Parsifal: Memories of the World Premiere

On the 26th of July, we celebrated the 143rd anniversary of the world premiere of Wagner's inal music drama, Parsifal. Rather than calling it an opera, the composer referred to it as a Bühnenweihfestspiel, in English, a stage consecratoin festival play. For those who share my near cultish obsession with this masterpiece there is a wealth of material and fascinating accounts of its creation, premiere and all other manner of Parsifilian lore and facts, but for anyone who hasn't read it, I can't recommend highly enough Charles Dudley Warner's account of the world premiere of Parsifal.  He shared his thoughts, writing at length about it for The Atlantic, his account being published in January 1883.  A most insightful and revealing piece it is, in its way, nearly as moving as Wagner's final work itself.  Warner describes in great detail the intricacies of the the staging, (more than some may like) but does so with such heartfelt enthusiasm and awe, it pulled this reader back into another time and space (see what I did there?)  One gets a sense of where he is coming from (and where he is going to go) from the introduction:

It is the purpose of this paper to give the impression made by the performance of Parsifal at Baireuth, last summer, in view of certain strictures upon the motive of the drama, and without any attempt at musical criticism. In order to do this, I shall have to run over the leading features of the play, already given in the newspapers. Criticism enough, and of an unfavorable sort, there has been, though I heard none of it in Baireuth, nor ever any from those who had been present at the wonderful festival. Perhaps that was because I happened to meet only disciples of Wagner. I fancy that the professional critics, who did publish depreciating comments upon the new opera, and upon Wagner’s methods in general, felt more inclined to that course after they had escaped from the powerful immediate impression of the performance, from the atmosphere of Baireuth, and begun to reflect upon the responsibilities of the special critics to the world at large, and what in particular was their duty towards the whole Wagner movement, assumption, presumption, or whatever it is called, than they did while they were surrounded by the influences that Wagner had skillfully brought to bear to effect his purpose on them.

* * * * 

Of the ending of Act I Dudley wrote:

During the repast of which Amfortas has not partaken, he sinks from his momentary exaltation, the wound in his side opens afresh, and he cries out in agony. Hearing the cry, Parsifal clutches his heart, and seems to share his agony, but otherwise he stands motionless . . . the knights rise . . . slowly depart in the order in which they came. To the last Parsifal gazes in wonder; and when his guide comes to speak to him, he is so dazed that Gurnemanz, losing all patience at his unresponsive stupidity, pushes him out of the door, and spurns him for a fool. The curtains sweep together, and shut us out from the world that had come to seem to us more real than our own.

For a moment we sat in absolute silence, a stillness that had been unbroken during the whole performance. There was not a note of applause, not a sound. The impression was too profound for expression. We felt that we had been in the presence of a great spiritual reality. I have spoken of this as the impression of a scene. Of course it is understood that this would have been all an empty theatrical spectacle but for the music, which raised us to such heights of imagination and vision. For a moment or two, as I saw, the audience sat in silence; many of them were in tears. Then the doors were opened; the light streamed in. We all arose, with no bustle and hardly a word spoken, and went out into the pleasant sunshine.

I recall the first time I read this description, I could feel my heart swelling, recalling my own experiences with the opera, and imagining his.I loved this.

Warner went on with a moving description of the curtain at the end of the second act:

When the act ended, the audience, still under the spell of the music . . . sat, as before, silent for a moment. Then it rose en masse, and turned to the high box in the rear, where, concealed behind his friends, Wagner sat, and hailed him with a long tempest of applause.

Finally, there is the sharing of his overall experience with Parsifal:

I, for one, did not feel that I had assisted at an opera, but rather that I had witnessed some sacred drama, perhaps a modern miracle play. There were many things in the performance that separated it by a whole world from the opera, as it is usually understood. The drama had a noble theme; there was unity of purpose throughout, and unity in the orchestra, the singing, and the scenery. There were no digressions, no personal excursions of singers, exhibiting themselves and their voices, to destroy the illusion.

The orchestra was a part of the story, and not a mere accompaniment. The players never played, the singers never sang, to the audience. There was not a solo, duet, or any concerted piece 'for effect.' No performer came down to the foot-lights and appealed to the audience . . No applause was given, no encores were asked, no singer turned to the spectators. There was no connection or communication between the stage and the audience. Yet I doubt if singers in any opera ever made a more profound impression, or received more real applause. They were satisfied that they were producing the effect intended. And the composer must have been content when he saw the audience so take his design as to pay his creation the homage of rapt appreciation due to a great work of art.

I'm listening to today to a magnificent live performance from the place it all began: Bayreuth. It is under the leadership of Pablo  Heras-Casado - who has become a magnificent interpreter and for me approaches the level of Knappertsbusch and his legendary performances from the same house 70+ year ago. Today's cast is one of the best that can be assembled: Andreas Schager (Parsifal), Georg Zeppenfeld (Gurnemanz), Michael Volle (Amfortas), Ekaterina Gubanova (Kundry) and Jordan Shamajam (Klingsor), and Tobias Kehrer.  It's almost time for the second act so . . . 

Enthüllet den Gral! - Öffnet den Schrein!

A PARSIFAL IN BERGEN: Some Thoughts

 

Opera in concert is always an interesting pursuit that offers possibilities distinct from traditionally staged opera.  On the one hand, performances in an opera house are (generally) exactly what the composer had in mind when setting his or her libretto to music. This is true regardless of the type of staging, be it so called "traditional" or "regie": singers in costume, directed on a stage with sets, props, lighting design and all of the other accoutrement we typically associate with a night at the opera.  Concert opera, in and of itself, at least until more recent decades, rarely veered from singers in evening attire (i.e., gowns and tuxedos/tails) more frequently than not reading from scores and (mostly) immobile, standing in front of the orchestra, which would take up most of the stage.  

Over the last twenty years or so, we have witnessed an increasing amount of performances combining elements of both; old-fashioned "stand and sing" concert performances, along with theatrical components in the form of acting, costumes sometimes with, and sometimes without props (which are generally kept to a minimum). This hybrid, instead of limiting the effectiveness of either tradition, has the potential to elevate both. With economic downturns, particularly beginning with the Aughts, then continuing through COVID, the budgets of nearly every performing arts organization have been slashed and companies disbanded. The "concert staging" of opera offers opera companies, as well as symphony orchestras, to make a mark, to, with less financial resources, find creative ways to present grand opera. The results are, naturally, mixed, but when it works, boy howdy is it effective..

Such was the case with Norway's Bergen Philharmonic when yesterday they presented - and streamed worldwide - a concert staging of Wagner's final opera, "Parsifal."  The excellent orchestra took up about 90 percent of the stage, with a smallish platform behind the conductor that held a few pieces: a table, some chairs (which were arranged and rearranged according to staging necessities by the singers themselves), and a large settee for the central act.  Costumes by Cathrine Ahlsen were a broad combination of jeans, plaid shirts, hoody, sweaters, military uniforms, with a knock-out white silk brocade Nehru suit for the hero during the final scene.  There were flowery print dresses, and headdresses for the Blumenmädchen, basic black for the Grail Knights,  Throw in a wheelchair and beret for Titurel, a flowered drape over the settee to represent the magic garden, a spear and the Grail, and that was pretty much all there was.  Minimalism to perfection.  

In the hands of Nicolai Riise, a director with vision, and in the voices of a sublime cast, everything one could want from a Parsifal was present.  Additionally, the orchestra, so vitally important in opera, but especially in Wagner, being seen onstage, became part of the fabric of the staging itself; not invisible as Wagner intended, but an element that added rather than distracted. The experience was, we imagine, a bit different for the in-house audience than it was for the home viewer (which is always the case) as we at home were offered spectacular camera angles, close-ups, and arresting overhead shots from the multiple cameras. When we caught glimpses of Maestro Edward Gardner, he seemed both completely in control of the entire venture, while at the same time almost transfixed and transfiguring throughout the performance.

British bass, Rindley Sherratt seemed a wise, already world-weary Gurnemanz from the start, but then with flashes of passion of purpose. The voice was rich, resonant and glorious throughout the first act's long narratives and his exchanges with Kundry and the young fool Parsifal made for moving theatre. This was especially true in the pre-Transformation exchange as he attempts to describe what the Grail is and does. He was equally effective in the final act, and if the Good Friday scene sounded a bit more strained or tired in its upper regions, it, to me, did not matter as his singing was still of such beauty and imbued with emotion revealing the hope for what was to come. 

 

Ricarda Merbeth's Kundry was appropriately fiery, fierce when called for, with beautiful hints of vulnerability. It is a bigger-voiced Kundry than we often hear now in the role, and I loved the sound, and it's always fun to have a singer not afraid to scream and laugh where indicated, which is something we rarely hear anymore. 

I feared Johann Reuter was not up to Amfortas and in Scene 1, the sound was terse and unfocused, leaving me nervous for his big scene later in the act. Fortunately, the voice sounded almost entirely different, richer, smoother and even. It was an interesting and unusual acting choice, this Amfortas more bitter and skeptical, indeed, laughing at the end of the ceremony, which added a chilling dimension to the role; a sort of doubting Thomas, if you will.

Stuart Skelton had some physical and (unintentional) acting awkwardness in Parsifal's first scene, but the way the role is written, so does just about every tenor (the memory of an unwigged, gray-haired 63 year old Domingo comes immediately to mind), but his expressive face, physical reactions to all around him, and most importantly, the voice, added into an admirable and powerfully moving turn as the wayward youth and future king. 

 Ólafur Sigurdarson had a field day as Klingsor, looking almost like a cross between a pimp and Wotan, offering a brightness of tone not usually associated with the great evil one. He made for, if I dare say it, a fun villain in one of the most serious works ever penned. His Flower Maidens at their first appearance had the feel of a special Spring Spectacular of "Call the Midwife" in their flowery frocks and flowered coronets, the Jackboots adding yet another oddly marvelous touch. They sang like angels and in their limited space, swayed with ease if not elegance as they attempted to seduce their prey.

There were many marvelous directorial touches by Nicolai Riise that would have worked as perfectly (I think) in a fully staged Parsifal. The final scene finds Klingsor and his girls running and kneeling before King Parsifal, who in a powerfully moving (if controversial) gesture raises Klingsor up, the symbol of ultimate forgiveness.  Already being choked up, I must admit to this putting me over the edge emotionally.  I love when that happens.  Monika Jägerová as The Voice From Above gets to be seen for a change, here as white gowned angel, who appears again in the final pages, as Parsifal relinquishes the Grail to Kundry (who holds it aloft, the crimson glow bathing her finally serene face), and gives Parsifal the Dove of Peace.

Ivar Skjørestad's lighting designs added a sense of time passing, and nice effects like the lightning flashes at Klingsor's stormy entrance. 

This was, for me, a Parsifal of profound power and beauty drawing me in both through its minimal theatrical magic and its magnificent music making.

Serebrennikov's Parsifal from Vienna: Profound and Compassionate

Images of  Kirill Serebrennikow's new production of Wagner's final opera, "Parsifal," have been playing in my head constantly since finishing watching it, filmed live at the Vienna State Opera.
Being my favorite opera, I've seen and listened to countless productions, either live or on video.  Serebrennikow's ranks among the very best, if also among the most disturbing.  

Set in a rundown Russian prison, the normally placid Grail Knights here become prisoners - violent, corrupt, proud, but every bit as doomed as in Wagner's original  The director, (who is under house arrest and had to direct from Russia via camera) is clearly knowledgeable of the enormity of Russian Prison Tattoo Culture, and here, the ink flows and is on display constantly.  We even watch on as Gurnemanz tattoos one of his fellow prisoners.  The tattoo culture brings the men together and, in a sexualized, capitalist way, is their legacy to the outside world. 

In and out of that world is Kundry, who appears to be an opportunistic  photo journalist fascinated by these men who easily stop their fighting to remove clothing articles, striking poses they appear to perceive as dominating masculinity.  They may be aware of being used, but also aware, it's all they have.

The first two acts represent a memory play for the hero who is now older, and invisible, watching as if a ghost - the violent, lonely history of his past, younger self - the innocent fool.  Serebrenikow fills the action with symbolism and uses this premise to create an unexpected if pointed poignancy that belies the violence of this microcosm.  At one point, Parsifal watches himself asking "Wer ist der Gral?"  And, clearly having played this moment over a thousand times in his mind, mouths the answer Gurnemanz provides.  

Another moment:  As Amfortas, mad with self-inflicted pain, is finishing his howling - just before the Grail ceremony music begins he scrawls the first part of the lynchpin on which everything hangs:   "Durch Mitleid wissend,"  - "Enlightened through compassion. . . "   and is shown that compassion first by Gurnemanz, then by the boy Parsifal who gently caresses the head of Amfortas, before embracing him, and in a gesture of comfort and respect, kneeling beside, then placing his head on the tortured king's shoulder.  

The act continues with these overwhelming images, matched to Wagner's magnificent score, and ends as solemnly and beautifully as any production you might imagine. With such an overwhelming first act, the ensuing ones have their work cut out for them.  Unfortunately, each begins somewhat weaker, less inspired and gave me cause for concern that the best was not yet to come. 

Fortunately, both acts, whether by design or "just one of those things" spring into life midway through and are, in their own way, equal to the mesmerizing first.   Throughout all three acts, a trio of enormous projection screens above the stage provide us a voyeur's perspective of the prison goings on - which can make for tough viewing - as well as the young Parsifal's journey to, in, and out of the beautiful, haunting ruins of the prison and the beauty of nature surrounding it.

I could go on with more of the imagery that provides emotional suckerpunches, i.e., the meeting of the two Parsifals, Kundry's ultimate recognition of who this hero is, the heart tugging (and Fidelio-esque) opening of the prison, but must stop somewhere.

Silent throughout, young Russian actor Nikolay Sidorenko - bearing a striking resemblance to a young Kaufmann, portrays the youthful Parsifal powerfully, his journey (both onstage and onscreen) moving and inspirational.

Musically, this is as satisfying a Parsifal as I can recall.  I don't believe anything is "perfect" - but this comes about as close to that mark as it gets.  

Jonas Kaufmann gives, for me, the most complete performance I've seen from him in any role, vocally and theatrically - he is perfect, the voice sounding more "tenorish" than baritonal and (at least in this recording) able to pour out the sound in a way I've not heard from him live or on recording. 

Perfect IS the word I want to use in describing Georg Zeppenfeld's Gurnemanz - a role I've now seen/heard him twice in, and who is the finest interpreter of it today.  I'd add him - quite easily - to the best who've ever sung it.

Of late, Amfortas is portrayed with more and more violence and/or torture, and Ludovic Tezier's Amfortas while definitely in that mold, is still somehow different.  His beauty of tone is here used to express a world of pain that is outside of anything else we see or hear in this production.

In one of the most significant role debuts in memory Elīna Garanča, with Serebrennikow's inspiration, puts a spin on Kundry unlike any of past temptresses I can recall.  Physically, with her silver wig, she remains one of the most gorgeous creatures the world of opera has been privileged to see.  Vocally, Wagner's anti-heroine has seldom sounded as good.  Even through all ranges, her top notes have a shine, a security and power, that eludes most mezzos, as well as sopranos who attempt the role.  

The chorus of the State Opera is the equal of the principals, offering up volume and when required (which is often) a hushed tenderness that is  heavenly.

Philippe Jordan begins the opening Vorspiel and shapeshifts it in a manner that befits what we shall see over the next four and one half hours.  At times, I found his conducting a bit foursquare and with an almost martial quality.  When I thought about the setting, and the drama as given here, it made perfect sense.  The tightness would, without forewarning, grow, gleam and expand into a tonal universe that was filled with awe and wonder, taking the earthbound and sending it into the heavens.

Serebrennikow is already receiving angry criticism from traditionalists who cannot find their way into accepting this type of interpretation.  Sadly, much of that criticism is coming from those who have not - and never will - bother to experience it for themselves.  

As for me?  I can only praise all of the efforts made to bring this to life during this impossible time, right down to having to film the production because of an outbreak of the dreaded COVID-19.  I can't think of a Parsifal more appropriate for our time.

A Met Parsifal to Remember

I was fortunate to be able to attend the final performance of the long awaited revival of François Girard's production of Wagner's Parsifal at the Metropolitan Opera. Perhaps I should change the word "fortunate" to "blessed." Parsifal is my favorite opera, I've heard and seen it many times, in a number of productions and I have no hesitation in stating Girard's is, hands down, the most perfect, emotionally gripping productions in my experience so far. Everything about it spoke to me in a way that was as much spiritual as it was "theatre." And what gripping theatre it was. Mr. Girard was, of course aided by Wagner's masterpiece, so a lot of the work was already laid out for him. This does nothing to lessen his accomplishment, but, in tandem, Wagner and Girard worked magic on a level that is rare in any opera house, and the Met does itself proud by the production of this union.


I have watched this production many times in its HD and video format (shout out to Met on Demand, worth its weight in gold) but nothing could quite have prepared me for the effect it had - nor the spell it wove on me - experiencing it in the house. Girard may have updated this to another era, possibly even the future, but he filled it with symbolism, gestures and experiences that felt as ancient as the first humans to walk upright. He explored Wagner's text more thoroughly than any traditional production I've experienced, including our relationship to animals and nature. The stating was complex in what it asked of its participants, far more so than could be gleaned from video; the constant movement, gesticulations, bowing, hand and arm gestures were dazzling, and mysteriously moving in their effect. They were not just "show," but filled with purpose, a history that, even if one could only guess and still not understand (as was my case) added to the sense of awe and wonderment Wagner built in to his libretto and score. There was at times, especially when viewed from the balcony and higher levels, the look of a heavily choreographed musical, not in a cheap, or frilly way, but just beautiful, the concentric circles of the Knights, for example had a "June Taylor Dancers" quality about it that surprised me yet fit perfectly to the staging and story.

The constant changing of backgrounds, shifting with the mood and color of the music was never less than breathtaking, and, while some I know complained about them, I felt only enhanced and heightened what was happening in the pit and onstage.

Musically, things could hardly have been improved upon. Maestro Yannick Nézet-Séguin led the Met orchestra and chorus in a masterful way that belies his experience, the participants responding completely to everything he asked of them. The cast was about as fine an ensemble of singers as has even taken part in a Parsifal, going back to the beginning of anyone alive's memory.

Foremost in that cast was the first voice we hear, Gurnemanz, here in the person of Rene Pape. There have been other beautifully sung Gurnemanz - Salminen, Hines, Moll and Siepi spring to mind - but for me, no singer has approached the text as delicately and as meaningfully as Pape has, particularly in this run. Some say Pape is not a particularly good actor, but I will say, as Gurnemanz, I can't recall a singer getting as "into the skin" of this character as this man has. Every gesture, facial expression, tear and note was of a piece, creating a Gurnemanz of enormous emotional and spiritual wisdom and depth. As opposed to his first Gurnemanz - a true figure of authority - here was a man of great humility and complete service to his order. His phrasing throughout was as delicate and purposeful as a lieder singer. Moments were caressed and uttered with an almost otherworldly beauty, and phrases such as:

"Nun freut sich alle Kreatur
auf des Erlösers holder Spur,
will sein Gebet ihm weihen."

are burned forever into my memory. It was that kind of performance.

Peter Mattei was a surprise the first time he approached Amfortas, a surprise in the very best sense, indeed. With a timbre lighter than we are normally used to hearing in the role, this was a youthful King whose suffering made one pity him in the most honorable sense. Mattei, with that beautiful voice, was capable of making us not only sympathetic to Amfortas, he went so far as to break out hearts and share in that pain. It was nothing short of remarkable. His restoration at the opera's denouement made us feel that the title character's own painful journey, was worth the trip, both to the opera house, and Monsalvat itself.

In most performance I have always felt Klingsor was never as deliciously malevolent as Wagner painted him. All that changes in the performance of Evgeny Nikitin. Here was juicy, brutal, unhinged menace, booming of voice and owning his place in the dark realm. There were subtle touches unseen (by me) before, for example, in his short prelude, Nikitin's Klingsor is not only ringing his hands and painting himself with blood, but he mimics some of the gestures of the grail ceremony we'd witnessed in the first act, most notably the kissing of the fingers which previously was passed from brother-to-brother, yet Klinsor has no one to pass this onto. There was a sort of pain, then anger on his face as his hands reached out to . . . no one. The moment was simultaneously telling, touching and chilling.


He was matched in his movements in the brilliantly choreographed movements of the Blumenmädchen who moved as one and made for as spectacular a stage picture as one could hope for. The singing by these "girls" was sensuous and had a youthful femininity that seemed fresh and erotic - both welcome elements. These were not middle aged women in flowing caftans trying to lure a pudgy tenor dressed as a boy, but physically alluring, manipulative menaces using their wiles. It was, in a word; hot.

Evelyn Herlitzius, who made her company debut in this run, presented us with richly drawn, emotionally gripping
Kundry. Bolder and perhaps more wild than many before her both vocally and dramatically she "felt" like Kundry. There was not the beauty of tone of, say, Crespin (who compared in that department?) or Troyanos, and top notes were on pitch, though often lunged at, the effect was special and one just believed this was Kundry.

In the title role we were treated to a much lighter sounding Parsifal than anyone can probably recall . . . certainly in my memory there has been no tenor who made this same effect. The "boyish" timbre of his voice bothered some, but me, not at all. While the voice has a "thin" quality to it, Vogt projects it masterfully, and made me believe every moment. I'd heard criticisms that Parsifal should sound "older" in the final act, but I personally don't buy into that. Most of us have had the same voice quality since we were young, and, as a friend told me (paraphrasing someone), "your voice is your voice, you can't pick up another one up at the corner store" adding, "especially during a second intermission."

As one always hopes for every opera, particularly Parsifal, the audience was about as well behaved as could be, coughing was at a minimum (usually only when dust seemed to blast out of the air conditioning system), no applause before the music was finished, everyone seemed hushed and caught up in the moment. Indeed, at the ovation, everything that had been held in check was given ample opportunity to explode, and that's the correct word for what happened when the curtain rose for bow time. Every singer received sustained applause and cheers, the chorus was roared at as was the incoming Music Director, who, after working so hard for so long, could not contain himself, running to every corner of the stage, hugging and shaking hands with a youthful exuberance that bodes well for the company's future. All things came together in a way that was uniquely special, and I received what I always want from a Parsifal: everything in the world.

Photos by Ken Howard taken from multiple internet sources

Parsifal at The Met: Revival Redemption at Monsalvat

I had some difficulty tuning in last night and, there were several glitches on Sirius including an infuriating “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System . . . “ a few minutes into one of Gurnemanz’s 3rd act monologues and worse – Sirius dropping out during Parsifal’s final line and receiving the “content not available” message before Mahler began playing from another Sirius channel. Even these, however couldn’t (fully) spoil the effect that was being made over the air, and, based on good evidence, emanating from the house itself.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin led what can only be described as an extraordinary reading of an extraordinary score and his love for this score was made palpable in its execution. Moments, like some of those orchestral interludes during Gurnemanz’s monologues that change its tone which many others either gloss or languish over, here crackled with life, a vibrancy in the strings that was electric. The first transformation scene went about as beautifully as Knappertsbusch, with a similar sense of moving forward and at Gurnemanz’s response (my favorite line from any opera) to Parsifal’s observation:

"Du siehst, mein Sohn,
zum Raum wird hier die Zeit!"

We were all along for that journey. Here was shape and form, expansive where it needed to be, then firm . . . taut with a momentum like some great galactic force pulling each of us, inexorably, into its core. I was, as I always want to be by Parsifal, overwhelmed and transported.



That same care and detail, without being over precious was to be heard also in the Good Friday music, every measure part of the journey.

In the title role Klaus Florian Vogt will not likely be to the liking of some (most?) of our listers here. My first encounter with him – about ten years ago – found me perplexed . . . the tone that, I thought, of a countertenor. After a few years I’ve come to love his interpretations of both Parsifal and Lohengrin. Vogt began his musical career as a horn player with the Philharmoniker Hamburg and played in the pit for Parsifal. There is a purity of tone – almost treble like – in his singing that I feel works wonderfully in this role paired against both Frau Herlitzius and Herr Pape
brought an interesting aural tapestry, all the richer for its inclusion of light.

Making her company debut, Evelyn Herlitzius offered a wonderfully drawn Kundry. Bolder than many, more wild than some in her delivery. When she wanted sleep, you just know that no one in the world has ever been more exhausted than this lady. She took interesting liberties with her laugh at Klingsor – beginning it earlier and lasting longer and less “measured” than one is generally accustomed to. She was sensational and different than my other favorite Kundries who offered more plush to their sound (think Ludwig, Troyanos, et. al.) and more in the Modl and Meier vein. Whatever she did, it all boiled down to making me believe she really was Wagner's most fascinating character.

Of Klingsor, all one can say of Evgeny Nikitin is that he sings the role as though born to it. Too often for my taste has Klingsor had a wiry sound, more “Merlin the Magician” not enough menace. Not so Nikitin who roars through the part like a beautiful, sexy howling beast. There was evil, snarling beautifully through and, for some folks who like the darker side, there is a sinister, sensuality in the terror he offers with no apology. Brilliant.

His Blumenmädchen sounded sexier than usual, girly and wild (“Girls Gone Wild,” I remarked to friends last night on FB). They definitely didn’t sound like middle-aged matrons in caftans beckoning a hefty tenor in boy’s clothing. There was definite “snap” going on in their sound which somehow managed to be both luscious and lean. Delightful.

When Peter Mattei first took on Amfortas everyone (including me) thought why? Well, he showed us all why when this production first appeared here, and, as though we could possibly forget, reminded us again last night. The elegiac quality of his suffering is exquisitely portrayed, the sound, focused, unforced, open with a raw beauty so exposed it almost feels “raw.”

Rene Pape has, from the beginning, been one of the most beautifully sung, sonorous Gurnemanz in my experience. He belongs up there with the best interpreters of the role. While at this stage of the game a singer could just offer what he knows would “sell” – Pape goes beyond this. One can hear some age in his voice, softening the old knight’s sternness, and, if at all possible, deepening the intensity, whilst balancing it with gentleness. Nowhere was this more evident than in the Good Friday music, where he evokes nature itself and spins out such tenderness in:

"Nun freut sich alle Kreatur
auf des Erlösers holder Spur,
will sein Gebet ihm weihen."

Just his mere utterance of “Kreatur” is a model of exquisite word painting.

Everything about this performance lifted my heart up last night, made me glad to be alive right now regardless of what else is happening in this crazy world. For six hours last night we had the opportunity to be lost in the time space continuum on our way to Monsalvat.

I can hardly wait to experience this live in a few weeks – and that, friends, is an understatement.

Photo Credits: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Considering Kundry: Wagner's Most Fascinating Character

Years ago my feathers got ruffled when I read an article arguing Kundry leaves an insignificant impact in Wagner's Parsifal. He stated incorrectly Kundry's only lines are in Act 2 "and even then limited," and suggested it doesn't even matter WHO sings Kundry, and expressed wonder as to why any singer with a major career would take on this unrewarding role.

Of course, Kundry being one of the characters I find the most fascinating in the world of opera, I nearly fell from my chair and responded with my having heard seen and/or heard (live or on recording) Kundry sung by the likes of Maria Callas, Christa Ludwig, Martha Modl, Jessye Norman, Tatiana Troyanos, Angela Denoke, Catherine Malfitano, Waltraut Meier, Renata Scotto, Rita Gorr, Leonie Rysanek, Irene Dalis, Violetta Urmana, Regine Crespin, Linda Watson, Katarina Dalayman, Petra Lang, Eva Randova, Yvonne Minton, Michelle DeYoung, Anne Gjevang, Gillian Knight, Gwyneth Jones. Evidence enough of the role's power to attract a widely diverse roster of celebrated singers.

I can think of few characters more fascinating, more troubling, more perplexing and ultimately more touching, than Wagner's hybrid distillation of several of the Grail myths more interesting females. Wagner seems to have carved this fascinating creature from von Eschenbach, Chretien de Troyes, and God only knows who else. Von Eschenbach describes her as "a woman so talented that she spoke all languages: Latin, Heathen and French . . . familiar with both dialectic and geometry; and she haad also knowledge of astrononomy . . . (her) nickname the sorceress. Her mouth was not restrained for she could say quite enough (and) with it she dampened much joy." That's our gal! In each act Kundry seems not only transformed, but is transforming right before us! What a gift Wagner has given the singer of this role . and what a marvelous challenge!

In Act 1, we're presented with this mysterious, wild woman of dubious character, which in no way prepares us for the seductress we're introduced to in the second act. Even then, we continue to witness her pain and the torture she's endured throughout the entire act.

Many operatic characters have screams written into the score, but, for me, none is more chilling than the moans and screams of Kundry, because we're witnessing the ultimate horror; someone realizing they are still alive, when that is the last thing they want to be.

Kundry's second meeting with Parsifal is one of the most fascinating scenes in all of opera. Beginning with "Parsifal Weile!" what ensues is of such a complex nature that it rattles my mind, this even after spending a lifetime with these characters. Throughout, we see this tortured, conflicted and ultimately cursed woman, helplessly bound to continuing Klingsor's dirty deeds, yet now, touched by this innocent fool, she longs for salvation. When she comes clean revealing her thousand year old secrets, she has in a sense found another victim as we witness Parsifal's own confliction, and at the same time, the beginning of an understanding of his place in the world.

A most wordy guy, Wagner was seldom prone towards repeating a word, a practice more common in operas that precede his own, so when he does so, the effect is of such dramatic significance that we can almost hear the gears turning in his characters’ minds. With fever pitch intensity, we hear Parsifal cry out:

"Amfortas! - -
Die Wunde! - Die Wunde! -
Sie brennt in meinem Herzen.
Oh, Klage! Klage!
Furchtbare Klage!
Aus tiefstem Herzen schreit sie mir auf.
Oh! - Oh! -
Elender!
Jammervollster!
Die Wunde sah ich bluten, -
nun blutet sie in mir! -
Hier - hier!
Nein! Nein! Nicht die Wunde ist es.
Fliesse ihr Blut in Strömen dahin!
Hier! Hier im Herzen der Brand!

All of those repeated words present us with a device that, given the right singer, has the potential to shatter an audience as we witness before our eyes (and ears), the Innocent Fool in a profound epiphany of heartstricken terror, pain, realization, understanding, and most importantly of all, empathy.

Even as a child, I was drawn to, what my mother would call, "sad stories." I still am, and it's no wonder that my favorite operas are (I believe) amongst the saddest stories set to music: Parsifal, Wozzeck, Pelleas et Melisande, Don Carlos . . . (you get the idea). There's an ineffable sadness to Parsifal that may be the cause of why it alienates so many operalovers. That quality of sadness, instead of pretending pain or ugliness away, instead embraces and reveals along with it . . . everything: not merely joy and good times, which we reflect on in happier states, but all. Alles. I’ve spoken with a number of others who like me, easily declare Parsifal to be their favorite (or one of their favorite) operas, and Kundry to be one of their favorite characters. It truly is one of those "love it/hate it" operas."

My favorite line in the entirety of the world of opera is uttered neither by the title character, nor Kundry, but rather Gurnemanz who, during their journey to the Grail Temple responds to Parsifal’s notice having barely trod, yet seems already to have traveled far, utters:

Du siehst, mein Sohn, zum Raum wird hier die Zeit.
(You see, my son, here space becomes time)

For me, this magical bit of metaphysics applies not only to the journey at hand, but to the entirety of the opera itself and the world in which its inhabitants find themselves, most pointedly to Kundry who for nearly a thousand years has restlessly roamed from realm-to-realm.

Though with only one twice repeated word (“Dienen”) to sing in Act 3, I believe Kundry makes as strong an impression in this act - or has the opportunity so to do - as any the other principals. To be effective the singer, even with only four notes, (and, of course, her entrance groan) must be felt from deep down beneath Kundry's skin. While Act II is where she shines vocally, Act III's two scenes are moving for each of the characters of the story(sans Klingsor). The ordinance of humility and Kundry’s baptism perfectly sets the stage for the second Grail Temple scene, with Wagner's sensational Transformation Music. Here transformation is an apt description not only for what we see occurring onstage, (the shifting from outdoor wilderness to indoor temple) but what we ourselves have witnessed of the characters who likewise have themselves transformed. I've always likened this moment to each having passed through the proverbial refiner's fire: The world weary, tortured Kundry finally finds her rest, the once haughty (and mildly intolerant) Gurnemanz is now the epitome of patience and humility, the hopelessly wounded Amfortas is finally healed, the once Innocent Fool has grown with wisdom and assumes his position as the new Grail King. In only his second Grail Temple experience, Parsifal has attained a level of understanding and awareness previously unimaginable, and the final words expressed by the chorus of Knights, children and the other participants in this moving moment of wonder could not be more profound: The redeemer is redeemed.

Many modern audiences (not me) have a problem with many newer productions having Kundry remain a live at the end, but my strongest preference is always to allow her to die. On the opposite end of the stick I know many who despise Wagner's stage direction "Kundry sinks silently to the ground" calling it a Victorian or puritanical "judgment." This train of thought I simply can’t agree with seeing it this way: release is what all Kundry has longed for (far long before we meet her). She's earned it, and Wagner's score, shimmering, shining and filled with the resolution of a long hoped for freedom, provides us with every indication her suffering is now at an end and Kundry is, at long last, finally at peace.

It remains amazing to me how Wagner's music ever matches this bizarre, complex bizzare twist of a tale with equal parts carnality, rage, torment and hope filling it with some of his most beguiling music. Yet, more amazing still is when I'm caught up in it, I often forget I'm even listening to music at all, such is the total effect that I feel almost as though I've entered someone else's reality. Wagner’s final work is so powerful even just writing, thinking, or talking about it can put tears in my eyes and make my blood run just a bit faster.

Enthüllet den Gral! Öffnet den Schrein!

Stephen Fry: Wagner and Me

Somehow this film, approaching four years old, has evaded me until only a few days ago and I've now watched it twice. The BBC produced documentary finds Stephen Fry, an ardent fan of the music dramas of Richard Wagner, exploring Wagner's world while wrestling with his own Jewishness and the composer's anti-Semitism.

Fry's personality will always be a bit much for some (personally, I've always loved the guy) and he's prone towards a type of childish over-exuberance that puts some off, but he is sincere, earnest and (for folks like me) an engaging part of the film, making me recall my "falling in love with Wagner" experiences of my own youth. (The overture to Rienzi, then Parsifal - which I understood not a word of but nonetheless grabbed me by the heart and has never let go in the ensuing 40+ years.)

Fry gives short biographical analyses as he retraces some of Wagner's steps through Lake Lucerne, Geneva, St. Petersburg, and opens and closes the film at Bayreuth, first during rehearsals and ultimately entering the Festpielhaus for his first Bayreuth performance. In between he explores the music, speaking with Wagner scholars and historians, a Jewish cellist who survived Auschwitz, Valery Gergiev, a clearly irritated Eva Wagner (whose German coolness can barely tolerate Fry's exuberance), costumers, and others, (all too briefly), with each shedding their own light on the myriad aspects of Wagner's creative genius and his role within and without music.


His schoolboy enthusiasm may irritate some as in a constant of awe, he reveres a doorknob, Wagner's chair, boxes of wigs, costumes and props, but again, there is an earnestness here that I found endearing . . . and amusing.

The most satisfying musical "bit" explores Tristan und Isolde, as, with Fry, we wander into into the villa Wahnfried, catching Stefan Mickisch playing the snippets of the Liebesnacht and Liebestod on Wagner's own Steinway. whilst explaining the nature of a certain chord. (Guess!)  As Mickmisch plays, the scene intertwines with a live performance of Robert Dean Smith and Irene Theorin, looking more like Richard and Pat Nixon than the legendary Irish Princess and her consort. During the final pages of the Liebestod we weave back and forth between an ecstatic Fry and his pianist friend, and Theorin's Isolde, creating a magically, satisfying effect. For me, it's the best part of the film and a wonderful, almost cathartic moment.

Since watching I've had several discussions with friends who I was, frankly surprised by, as not only didn't they share my enthusiasm, or were moved as I was, but actually deplored the movie. There were complaints claiming it "too vapid" and how it didn't go deep enough into Wagner's life and creative process. I won no points by countering them with the fact the name of the film is Wagner and Me . . . not Wagner and You or . . . Exploring the Creative Genius of Richard Wagner, etc. It is an appropriately titled documentary of one man sharing his deeply personal journey, and as such, it succeeds marvelously.

If you like Stephen Fry and love Wagner (as I do), and haven't yet seen this, I give it a hearty and heartfelt recommendation. If you (as do many) find his outsized personality and brand of ego irritating, you may want to give it a pass, as several friends wished they had. For me? It's a winner. 

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 Stunning Parsifal in HD

This was simply (or, perhaps not so simply) one of the most amazing performances I've experienced of Parsifal, which is, of course, my very favorite opera. The new production is stunning, the hand-picked cast superb, each character caught up completely in the drama. I was only mildly concerned for my seatmates who'd never before seen Parsifal (though familiar with it from recordings). I needn't have worried for they were, as I was, blown away by all we saw and all we heard. During the intermissions  found myself chatting with the chap sitting on my other side, a longtime Met goer since his army days and being on leave in New York, yet had never managed to see it before. At the end, I asked, "So, how was your first Parsifal?" With tears streaming down his face, all he could manage was a faint,"I'm undone. Completely." Two complete strangers sharing the same experience and having the same reaction. Wagner can do that to us.

Musically, Gatti had the score so firmly in hand, and under him the Met Orchestra responded splendidly through every inch and measure of this amazing score. His nuanced, non-rushed reading glimmered in all the right places; the transformation music of the outer acts truly was transforming, the pulse (and pace) in Act II's opening, actually dangerous sounding ... chilling, as it should be. The Met Chorus, as ever, was superb, the multiple choir effects of the different levels of sound Wagner indicates coming through incredibly throughout the cinema's sound system.

Rene Pape's Gurnamenz is one that stands alongside the very best, his face registering so many emotions it was almost unbearably beautiful at times. During the first Grail ceremony, where Wagner finally gives him a vocal rest, his acting alone made every gesture, every movement and glance, genuinely felt. As he stared at Parsifal, Pape's eyes and even his mouth, registered a look of one who barely dared to hope that this young man could be "The One." As is always the case with this elegant singer, his way with the text remained a miracle.  In the Good Friday scene, just the simple way he uttered the phrase "Nun freut sich alle Kreatur" took my breath away, revealing a dignified rapture . . . a genuine rejoicing of nature and the meaning of this holiest of days. 

Jonas Kaufmann with his medium-sized tenor, gave a performance that captured the youthful casualness of the Innocent Fool, throughout the first act. He places the voice just right to be heard even softly, yet was fully capable in Act II of opening up for "Amfortas! Die Wunde!" With a sound that grows increasingly through its pain, his Parsifal finally comprehends . . . discovers what his purpose must now be, and ends that great monologue. with his desperate cry: "Erlöser! Heiland! Herr der Huld! Wie büss ich Sünder meine Schuld?" The intensity Kaufmann exhibited from this point onward was tremendous in every way. This really was Parsifal.

I enjoyed the interview with Peter Mattei, who spoke about people (like me) wondering something along the lines of, "Amfortas? You?" Haha! As it stands, Mattei, who we have grown to love in Mozart, Rossini, Tchaikovsky gave one of the most riveting, painfully beautiful accounts of the role I've seen or heard, his great narrative in Act I, heartbreaking. The integration between singer and role was perfection. What a glorious gift - and surprise this debut was. 

Evgeny Nikitin was as spooky and commanding a Klingsor as one could hope for. Malevolence, like blood, literally dripping from him as he made wild gestures and seemed to be uttering dark-god incantations.  This was a far cry from previous Klingsors in my experience, who were no more threatening than Uncle Fester, bald and sexless.  There was a verility still on display and again, that malevolence manifested itself in voice and deed and was not only palpable, it was terrifying.

Katarina Dalayman clearly knows the essence of Kundry down to her toes and her three (well, four) appearances captured every nuance of this eternally tortured woman. Girard took full advantage of his staging and whereas most Kundrys have been around for centuries, his has her having existed for millennia. The chemistry between Dalayman and Nikitin, Dalaymand and Kaufmann, Dalayman and Pape here made one of Wagner's most fascinating creatures even more so.

In the penultimate scene, we witness the spring in the dry, scorched topography coming back to life as water again flows with life, the perfect segue to the finale.  Entirely unique, Girard makes the entirety of the scene uniquely special, and, for me, the most overwhelming since Wieland Wagner's.  We watch Amfortas' healing, almost still in disbelief, and feel the awe and wonder of Gurnemanz, whose tested accepts his new King, were infinitely moving. Then, there is Kundry. Taking her rightful place in the final ceremony, and uniting with Parsifal the Grail and Spear, she is finally redeemed and allowed to die.  How much more satisfying this was rather than decades old trend of having her live on. The lady's tired, let her rest, already! . 

Francois Girard's production was a most remarkable achievement, along with Maestro Gatti and the company achieving a true realization of gesamtkunstwerk the likes of which I've rarely seen at this level. Even in this barren post-apocalyptic wasteland, there was a genuine, if raw, beauty about it all. The choreographed movements of the Flower Maidens - like Ninja roses from Hell, will (along with everything else I saw and heard) be burned, forever in my mind. Literally, unforgettable. Wagner's score has my eyes moist, and a lump in my throat from the opening notes of the Vorspiel to the curtain's final fall and today's performance - visually and sonically was no exception.

While I used not to be a fan of Barbara Willis Sweet, her work for the Met has not only improved, her video direction for today's performance sets the benchmark for how it should be done.  There were blessedly few long, intrusive close-ups, and instead she chose to capture the stage either in its entirety, or large portions of it. I didn't miss seeing long stretches of singers' dental work or nose hair.  Not one iota.

Our theatre was not only packed, it seemed there were no defectors, with everyone remaining, cheering, bravoing and applauding until long after the final credits had faded.

I shall not forget this afternoon and the exemplary work the Met gave us from start to finish. I'm on a high right now that is going to stick around for days. I look forward to a (hopeful) release of this performance on Blu-ray, to experience this slice of Wagnerian heaven again . . . and again.