagner!

p.

Lang's Die Nibelungen: Silent Masterpiece

It's difficult for many of us "moderns" to imagine such an elaborate, elegant film could be made in cinema's infancy,and all the more remarakble to consider that just about everything one sees in it is manmade. I was stunned to learn that even the almost too real looking trees in Siegfried turn out to be manmade.

From what I've been able to gather over the years, Lang's take on the Nibelung legend tends to stick more to the "original" tale(s) where Wagner veers into situations and creations inspired by the legends and of his own devices. There's plenty of room at the table for more than one "version" of these legends, which this amazing film (or two films) easily prove. One thing remains true to both: Everybody hates Hagan (or should!)

One of the biggest challenges facing a first timer steeped in the Wagner tradition will be getting used to this tale's Brunhilde. Not so much the heroic daughter of Wotan here, but a fiery, vindictive man eating warrior princess. Her castle on a rocky mountain . . . in Iceland, no less, is protected interestingly: encircled by a sea of flames - the images Lang creates here are jaw dropping.

Brunnhilde (a very butch Hannah Ralph) can be won only if she is bested in three tests of extreme physical endurance - the loss of any one of which guarantees death for the suitor (sound like another ice princess we know?). Gunther "goes for the gold" (pun intended). Lang here adds some elements of humor to the contest that are most welcome - particularly if one takes the challenge of watching the entire epic in a single sitting (recommended).

Siegfried has what I'm guessing to be the first male nude scene in cinema (or in a major motion picture at least) and the story surrounding it is a bit of fun.

As Siegfried, Paul Richter is terrific, what with his bleached blonde chopped mop of hair and heroic stature turning in a rather amazing performance in the title role. He was, apparently however, difficult to work with; incredibly vain - boastful of his handsomeness and perfect physique, fighting constantly with Lang as how best to light him, what angles to shoot him, where he should be in the frame, and on and on. Things reached an absolute impasse when Richter refused to strip down for the scene where he is required to bathe nude in the blood of freshly slain dragon - an act which would render him invincible.

With no time to waste (and happy to take a dig at his difficult leading man), Lang called in Rudolf Klein-Rogge, his less than handsome Attila for the film, who, palm freshly greased, willingly stripped off and climbed into the bloody font without so much as the blink of an eye. Richter stood by watching the filming, infuriated. His vanity caused him to go so far to protest Lang's use of Klein-Rogge as audiences would see his co-star's naked and inferior physique and assume it was him!

The second film in Lang's Nibelung epic, "Kriemhilde's Revenge," is, in its way, even more impressive. The entire look of the thing is possessive of an exoticism that many "exotic" epic films today fail to rise to the level of, much less exceed.

As good as everyone is, the performance to take one's breath away comes from Margarete Schön - Kriemheld in both films. Docile and dutiful, in Siegfried she does an almost unrecognizable turnabout into a relentless, driven, Queen of the Huns, in "Kriemheld's Revenge" hooking up with Attila himself.

The style and feel of this epic is stunning, and as I said when first seeing it, I simply cannot imagine sets and costumes more stunning than these, particularly the robes with which Kriemheld dons - futuristic/deco patterns overlaid with almost primitive designs.

I challenge anyone thinking themself immune to the lure and magic of silent film to feel that way after watching Lang's masterpiece!

Danke Hildegard Behrens

When each of us estimate the value, the worth of another human being, we do so by several criteria. There is the value this person has to the world at large, then to the more specific "world" they inhabited, and then - more personally - the value they had to us as an individual. Though I never met this woman in person, Hildegard Behrens remains one of the most important people in my life. She has been since I was a teenager and first opened that EMI recording of her as Salome back at the start of her career and of my obsession. To say that her death has had some effect on me would be an understatement. But it is her larger-than-life personality, her artistry, the integration of everything she was and had which she shaped into one of the greatest, most challenging, thrilling artists to have graced the stage in the past century - it is these things I choose to concentrate on, to celebrate and to remember.

I remember that very first time hearing her Salome, placing those black vinyl discs onto my father's turntable and dropping the needle. The next two hours (including picking up, turning over and changing records) our living room had become the ancient Judean court of Herod and his household. The fact our house was surrounded by cedars and cypress trees giving off their scent on that warm afternoon, only added to the sense of occasion, the mystery and the allure. By its end, my entire body was covered in gooseflesh, my heart was pumping wildly and I could almost feel the blood coursing through my veins. Who was this woman?

Over the ensuing decades, I became transported by "this woman's" performances and recordings every chance I could. When she brought her Brunhilde to the Met - I remember watching the telecasts, every night, eschewing invitations from friends to watch so I could make sure my VCR was loaded with tapes enough to not miss a beat. Few evenings in life had thrilled me, had moved me, or enthralled as did those four nights in front of my television set in my little DC basement apartment.

Elektra, Elettra, Marie, Leonore, Senta, Isolde, Tosca . . . Tosca? Yes, Tosca. Though audiences seemed divided (and wildly so) on Behrens as this most Italianate of characters, Behrens remains one of my favorite Toscas. Every note, every gesture, those amazing, beautiful, liquid eyes (which would, in a few more years make the world weep as Wotan bid farewell to his daughter), the violence - wild yet fully feminine, and the most spectacular leap any diva made from a parapet, thrilled me as Tosca should. I recall the first time seeing that leap of hers - I'd never seen a Tosca jump UP from the parapet, and Behrens' Roman diva - for a moment, made me think she was willing her ascension to heaven for that meeting with Scarpia and God . . . and then the violent plunge down to earth. Brava, diva!

Not everything went swimmingly for this great lady, and I recall how, when the Met presented its new Elektra, Behrens was found wanting. A "disaster," claimed many - saying she left the house in shame, never to return. Ha! Behrens was to make one of the greatest of triumphant returns any singer had to that august company - and do so in the same role and production. I recall listening to the Saturday broadcast, and the roar that went up as the lights came back, nearly obliterated my speakers. When it was telecast, I realized I was probably watching THE video I would review and obsess over the most for the rest of my life - or at least a good part of it. Few performances of anything I've witnessed have been as emotionally raw, as heartstoppingly beautiful and terrifying - and as cathartic as "Hildegard Becomes Elektra."

A year or so after the actual event, a friend dropped in to watch this with me one hot summer night, and he used a phrase I've grown to love: "Paolo," he said, "she's singing like there's no tomorrow!" That phrase describes this lady to the teeth: singing like there's no tomorrow!

Recently I watched the now legendary Met Ring and could only sit in wonder and awe, just as I had in my youth. Perhaps more so. The entire thing moved me, but nothing more than Behrens' Brunhilde. I waivered back and forth between which I loved more, her Walkure or Gotterdammerung, and realized: I don't have to choose. Having said that, however, I can think of no more tender, beautiful moment in all of opera than Wotan's Farewell, and here, Behrens, not singing a note - turned this scene into a visual duet as James Morris - remarkable as Wotan - bade farewell to his beloved child. Though far from home, I watched this scene last night via the miracle of the internet - and its poignancy, its genius from composer and artists alike - shattered me in that way that only the greatest works of art can do.

There is so much more to say about this great lady, so many memories flood my mind and make my heart race, but they don't need to be said - they've been felt. They've been felt down to my marrow. She will always be with us and her legacy shall ever speak for itself.

Thank you, Hildegard, for the abundant joy you brought to my life. Your loss is so difficult to take, but your life and light they will continue to burn, to warm, provoke and thrill. "Ruhe, ruhe, du Gott"