In the unlikely event that anyone on earth is waiting for the annual LTPW broadcast, here it is ... albeit not really (or at least not just yet). Last year's National Arts Festival debut of my Tristan & Isolde reading did indeed go ahead as advertised, and was in many ways the most successful fruit of this project to date -- but it was a success bought at some cost to my dwindling reserves of energy. Like most mortals, I amn't free of life's vicissitudes -- and there've been a lot of those about lately. So the upshot, friends, is that I'm feeling well and truly clobbered just now ... but as I recover I will eke out this year's page with the Tristan footage in instalments. But for now, suffice to say ... happy birthday Meister Richard.
Friday, 22 May 2015
It almost didn't happen folks. You would think that bringing out a blog only once a year would pose no challenge at all -- but it seems nothing is that simple when it comes to the "Wagner reading Wagner" project. All the same, and despite obstacles too numerous to catalogue here, the project has progressed so far that it will now be featured -- as the poster here testifies -- at the prestigious National Arts Festival, annually held here in Grahamstown over about ten days in early July. So -- if you should happen to be in the right place at the right time -- I hope you will drop by to experience the fourth and (to date) most ambitious of the WRW readings, Tristan & Isolde -- scheduled to coincide with the 150th anniversary of the opera's premiere.
Meanwhile, the process of recording and uploading the previous readings has been similarly vexed. I had initially planned to follow up last year's inaugural posting of The Flying Dutchman with Tannhäuser, only -- with truly breathtaking absence of mind -- I neglected to back up my files, so that all the existing footage of the entire reading, spanning three evenings of performance, was lost for all time. Wagner himself, of course, faced worse disasters regularly and always seemed to recover from them, so what could I do but follow suit? Tannhäuser must regrettably wait for another day, but Lohengrin -- which I went on to read last September -- is complete and available below for the enjoyment of anyone with five or six hours to kill.
As it happens, the performance featured here never took place as intended in real time. On the first night, the projector failed to operate, so that the audience could hear the strains of the prelude but without seeing the slideshow of images painstakingly compiled and edited to accompany it. After that, we simply had to abandon the audio-visual presentation and continue with the unaccompanied reading. When we resumed with Act II the following night, we had managed to resolve this problem sufficiently to present the whole thing as planned -- or near enough (there were still a couple of clips refusing to co-operate). Finally, on the third night, we procured a back-up projector, which worked perfectly. Unfortunately, for reasons unknown, the speakers were now disconnected (and nobody present knew how to reconnect them), so that we now had impressive images of Neuschwannstein et al, sadly unaccompanied by the Act III prelude and bridal chorus, and were forced once again to settle for the reading alone. As a result of all these disasters, it is only now that anyone who so wishes may watch the complete production below as it was originally meant to be seen.
As with the previous year's posting of The Flying Dutchman, I have paired the reading and recording of the same scenes below, making it a simple matter to proceed directly from my delivery of the text to the musical slideshow that follows. The video quality is sharper than previously, which has the unfortunate side-effect of rendering the anachronistic microphone clearly visible, and occasionally I'm afraid the screen used for the audio-visual presentation intrudes into the shot as well, but hopefully these distractions will not unduly diminish the overall experience. The original readings went ahead, despite all their attendant mishaps, on the evenings of 3, 4 and 5 September 2014 (the much greater length of Lohengrin making it impossible to get through in a single evening as we had with the earlier work); the venue, as before, is Rhodes University Music Department's Beethoven Room. The recording used is that of the live Bayreuth performance of July 1962 given under Wolfgang Sawallisch, with Jess Thomas (Lohengrin), Anja Silja (Elsa), Astrid Varnay (Ortrud), Ramon Vinay (Telramund) and Franz Crass (King Heinrich), reissued by DECCA, 2008.
Lohengrin Act I, Prelude
Act I, Scene I
Act I, Scene II
Act I, Scene III
(NB: We've had to use the footage from our back-up camera for this and, while providing some variety, it exposes the increasing dishevelment of my costume as the evening progresses. Sigh. It does say "less than perfect", remember.)
Act II, Scene I
Act II, Scene II
Act II, Scene III
Act II, Scene IV
Act II, Scene V
Act III, Scene I
Act III, Scene II
Act III, Scene III
Thursday, 22 May 2014
A year ago today I chose to celebrate Richard Wagner's bicentenary in a way many would no doubt consider decidedly odd -- by dressing up to look like him and inviting a live audience to hear me read the full text of The Flying Dutchman (in English), supplementing this with a complete recording of the opera itself, coupled with a slide-show of appropriate images that had been edited to fit the dramatic context from moment to moment (all of which has been reproduced below, for the enjoyment of those with sufficient time on their hands).
In answer to the obvious question -- Why? -- I could say a good deal, but will limit myself here to the briefest explanation I can manage. Over the last twenty years or so, I had come to believe that Wagner's libretti -- or, as he preferred to say, poems (Gedichte) -- were by no means as dreadful as their reputation suggested. Even in translation, their frequent traces of archaism, quaintness and inadvertent comicality struck me as adding to, rather than detracting from, their appeal, and I would increasingly find myself reading them aloud for effect, just as one might do with favourite passages of English poetry or excerpts from a novel. Eyewitness accounts of Wagner's own readings of his works at gatherings of his friends and admirers even reminded me of the famous public reading tours given by Dickens -- which have been successfully recreated by actors more than once. Might not something similar be tried in the case of Wagner? Nietzsche repeatedly berates him for his theatricality, charges even his music as being at root nothing more than acting, even overacting, and Ernest Newman (in the second volume of his Life of Richard Wagner) describes how, in reading all the parts, he was able to suggest "varieties of character by his own extraordinary histrionic powers, making the vicissitudes of the drama clear by changes in the quality of his voice and nuances in the tempo of delivery". And given the peculiar nature of these performances, might not an amateur enthusiast be better suited to the task of recreating them than a professional actor?
In addition, as entertaining as the readings might prove on their own, their educational value would surely increase if they could be presented in combination with the operas themselves -- so that each scene in turn would first be read, and a recording of the same played immediately afterwards. Thus, in place of the usual subtitles, the audience would get the translation in advance and in dramatised form, and be placed in an ideal position to appreciate how the completed work appears almost to grow out of the text, or -- as Wagner himself liked to put it -- how poetry quickens the fertile womb of music.
In any event, that is what I made up my mind to do, opting for The Flying Dutchman as being the earliest, shortest and arguably most accessible of Wagner's major works. And here, a year later, I am delighted to publish the complete performance for the first time. Although I had posted the footage of the readings themselves quite soon after the event (when they received a generous boost from The Wagnerian -- here: http://www.the-wagnerian.com/2013/07/wagner-performs-wagner-flying-dutchman.html), I have until now hesitated to include the clips of the opera itself, since I could not be sure whether parts of the recording and/or some of the accompanying images might be protected by copyright. But since everybody else seems to do this kind of thing with impunity (and there are already numerous versions of the overture out there, sometimes even using the same images in a different sequence), it appears I may have been erring on the side of caution. (One or two of the clips appear to be "unavailable in some countries", so it may not always be possible to view the entire production.)
Without more ado then, here follows my complete version of The Flying Dutchman, as it was given on the evening of 22 May 2013 in the Beethoven House auditorium, St Peter's campus, Rhodes University, Grahamstown, South Africa. The recording used (almost) throughout is that of a live performance given at Bayreuth in August 1961 under Wolfgang Sawallisch, in a production by Wieland Wagner, with Franz Crass (the Dutchman), Anja Silja (Senta), Josef Greindl (Daland), and Fritz Uhl (Erik), reissued by DECCA, 2008. The images were selected from the wide variety available online and consist of stills from staged productions, both recent and historic, set and costume designs, artists' impressions of the opera and/or material related to it.
We begin, of course, with the Overture. It is worth noting that in this recording, Wagner's original 1841 ending is used, which has the advantage of not preempting the Dutchman and Senta's final transfiguration, as found in the more familiar revised version of 1860.
The corresponding scene is then repeated in a further clip from the full recording and with pictures added as before, in the style established in the Overture. The idea is now that text and action will remain sufficiently clear in the audience's memory for the scene to be followed without difficulty.
The reading then picks up at the point where it left off earlier -- with the entrance of Vanderdecken himself. I now felt I needed to go overboard, so to speak, using the kind of style Michael Green recommends in The Art of Coarse Acting (a text I can't help thinking Wagner might have appreciated).
And this once again prepares the way for the corresponding scene in the opera -- a terrifically impressive one.
And so I proceed to the final scene of the act, now trying to contrast comic and tragic registers in the way Wagner evidently intended should be done. (By the way, the first few seconds of the next clip can be heard playing before the footage ends, which will give you some idea of the continuous nature of the presentation on the night itself.)
By now, I'm sure you get the idea -- as it was read, so shall it be played. (You might also appreciate the look on Daland's face in the picture that pops up as he wonders -- in effect -- "Did I hear aright?" This is a relatively rare example where the right image in the right place contributes perfectly to the overall effect.)
In total, that was already more than an hour's worth of entertainment. On the evening in question, we broke for refreshments at this point. (And if any of you have actually been following all this, I imagine you might like to do the same.)
A new challenge was now raised by trying to work out what "changes in the quality of his voice" Wagner would have felt suitable for the presentation of female characters. There seemed no other option but to speak falsetto, though hopefully without sounding completely ridiculous (except in the part of the housekeeper, Mary, where it was unavoidable).
As before, the same scene is then repeated with pictures and music -- including the "Spinning Chorus" and "Senta's Ballad", the core of the entire drama.
Slight technical glitch at the beginning here -- sound but no picture for a few seconds. We have now reached the scene between Senta and Erik.
And one more time, as usual. Managed to include some especially haunting images to underline Senta's obsession with the portrait.
Now comes the central climax of the drama -- the portentous meeting of Senta and the Dutchman.
And again -- a truly spine-tingling duet.
By this time, my live audience was taking a bit of strain -- unsurprising when you consider we are essentially performing the whole opera twice. Fortunately, there were still a few refreshments left.
To conclude, then, the short but climactic final act.
This is in fact the well-known "Sailors' Chorus", using the rollicking theme first heard in the Overture.
Erik's last bid to change Senta's mind -- first spoken.
& then sung -- shortly but sweetly.
And the very last scene of all -- with appropriate gestures.
Finally, an apology to purists. At the last moment, just after Senta's sacrificial leap from the clifftop, I suddenly change recordings -- substituting the closing passage from a Georg Solti recording of the Overture. This sudden shift is obviously far from ideal, and may sound jarring to sensitive ears, but was a decision forced on me by the need to find, at short notice, a version of Wagner's revised ending of the opera -- which alone does justice to his transfiguring vision of the Dutchman's redemption. Under other circumstances, I might have found a smoother solution to this problem, but at least it makes for a rousing finish to a well-spent evening.
Although I originally billed this production as a "one-man opera", I could certainly never have managed it all on my own. I would therefore like to thank the many who helped to make it possible: my wife for her patience in putting up with so lengthy and consuming a distraction; all those of my colleagues at Rhodes who assisted me by making funds available, printing posters and programmes, and arranging catering; the Music Department in particular for kindly providing the venue and facilities; the Rhodes Theatre Wardrobe for helping me put the finishing touches to a convincingly Wagnerian costume; Justin Archer for recording and editing the video footage; and the many friends, colleagues and students who assisted and supported the enterprise (and not least those who helped move the set into place). Finally, I owe a particular debt of thanks to my graduate student and invaluable amanuensis, Amy Goodenough, for pulling off the considerable feat of editing the sound and image files to such a high standard and with such unfailing good humour.
As the attentive among you may have guessed, the current production -- ambitious as it is -- is intended as only the first instalment in a long-term project, comprising similar presentations of all ten of the great Wagner operas. In fact, I have since performed Tannhäuser (over three evenings) -- of which I presented an excerpt at a most enjoyable conference in Oxford last September (as reported here: http://asiancorrespondent.com/114068/opera-anniversaries-conference-and-wagner-one-man-show/) -- and am currently editing the footage. And Lohengrin is in the pipeline -- an unfortunate image, but there it is.