‘Götterdämmerung’ at the Met: It’s the End of Wagner’s World as We Know It

Scene from Act 2 of Goetterdaemmerung (Ken Howard / Met Opera)

Conventionally Speaking…

Overlapping duets, an estimable ensemble display, that spine-tingling vengeance trio that closes Act II, rousing male choruses, a drinking song, melodious solo narratives… Heck, what was Wagner thinking when he penned his penultimate, large-scale stage work, Götterdämmerung? Everything he ever railed against in his musical life – uniformity, conformity, operatic tradition, and operatic conventions – are here in huge dollops.

Despite the sheer size of the piece (the Prologue and Act I alone last all of two hours!), and the fact that it was the be-all and end-all of that monumental music project known as the Ring of the Nibelung, it’s incredible how many quiet moments there are – more “soft spots” and moving passages than even I can remember. And despite all the disclaimers it is, indeed, Wagner’s most “operatic” work of the four that comprise the mighty Ring cycle at the Metropolitan Opera House, the last broadcast of the 2012-2013 radio season, given on May 11, 2013.

Now that I’ve gotten my own disclaimer out of the way, here are a few words about this production overall. The Ring project was directed by French-Canadian Robert Lepage (The Damnation of Faust), with set designs by Carl Fillion, lighting and video imaging by Etienne Boucher and Boris Firquet, respectively, and costume designs by François St.-Aubain. As most wags will tell you, it’s more popularly known as “The Machine,” which makes reference to its 45-ton weight of 24 movable and interconnected planks that twist and turn and fold and flutter into various configurations, onto which video images, colors, shapes and patterns of all kinds are projected.

When this ignoble contraption worked, it worked remarkably well. But when it failed, it failed royally, delaying and/or hindering matters to no end. If all these planks did was to tell Wagner’s story, then so be it. But a Ring cycle without a concept, or even an artistic purpose or overarching theme, is no Ring cycle at all. I happen to agree with music critic Alex Ross in that this was the most ill-conceived and hare-brained Ring production I’ve ever been privy to, worse even than La Fura dels Baus’ acrobatic and stylized Ring cycle in Valencia, Spain. At least that production had movement and space to spare, whereas the Met Opera’s version was claustrophobically confined to those noisy planks.

The above opinion is partially comprised of the singing. So let me get this off my chest while it’s still fresh in my mind: I was most disappointed in, of all people, Bryn Terfel’s Wotan/Wanderer in the first cycle from last year. As noted in my Die Walküre review (https://josmarlopes.wordpress.com/2013/05/18/die-walkure-at-the-met-a-funny-thing-happened-on-the-way-to-the-opera/), Terfel’s sound is much too bright for the part. The voice is certainly large enough and he had no trouble with breath control or diction or high notes. Where he failed, in my view, was in the role’s darkest confines: he was simply incapable of conveying the character’s inner turmoil by either stage comportment or vocal means.

In Mozart or Strauss, and in lighter Verdi or Wagner fare, Terfel is the undisputed grandmaster, but as the head god he lacked gravitas for some reason. His counterpart, Mark Delavan, is more of a natural fit, the core of the voice easily encompassing most of the part’s requirements. Don’t get me wrong. Terfel is an excellent singer and a fiercely dedicated, serious artist to boot, especially in such parts as Scarpia in Puccini’s Tosca, or as Verdi’s Falstaff, Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd, or Strauss’ Jokanaan in Salome. But Wotan is not yet within his grasp.

Valkyrie Ends Her Ride

Brunnhilde (Deborah Voigt) mourns the dead Siegfried (minnesotapublicradio.org)

As for Deborah Voigt’s Brünnhilde, I’ve already discussed my preference for her in the French repertoire (see my review of Berlioz’s Les Troyens – https://josmarlopes.wordpress.com/2013/01/06/opera-review-berlioz-les-troyens-a-wooden-horse-of-a-different-color/). In Strauss, she is most impressive too, but I’m afraid at this stage in her career Wagner’s Valkyrie is just not the role for her. I felt this at the beginning of the cycle and I feel it now. Squally high notes, pitch shy vocalizing, barely skirting the limits of her vocal range, and less than perfect German. Argh!!! I wasn’t troubled by all that as much as I was by her screechy tone. Voigt always seemed to be overpowered by the many A’s, B’s, and C’s this role demands. All in all, she did not sound comfortable in the radio broadcast, despite the hearty ovation she earned for her efforts.

Welsh soprano Gwyneth Jones, who had some of the squalliest high-notes this side of Cardiff, had no trouble in cutting through Wagner’s orchestrations. Jones also brought an unmatched emotional intensity, vocal vibrancy, womanly allure and exceptional acting ability to the part. In that respect, Deborah was woefully inadequate, although she was more at home with the role’s dramatic aspects, particularly in the forcefully enacted second act.

On the other hand, Voigt’s Immolation Scene was well handled if not altogether vocally resplendent. The quieter portions were more tolerable, shall we say; but the more energetic sections were painful to listen to. Consequently, I urge Voigt to reconsider taking this role on in the future. Perhaps my impression would be altered inside the theater, but on radio it’s exactly as I’ve described it. None of her high B’s was pleasant or easily produced. And a Brünnhilde without those perquisites has strictly limited mileage. Still, Voigt gets high marks for merely attempting the part, but I was sure glad when the ordeal was over – and that’s not a good thing.

Lars Cleveman as Siegfried (Marty Sohl / Associated Press)

Swedish tenor Lars Cleveman was a light-voiced Siegfried, boasting fine delivery and excellent enunciation, mixed with a slightly nasally texture. He sounded sufficiently like Jay Hunter Morris (who sang the first round of Siegfrieds) to fit into the general scheme of things. Cleveman showed stamina and strength in his Act II oath, as well as wonderfully clarion tone in his emotionally satisfying Act III narrative. The voice stayed fresh and true throughout, which is a marvel in this day and age. We’ve been blessed with a bevy of fine heldentenors lately, which is a most welcome trend I have to say.

Cleveman also reminds me of a young Set Svanholm, a bit short on top, a little dry in the upper reaches, but more than acceptable in the long run. He made no attempt at all at the demanding high C (“Hoiho, hoihe!”) in Act III. Then again, those who have attempted it in the past lived to regret their decision. I suppose that skipping the high note was the best course of action, at least on live radio. I’ve heard worse, however. In line with that, Cleveman’s death scene was gently and poignantly delivered, a real coup for him.

Bass Hans-Peter König as Hagen is a giant of a man, with a voice and figure to match. He has all the requisites to become an outstanding Nibelung’s son. High notes, low notes, mid-range, nothing daunted this German singer. My only complaint – well, whine, if you prefer – was his inability to give the words their proper weight and meaning. Other less vocally endowed artists – I’m thinking of Josef Greindl or Fritz Hübner here, even the forgotten Bengt Rundgren – were able to express all the menace and vileness this fiendish creation calls for through purely verbal means. And Rundgren had a steelier voice at that, if my recollection serves me.

Hans-Peter Konig as Hagen

König’s already superbly-endowed vocal element only adds to his stage arsenal. He has ample time to develop this aspect of his characterization, which I hope he takes to heart. Finnish bass Matti Salminen, in the Met’s previous cycle and in the Valencia Ring, is the perfect embodiment of Hagen, both vocally and histrionically. König can eventually top him, I’m sure, but he still has a ways to go. His massive Act II call to the Vassals was more effortful this time around than I recalled from last season, but otherwise one felt that König was in control of his vocal resources, which he husbanded throughout the long afternoon. A wise decision, I’d say!

Baritone Iain Patterson’s Gunther captured his character’s weakness and self-satisfied opinion of himself, sometimes to the singer’s detriment. The vocal performance was a shade off his previous high standard (he was Gunther in last year’s complete cycle as well). Patterson came into his own in Act II, as most Gunthers do, with a thrillingly sung trio. His sister Gutrune, voiced by soprano Wendy Bryn Harmer, mixed amorous thoughts of possessing Siegfried with expert vocalism, within the confines of her two-dimensional part. Opportunities to shine were strictly limited, however.

Karen Cargill was a moving Waltraute, Brünnhilde’s Valkyrie sister, without effacing memories of Waltraud Meier in the role. Richard Paul Fink previously sang the part of Alberich in the old Otto Schenck production. Here, he provided a nice contrast to Eric Owens, who sang Alberich throughout the first two cycles. Fink’s more nasal delivery and slimmer vocal quality fit the repulsive nature of his character nicely, but I missed Owen’s acting skills here. Although it’s a brief assignment, Alberich’s sole appearance sets the stage for the great Act II confrontation between the major characters.

The Met’s principal conductor Fabio Luisi took the podium again. He kept everything in balance, his handling of the orchestra was fluid and lean, and this was, as noted before, a more lyrically inclined, less bombastic approach to Götterdämmerung than either a James Levine or a Lorin Maazel would lead. Still, I can’t help wishing that Riccardo Muti or Valery Gergiev, or even Daniel Barenboim, would be given a chance to conduct the incomparable Met Orchestra in the next Ring cycle. I know that maestro Levine will be back at the helm next season for several works, but none of them are in Wagner territory. At this point, Levine is America’s last, desperate hope in this repertoire. That’s not to downplay Luisi’s contributions this past season. He was absolutely mesmerizing in Les Troyens. But Wagner… the jury is still out on that one. I missed a more measured, more deliberate reading than Luisi gave on this occasion, but who knows what the future will bring.

Immolation Scene from Act 3 (Ken Howard / Met Opera)

It would be a sin not to mention chorus master Donald Palumbo’s masterfully schooled and splendidly executed male chorus members in the long Act II scene with Hagen, and their wonderfully descriptive interjections during Siegfried’s Narrative in Act III. The biggest hurdle the chorus and many of the soloists had to overcome, not only here but in the first two Ring operas (Das Rheingold and Die Walküre; not so much in Siegfried), was the severely restricted stage area, due to those implacable planks.

This remains the most troubling aspect of this woe-begotten production as a whole: the scarcity of acting space on which to perform (or not perform, as is the case here). If there’s anything that can be done to salvage this production from the scrap heap, it would be to expand the playing area to “normal” proportions, whatever that may be. That’s the best advice I can give general manager Peter Gelb and the Met board of directors. Or else, it’s the end of the world for this cycle – and I’m fine with that.

Copyright © 2013 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘Die Walküre’ at the Met: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Opera

Ride of the Valkyries (Ken Howard)

A Tale of Two Tenors

I did not yet discuss the Ring cycle’s plot or story line – and there’s good reason for that. To put it simply, it’s complicated. Besides, Wagner provided the listener with an ongoing recapitulation of events, which he placed in strategic guises throughout the four operas. These recaps or commentaries can be heard in the characters of the Rhine maidens, the Norns, Erda the Earth Goddess, the Valkyrie Brünnhilde, her sister Waltraute, Siegmund, Sieglinde, their son Siegfried, Alberich, Hagen and Wotan, the head god himself, among numerous others.

Most knowledgeable Wagnerians dote on these extra-musical exercises in repetitiveness, while others loathe and despise them as long-drawn-out time wasters. Whichever camp you find yourself in, one has to admit that they do help to fill in the finer points of the drama and, for the serious opera fan, provide needed background about what took place in the past or will happen in the future.

Briefly, then, the dwarf Alberich is spurned by the Rhine maidens, after which he renounces love and steals their gold (nice guy!), from which he forges a Ring of power that will allow the wearer to rule over all things (shades of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings be damned). That’s it in a nutshell. Of course, I’ve oversimplified matters in the extreme, but basically Alberich goes on to lose the Ring, places a mighty curse on the object, and never gets it back.

The elusive Ring, on the other hand, acquires various owners, including Wotan, the giant Fafner (who in order to guard it transforms himself into a dragon), Siegfried, Brünnhilde, and Siegfried again, then Brünnhilde again, and finally back to the Rhine maidens from whence it originated. Oy vey!

The late raconteur Anna Russell gave many a hilarious insight into this subject, which anyone can check out on YouTube to their heart’s content, they are definitely worth the time and trouble. Anyway, on to the next installment: Die Walküre.

The role of Siegmund is not a particularly long or strenuous one, compared to, say, Tristan or Siegfried. It lies comfortably within most dramatic tenors’ range; in fact, it may be too low for some voices. But whatever the case, the Met’s April 13 performance gave us two, count ‘em, two singers for the price of one.

Martina Serafin (Sieglinde) & Simon O’Neill (Siegmund)

Blame a severe allergy attack (and the ridiculously high pollen count) for sidelining the scheduled Siegmund, New Zealand-born Simon O’Neill. Curiously, just a few weeks before, at the Saturday La Traviata broadcast, Met General Manager Peter Gelb announced that Placido Domingo had had an allergy attack as well, but that he decided to soldier on regardless. As his name indicated, the unfazed Señor Placido managed to get through the afternoon relatively unscathed. Not so Mr. O’Neill.

Although he appeared to start off well, it soon became apparent that O’Neill was incapable of continuing with the performance. He was replaced, in fairly short order (and in discrete fashion), in mid-act by another New Zealander, the young Andrew Sritheran – for all we knew it might have been Slytherin, which is one of the four houses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Met and Mr. Gelb could have used some of that old black magic to pull this trick off. Fortunately for them, the Kiwi native proved his mettle by overcoming the Ring’s curse and went on to a respectable if not exactly stellar debut. It may not have been the best sung or richest Siegmund in memory, but Sritheran helped save the day – and the Met’s terribly expensive cycle, at that.

Another radio debutante, soprano Martina Serafin, made a commendable stab at Sieglinde, her third act cry of “O hehrstes Wunder” at the news of her impending pregnancy with Siegmund’s child soaring effortlessly over the vast Met auditorium – a memorable moment. In other areas, Serafin’s soprano sounded warm and inviting, like the hearth in Hunding’s hut. She and Sritheran combined forces to give a rousing rendition of the Act I duet, where they finally discover they are, in fact, brother and sister, in another of those Wagnerian happenstances.

Sieglinde’s husband Hunding was taken by bass Hans-Peter König, who seemed almost too good-natured and benign to be a villain. It was all part of the act, though, and soon his smoothness of tone turned rough around the edges as he eyed the handsome Siegmund (and how much he resembled his wife). Hunding is a short part, but König succeeded in conveying the character’s gruffness. Still, there is decidedly more to the huntsman than Hans-Peter showed. Blame the direction and lack of acting space for that. I can recall the young and brutish Matthias Hölle, in Harry Kupfer’s “Road to History” Ring production at Bayreuth, and how he sunk his teeth into this role. The looks of disdain he gave both Siegmund and Sieglinde were enough to melt the wooden planks off the walls, whereas König was as placid as an ox.

Close Encounters of the Operatic Kind

Wotan’s all-seeing “eye” from Act 2 of Die Walkuere (Ken Howard)

Act II forms the musical crux of the drama, a rather byzantine set of circumstances that the lead characters – principally that of Wotan – have foisted upon themselves. Mark Delavan once again sang the head god, in a continuation from the previous broadcast of Das Rheingold. He has the requisite dark timbre and gravely low notes the part calls for, which is more than I can say for Bryn Terfel, his predecessor in the role when this production was new. Terfel is a fine singer, but his voice is much too bright for Wotan; whereas Delavan has the proper weight and substance, as well as the “chops,” to make an impact in his mid-act monologue, wherein Wotan looks both backward and forward in time, represented downstage by a mirror-like object (supposedly, a substitute for the god’s missing eye).

What with Wotan’s gloomy reflections and thoughts of “Das Ende” (“The end”), punctuated by the lowest instruments in the brass (the so-called Wagner tubas), this is the most gripping portion of the Ring, in my estimation, requiring a singing actor of tremendous range and versatility. Delavan’s German needed to be more pointed, and certainly more alert to the text, than it was here. In later productions, I hope he develops his enunciation skills further, for what Wotan says in this act is of paramount importance and influence in the later Ring operas.

Notwithstanding this criticism (and I’m exceedingly picky when it comes to my Wagner), Delavan is well on his way toward becoming a truly great Wotan and Wanderer. He shook the rafters with his angry outbursts at daughter Brünnhilde’s disobedience of his will (a Schopenhauer influence), and his scornful dismissal of Hunding, with a half-growled, half-garbled, “Geh, geh!” (“Go, go!”), evoked fond memories of Canadian George London in the role. He ended the opera with a long-held note on the last word of the phrase, “Wer meines Speeres Spitze fürchet durschreite das Feuer nie” (“He who fears the point of my spear shall not pass through the fire”).

Deborah Voigt as Brunnhilde (Ken Howard)

On the distaff side, soprano Deborah Voigt repeated her womanly Brünnhilde from last season. Her Valkyrie was sympathetically vocalized as well as acted, and she’s improved her interaction with Wotan to a noticeable degree – no doubt her experience in the part, which lies more comfortably in her vocal range than the later Brünnhilde’s do, helped matters significantly.

I still hold the conviction that this role is one Ms. Voigt should avoid in future Met assignments. She’s done everything humanly possible to overcome the fact that she does not really possess a Brünnhilde-type voice. And by that, I mean the clarion high notes, the emotional release necessary to make this character come alive on the stage.

To state my case, the current staging of this production serves as more of a hindrance in that department than any of the singer’s personal attributes or deficiencies. My view, then, will be borne out in the next post concerning Götterdämmerung. Voigt did make a tolerable meal out of her “Hojotoho” war cries at the start of the act (although effortful, the high B’s were all there, intact and ready for action), but beyond that her emotionally wrought exchanges with her father, and in particular the lengthy Todesverkündigung (“Annunciation of Death”) sequence with Siegmund, brought out the character’s warm and fuzzy side — her basic humanity, as it were. It’s still treacherous out there on those planks, as they creaked and groaned to upstage the singers.

Wotan (Mark Delavan) has some explaining to do to Fricka (Blythe)

Stephanie Blythe’s formidable Fricka is another known quantity, a powerfully done and implacable moral entity. Blythe could mow any Wotan down with her looks alone; that she has a voice to go with it made her Fricka a force to be reckoned with.

Unfortunately, outside of this one confrontation, Wagner gave the character too little to sing and not enough scenery to chew on. Any artist undertaking this role needs to make the strongest impression possible within a relatively short time span, much like Hunding and, later on in the cycle, Waltraute, the Woodbird and Alberich.

Maestro Fabio Luisi continued to shine in this, his best conducted Ring performance of the three that I heard. The eight Valkyries, too, performed over and above their brief Valhalla duties in Act III, even earning the audience’s applause for their “hobby-horse” antics atop those 24 movable planks – ah, the terrors of modern, hazardous staging… They were better off than the Rhine maidens, who were forced to dangle some 20-30 feet above the Met stage in the opening scene of Rheingold. No amount of the Nibelung’s horde is worth putting up with that.

There’s more to come with my next post. Stay tuned!

(To be continued…)

Copyright © 2013 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘Das Rheingold,’ ‘Die Walküre,’ and ‘Götterdämmerung’ at the Met: Three Quarters of a ‘Ring’ Cycle is Better Than None

Das Rheingold — Descent to Nibelheim (nytimes.com)

It took composer Richard Wagner more than a third of his adult life to bring his monumental music drama, Der Ring des Nibelungen (known collectively, in English, as The Ring of the Nibelung), to life on the German stage. Not for nothing was he regarded by record producer John Culshaw, and numerous other individuals, as “a man possessed.”

Wagner was possessed, all right: possessed of an assiduous self-confidence, as well as an artistic vision and single-minded purpose few individuals could understand or appreciate at the time. That he was able to see this vision through to the end is quite possibly, to my mind – and to the minds of musicologists and historians before and after him – one of his few redeeming features. That and his disreputable ability to wrangle money out of friends and foe alike, all the way up to the crowned head of Bavaria, the mentally challenged King Ludwig, remain Wagner’s most ignoble feats.

Was the struggle worth it? Looking back on the sheer volume of productions over the past 130 some-odd years since the Ring cycle premiered in Bayreuth, I’d be forced to answer “yes.” In many of the most memorable Ring ventures there can be counted at least one outstanding feature in support of Wagner’s vision: in his grandson Wieland Wagner’s two cycles (one bare-bones, the other drawn from Jungian archetypes) from the 1950s and 60s; in Patrice Chéreau’s 1976 centennial version (indebted to George Bernard Shaw’s The Perfect Wagnerite); in Harry Kupfer’s “Road to History” edition (revived and modified in Barcelona); even the Otto Schenk/Günther Schneider-Siemssen retro Ring installment at the Met; they all had something that encapsulated their creators’ themes.

The Metropolitan Opera’s current version, directed by Robert Lepage, with sets by Carl Fillion, costumes by François St.-Aubain, lighting by Etienne Boucher, and video imaging by Boris Firquet, resorts to a talented team of artists and artisans for the project. However, there is no other readily apparent purpose or vision to this production except to tell the story of the Ring – more on this aspect later on.

There’s Gold in That, There Rhine!

There are few works in the active repertoire that fill me with an overpowering desire to hear them anew, and at any time. I’m glad to report that the Ring is one of those works. Not only did I listen to last season’s cycle complete and on the air, but I also caught the PBS Live in HD re-transmission of the entire Ring, starting with Susan Froemke’s 2012 documentary Wagner’s Dream, about the making of this troubled Lepage/Fillion version.

The current cycle began with the first opera, Das Rheingold, broadcast on April 6, followed by Die Walküre on April 13, Siegfried on April 20 (a performance I happened to have missed, unfortunately), and the final Met broadcast of the season of Götterdämmerung on May 11. Most of the principal cast in Rheingold had previously sung in the September 2010 premiere, with several new members making their role debuts in this latest run.

Hearing the work in this back-to-back manner was most refreshing (it was exactly the way Wagner had planned for his operas to be heard all along). It was particularly revealing, I might add, in that one could more easily associate the composer’s intricate leitmotif system, a piece of music played by the orchestra that accompanies or underscores a particular incident, character, event or action, with what is actually happening (has happened or will happen) onstage. This is “film music” of the highest order before film or cinema had even been developed or invented! It’s what makes Wagner’s vision all the more prophetic.

Mark Delavan (Wotan) & Stephanie Blythe (Fricka)

In Das Rheingold, Mark Delavan, who we previously praised in Francesca da Rimini, was a Wotan with much promise, if not all of them fulfilled. The voice is ample and strong without the solid impact one normally associates with the part. The middle and lower registers gave off a dark, almost dusky timbre. This is undeniably a Wotan voice, of the kind Hans Hotter, George London, and (in our day) James Morris once possessed.

At times, though, Delavan’s top notes strayed from the pitch when pressed, but mercifully did not veer off into sharpness (unlike some singers). He took his time to warm up, with mushy diction at the start, but refined the focus later on, his German becoming more pronounced and the words carrying a dramatic weight to them that were lacking in the early going. His greeting to his new abode, “Abendlich strahlt,” was a bit of a letdown, but Delavan ended up stronger than he began – a welcome sign that bodes well for the rest of the cycle.

Eric Owens, billed as a bass-baritone, was more bass than baritone as the dwarf Alberich, the Nibelung of the title as well as Wotan’s arch nemesis. With his distinctive sound and superb enunciation of the text, Owens deserves the positive notices he’s been receiving in this role, although his topmost notes were still more hinted at than held. His acting was above reproach, however, making this detestable creature all the more sympathetic. That’s a major victory in itself.

Eric Owens as Alberich, with Rhine Gold in hand

Spitting his words out with relish, Alberich’s Curse was overwhelming in its malevolence and bearing, save for the highest note. But even that limitation turned out to work in Owens’ favor: by using this deficiency to his advantage, he succeeded in producing a real flesh-and-blood personage – that’s quite a creation!

Stephanie Blythe’s limited assignment as Fricka was delivered with the expected steadiness and nobility only she could achieve. The role is not the most vocally satisfying of the cycle, and is usually portrayed as a stereotypical nagging Hausfrau in most productions. This was no different, but Blythe practically owns the part at the Met, with the voice projecting tellingly over the orchestra and into the audience. After seeing her a few weeks ago as Nettie Fowler in Carousel, I must say that Blythe is more than capable of “slumming it” on Broadway, and in the opera house, in any capacity she chooses!

Stefan Margita as the crafty Loge (Ken Howard)

Slovakian tenor Stefan Margita’s Loge was a real find. Basically a lyric tenor, Margita too gave much emphasis to the words, painting a marvelous picture of this mischievous character. His “Durch raub” (“By theft”), when asked how the gods could acquire the Ring, was hurled with all the bite and glee the phrase required, with a built-in tongue-in-cheek manner quite appropriate to the god of Fire. I loved his feigned reaction to Alberich’s transformations in Scene iii, giving a sly wink and a nod to Wotan while “trembling” with fear at the dwarf’s monstrous presence. He’d make an excellent Mime, should he venture forth in that direction.

The giants, Fasolt and Fafner, were taken by Franz-Josef Selig and Hans-Peter König, respectively. Selig has a leaner, sweeter tone than König, which aided in differentiating the two brothers’ personalities and separate agendas: Selig, lovelorn and lonely, practically fawning over Freia (a game Wendy Bryn Harmer), the goddess of youth and beauty; and König, sinister and stern, insistent on driving a hard bargain with Wotan and the other gods. About whom, Richard Cox’s Froh and Dwayne Croft’s Donner were pleasantly sung, with neither artist bringing much insight into these deliberately limited roles. Donner’s famous hammer call was given a firm reading, if with slightly underpowered tone. Meredith Arwady as the mysterious Erda, the Earth Goddess, boasted a cello-like instrument in its lowest reaches, but faded into the woodwork stage-wise. One of the best sung performances of the day, however, was the cackling, megalomaniac Mime, Alberich’s brother, voiced by the sturdy tenor of Gerhard Siegel. He was particularly adept at delineating the drawf’s various cries of “Au, au, au,” each one different and unique.

Fabio Luisi, the Met’s principal conductor, who led last year’s cycle (for the most part), was once again at the helm. His beat was steady and firm, coaxing wonderful playing from the Met Orchestra, though I felt that he failed to linger over certain musical passages (i.e., the dreamy interlude before the first Valhalla theme; the journey to Nibelheim and back) that would normally be taken at a slower, more leisurely pace.

The gods entering Valhalla (bloomberg.com)

About that trip to the land of the dwarfs: there were unseen technical difficulties with the 45-ton contraption known as “The Machine,” those 24 movable planks that bend and fold and creak and squirm into countless configurations on stage. In this production, acrobats take the place of Wotan and Loge as they descend into the lower depths of where the Nibelungs toil. We see their journey from above, however in this instance the planks faltered, which led to a last-minute improvisation by Owens and Siegel (a similar incident occurred when Rheingold premiered back in 2010, as the gods failed to cross the Rainbow Bridge into Valhalla. Instead, the singers looked at each other and then simply walked off the stage in a most un-god-like manner).

(To be continued…)

Copyright © 2013 by Josmar F. Lopes