In some ways Wagner is quite the presence in town, being their main industry, though the presence isn't quite as overwhelming as I thought it might be. Most of the streets are named after characters, real or fictional, involved in his works, and you see the occasional store or restaurant named after characters. For some reason, perhaps in tribute to the many potions, love and otherwise, featured in Wagner, drugstores seem especially fond of doing this, and I've seen ones named for Parsifal and Tannhauser (though not Hagen). The Festspielhaus is a brief walk from my hotel, and I walk up Meisetersingerstrasse and Nibelungenstrasse to get there.
The acoustics of the theater really are amazing. I've never been in any opera house where the voices sounded so clear and projected so well and powerfully. The orchestra stops warming up when the audience starts entering, and they and the conductor are completely hidden in the pit, so first the lights go out and then the music starts welling up as if from nowhere or anywhere. It's an amazing effect and I can't wait to hear how the opening bars of Rheingold sound tonight.
21 August 2006
Bayreuth 6
The Maximilianstrasse is the main street, so the city appears to have banned all vehicles but buses. There are three fountains, topped with baroque statues of Neptune, Hercules, and an angel respectively, from 1708 if the angel's banner is to be believed. The water comes from long thin pipes on their pedestals and shoots out through a swan's head. Very delightful. There is also an enormous statue of a rearing brontosaurus, which must be modern and has no apparent reason for being except that it too is very delightful.
höchste Lust
Tristan Night.
It's an odd thing to do, traveling halfway around the world to attend Wagner's music dramas, since Wagner is about transcendence and ecstasy and travel is about the mundane: where is the train? What time is it? Where can I eat? Where can I find a toilet? Theater can be like that too: when is the curtain? Will this seat do me in before the end of the act, beautiful though it is? Why is the man behind me wrinkling a plastic bag during all the quiet scenes? Your body says one thing but the ecstatic voices on stage say another. As in Marianne Moore's definition of poetry, treating it with perfect contempt one can find perhaps a place for the genuine.
It's an odd thing to do, traveling halfway around the world to attend Wagner's music dramas, since Wagner is about transcendence and ecstasy and travel is about the mundane: where is the train? What time is it? Where can I eat? Where can I find a toilet? Theater can be like that too: when is the curtain? Will this seat do me in before the end of the act, beautiful though it is? Why is the man behind me wrinkling a plastic bag during all the quiet scenes? Your body says one thing but the ecstatic voices on stage say another. As in Marianne Moore's definition of poetry, treating it with perfect contempt one can find perhaps a place for the genuine.
Bayreuth 5
As I left the piano music started up again. After a moment I realized it was the Liebestod. Now they're playing the Girl from Impanema, and from a conference room comes the ride of the Walkures.
Someone just came up to use the computer, so I'll go take a walk and try to wake up more.
Someone just came up to use the computer, so I'll go take a walk and try to wake up more.
Bayreuth 4
I've just eaten another huge breakfast and then gone out for a walk so the maids could clean my room, not that that takes long. There's an attractive park and stream right behind the hotel and I just discovered that it leads fairly directly to downtown.
Jaunty piano-bar music is playing in the lobby -- something by Gershwin. The music I had running in my head my first days here: Rigoletto, 4 Saints, and Strauss's orchestral songs. But I woke up this morning with the Grail music in my head, and it's all Wagner from here on out. (Underneath the cocktail tunes I just heard, from another room, a blast of Brunnhilde.) The music I hear from passing cars or coming from apartments: the same crap pop you hear everywhere. And some of the very elaborate graffiti I've seen touts old school hiphop. A lot of the tagging (and I'm sort of surprised by the amounts I've seen) is in English.
I realized this morning that I've been gone almost five days. I have no idea what's happening anywhere, since I'm not even opening AOL because I have such limited access (I'm curious to see how many emails pile up in my absence and how many I can delete without even bothering to open them). All I know is that something has happened with Gunter Grass, something connected, of course, to the war. Even over half a century later it is still an overwhelming presence, at least to me. One tag I saw looked like a swastika until I realized it was a swirly "z" with a slash through it. The local beer, Meissel's Weisse, has a logo that looks like a star of David, so I see those all over town. (The breakfast room here has a statue of King David in it, which is one of the oddly medieval touches that crop up in what otherwise look like American buildings.)
The piano music has stopped, but I can hear snatches of Wagner -- there must be a lecture in one of the conference rooms. I'm off to read the libretto of Tristan, which I'm hearing tonight.
Jaunty piano-bar music is playing in the lobby -- something by Gershwin. The music I had running in my head my first days here: Rigoletto, 4 Saints, and Strauss's orchestral songs. But I woke up this morning with the Grail music in my head, and it's all Wagner from here on out. (Underneath the cocktail tunes I just heard, from another room, a blast of Brunnhilde.) The music I hear from passing cars or coming from apartments: the same crap pop you hear everywhere. And some of the very elaborate graffiti I've seen touts old school hiphop. A lot of the tagging (and I'm sort of surprised by the amounts I've seen) is in English.
I realized this morning that I've been gone almost five days. I have no idea what's happening anywhere, since I'm not even opening AOL because I have such limited access (I'm curious to see how many emails pile up in my absence and how many I can delete without even bothering to open them). All I know is that something has happened with Gunter Grass, something connected, of course, to the war. Even over half a century later it is still an overwhelming presence, at least to me. One tag I saw looked like a swastika until I realized it was a swirly "z" with a slash through it. The local beer, Meissel's Weisse, has a logo that looks like a star of David, so I see those all over town. (The breakfast room here has a statue of King David in it, which is one of the oddly medieval touches that crop up in what otherwise look like American buildings.)
The piano music has stopped, but I can hear snatches of Wagner -- there must be a lecture in one of the conference rooms. I'm off to read the libretto of Tristan, which I'm hearing tonight.
20 August 2006
Bayreuth 3
(By the way because of the limited availability of the terminal I'm going to discuss the performances when I return and keep these posts for travel stuff.)
Days here are built around the music dramas, which is as the Master intended. The long operas start at 4:00 in the afternoon (but they use military time here, so I should say 16:00) and the shorter intermissionless works start at 18:00. As I mentioned earlier people start showing up well in advance, sometimes over an hour, though the house doesn't actually open until fifteen minutes before the hour, when the famous fanfares blare forth. The leitmotive the band plays is different not only for each opera (excuse me, music drama) but for each act. It's amazing how quickly 1,900 people can get settled in an amphitheater that has no inner aisles.
So there's not much dinnertime, unless you count snacks during intermission. I tend not to eat a lot so far during the breaks. So as the nutritionists recommend, breakfast is the large meal of the day. My knowledge of Bavarian cuisine is still limited to the very generous breakfast spread the Arvena Congress Hotel puts out. There are no pancakes or waffles, as there would be in an American hotel, but they seem to have everything else, including a section that's like tapas (stuffed olives, cheeses, sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, and so forth). There's lots of watermelon, which I always though was pretty much American. And of course there are pork products. I have to say it: so far I don't much care for the sausage. It's soft and bland in a way I don't much like. I've had little bratwursts and something called I think Nuremburg sausage. The bacon's good, though, even if it sometimes seems a little underdone to me. And so far no beer. I'm a little wary of chugging down before or during a performance. There's a lot of redemption to get through and I want to be able to appreciate it. But definitely in Munich if not before.
Today at the performance I met up with some other Wagner Society members. It's good to know who they are because we have to exchange tickets after each Ring opera. The seats are in different locations at different costs, and since there's only one ticket per cycle, we have to meet up and switch off. I had assumed the single ticket was to make a point that the Ring is a unified work of art, but a Society member explained to me that the real reason is to make it more difficult to scalp tickets to the individual operas. Once again I assumed a high-minded aesthetic reason only to hear that money was behind it all.
Days here are built around the music dramas, which is as the Master intended. The long operas start at 4:00 in the afternoon (but they use military time here, so I should say 16:00) and the shorter intermissionless works start at 18:00. As I mentioned earlier people start showing up well in advance, sometimes over an hour, though the house doesn't actually open until fifteen minutes before the hour, when the famous fanfares blare forth. The leitmotive the band plays is different not only for each opera (excuse me, music drama) but for each act. It's amazing how quickly 1,900 people can get settled in an amphitheater that has no inner aisles.
So there's not much dinnertime, unless you count snacks during intermission. I tend not to eat a lot so far during the breaks. So as the nutritionists recommend, breakfast is the large meal of the day. My knowledge of Bavarian cuisine is still limited to the very generous breakfast spread the Arvena Congress Hotel puts out. There are no pancakes or waffles, as there would be in an American hotel, but they seem to have everything else, including a section that's like tapas (stuffed olives, cheeses, sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, and so forth). There's lots of watermelon, which I always though was pretty much American. And of course there are pork products. I have to say it: so far I don't much care for the sausage. It's soft and bland in a way I don't much like. I've had little bratwursts and something called I think Nuremburg sausage. The bacon's good, though, even if it sometimes seems a little underdone to me. And so far no beer. I'm a little wary of chugging down before or during a performance. There's a lot of redemption to get through and I want to be able to appreciate it. But definitely in Munich if not before.
Today at the performance I met up with some other Wagner Society members. It's good to know who they are because we have to exchange tickets after each Ring opera. The seats are in different locations at different costs, and since there's only one ticket per cycle, we have to meet up and switch off. I had assumed the single ticket was to make a point that the Ring is a unified work of art, but a Society member explained to me that the real reason is to make it more difficult to scalp tickets to the individual operas. Once again I assumed a high-minded aesthetic reason only to hear that money was behind it all.
Bayreuth 2
I just returned from Hollander and this is the first time today the terminal has been free.
Last night at Parsifal there was an English gentleman behind me who looked and sounded like C. Aubrey Smith (I wasn't kidding about the gentleman part) and I heard him say, "They're the most harmonious couple I know: I've never heard them agree on anything." The rest of the audience is not at that epigrammatic level, unfortunately. And do not believe the rumors that no one coughs at Bayreuth. There are even a few whisperers. But on the whole people are attentive and interested and outlandishly dressed. There are many plunging necklines and bare arms that common sense or a mirror would tell the owners should be covered. I saw one woman in a brown and gold top with swirling designs and a big hot pink dollar sign over her breasts. It struck me as an odd thing to wear to Parsifal. I can't even quite get people eating ice cream cones and sausage during the hour-long intermission. It seems like eating popcorn during Mass. One elegant woman in a long black evening gown had dribbled ice cream on her chin. I saw from the back a woman in a rose-pink silk dress that had silk roses in the gathers. I was amused and charmed by this since Wagner had a rose-pink silk fetish. It looked like something the heroine of a 19th century novel would wear, so I walked around to see the girl. It would be harsh to say she might actually have been from the 19th century, but let's say the time had gone by.
I'm wearing shirt-and-tie and carrying my jacket, so I'm somewhere in the middle of the dress spectrum. Of course my shirts are a bit wrinkled since the hotel rooms have neither ironing boards nor irons, something I was assuming they would have. I see some in jeans, though that seems in context like more of a statement than is worth bothering with. A lot of people enjoy the dress up aspect. Many of them are taking pictures of themselves against the Festspielhaus or the plaque inside commemorating the world premiere of the Ring. I've been asked to take a few of these pictures for people. Happy to oblige! Although there are signs prohibiting cell phones and cameras in the theater, many carry them in and take photos during the curtain calls. The ushers, all of whom are pretty young blonde German girls before the constant smoking ruins their looks, smile and politely ask the offenders not to take photographs; the offenders smile and politely put away their contraband cameras, but only after snapping their pictures.
There is the occasional man in shorts in the crowd, in realistic acknowledgment of the heat, and I assume they were going inside, since the plaza in front of the Festspielhaus seems like an odd place to hang out. They were not among those with the "ein carte bitte" signs. I've seen several people walking around the Festspeilhaus before the performance with their dogs. I don't know where they keep them during the show, but perhaps in honor of Wagner's beloved pet there are facilities. It is usual to arrive at least an hour before the performance. For once I'm not the first to arrive at a theater. The seats are just as, or even more uncomfortable than, advertised. I figured that I sit on those plastic seats at baseball games for hours at a time so this wouldn't be a problem. Damn was I wrong. I guess wood is harder than plastic. Note to Bayreuthers: bring a cushion. I may try sitting on my jacket, which is otherwise of no use to me. When I wrote my first entry I almost commented on how perfect the weather was. Since then it has turned muggy and it poured intermittently today. Fortunately I missed getting caught in any downpours. It would be especially irritating considering how limited a traveler's wardrobe is.
The theater itself is a handsome building and the acoustics are indeed astonishing. It is smaller than any American opera house I've been in. As with Symphony Hall in Boston, a lack of funds and the resulting inability to slather excessively dainty ornamentation all over resulted in an appealingly rough-hewn building that has an understated elegance.
I went to Wahnfried today. As I signed the guest book I noticed that right ahead of mine was the signature of a Leona (if I read the name correctly) Vaz from Lisbon! An unknown relative, here at Bayreuth with me. Small world.
I slept poorly last night, which means either that I'm very jet-lagged still or that I'm back to normal. It's hard to tell.
Last night at Parsifal there was an English gentleman behind me who looked and sounded like C. Aubrey Smith (I wasn't kidding about the gentleman part) and I heard him say, "They're the most harmonious couple I know: I've never heard them agree on anything." The rest of the audience is not at that epigrammatic level, unfortunately. And do not believe the rumors that no one coughs at Bayreuth. There are even a few whisperers. But on the whole people are attentive and interested and outlandishly dressed. There are many plunging necklines and bare arms that common sense or a mirror would tell the owners should be covered. I saw one woman in a brown and gold top with swirling designs and a big hot pink dollar sign over her breasts. It struck me as an odd thing to wear to Parsifal. I can't even quite get people eating ice cream cones and sausage during the hour-long intermission. It seems like eating popcorn during Mass. One elegant woman in a long black evening gown had dribbled ice cream on her chin. I saw from the back a woman in a rose-pink silk dress that had silk roses in the gathers. I was amused and charmed by this since Wagner had a rose-pink silk fetish. It looked like something the heroine of a 19th century novel would wear, so I walked around to see the girl. It would be harsh to say she might actually have been from the 19th century, but let's say the time had gone by.
I'm wearing shirt-and-tie and carrying my jacket, so I'm somewhere in the middle of the dress spectrum. Of course my shirts are a bit wrinkled since the hotel rooms have neither ironing boards nor irons, something I was assuming they would have. I see some in jeans, though that seems in context like more of a statement than is worth bothering with. A lot of people enjoy the dress up aspect. Many of them are taking pictures of themselves against the Festspielhaus or the plaque inside commemorating the world premiere of the Ring. I've been asked to take a few of these pictures for people. Happy to oblige! Although there are signs prohibiting cell phones and cameras in the theater, many carry them in and take photos during the curtain calls. The ushers, all of whom are pretty young blonde German girls before the constant smoking ruins their looks, smile and politely ask the offenders not to take photographs; the offenders smile and politely put away their contraband cameras, but only after snapping their pictures.
There is the occasional man in shorts in the crowd, in realistic acknowledgment of the heat, and I assume they were going inside, since the plaza in front of the Festspielhaus seems like an odd place to hang out. They were not among those with the "ein carte bitte" signs. I've seen several people walking around the Festspeilhaus before the performance with their dogs. I don't know where they keep them during the show, but perhaps in honor of Wagner's beloved pet there are facilities. It is usual to arrive at least an hour before the performance. For once I'm not the first to arrive at a theater. The seats are just as, or even more uncomfortable than, advertised. I figured that I sit on those plastic seats at baseball games for hours at a time so this wouldn't be a problem. Damn was I wrong. I guess wood is harder than plastic. Note to Bayreuthers: bring a cushion. I may try sitting on my jacket, which is otherwise of no use to me. When I wrote my first entry I almost commented on how perfect the weather was. Since then it has turned muggy and it poured intermittently today. Fortunately I missed getting caught in any downpours. It would be especially irritating considering how limited a traveler's wardrobe is.
The theater itself is a handsome building and the acoustics are indeed astonishing. It is smaller than any American opera house I've been in. As with Symphony Hall in Boston, a lack of funds and the resulting inability to slather excessively dainty ornamentation all over resulted in an appealingly rough-hewn building that has an understated elegance.
I went to Wahnfried today. As I signed the guest book I noticed that right ahead of mine was the signature of a Leona (if I read the name correctly) Vaz from Lisbon! An unknown relative, here at Bayreuth with me. Small world.
I slept poorly last night, which means either that I'm very jet-lagged still or that I'm back to normal. It's hard to tell.
19 August 2006
blogging from Bayreuth
The hotel has a single public computer in its lobby, so I'll be brief. I'm here after a lengthy trip, made worse by wasting an hour in the wrong line at SFO. Every flight out of there is like the last plane out of Saigon anyway. I also didn't realize that it took three trains and five and a half hours to get from Munich to Bayreuth. I walked around when I arrived. Bayreuth is a pretty, quiet town. Parts look just like America and other parts are very different (for instance, the keyboards are different and the y is where the z should be, which makes typing difficult). I came across a klezmer band on the Maximilianstrasse this morning; they were playing If I Were a Rich Man, which is a nice irony on several levels.
The hotel is nice and is modern (which means it has kind of an early 80s look) so the quaintness factor is limited but the breakfast buffet more than makes up for it. There was a sign on the hall window asking guests to keep it closed during the night because of bats. I wondered briefly if the fledermaus reference was some sort of warning against the insidious world of operetta, but I think they mean it literally.
I'm still pretty tired, so I'm not being as clever and insightful as I hoped, and this keyboard is driving me nuts, so I'll go rest up before the first opera: Parsifal, this afternoon.
The hotel is nice and is modern (which means it has kind of an early 80s look) so the quaintness factor is limited but the breakfast buffet more than makes up for it. There was a sign on the hall window asking guests to keep it closed during the night because of bats. I wondered briefly if the fledermaus reference was some sort of warning against the insidious world of operetta, but I think they mean it literally.
I'm still pretty tired, so I'm not being as clever and insightful as I hoped, and this keyboard is driving me nuts, so I'll go rest up before the first opera: Parsifal, this afternoon.
15 August 2006
Frisch weht der Wind der Heimat zu: Mein Irisch Kind, wo weilest du?
So I'm off to the Green Hill, for the first time. I will blog from Bayreuth if I can find an Internet cafe and, more to the point, can figure out how they work, which might be a stretch. I figure the endless, waterless flight will be stress enough without adding unnecessary burdens. In my family I'm considered something of a tech whiz kid because I know how to order stuff from Amazon, so you can see where I'm coming from. This may explain why I've always been drawn to sciencey types: they complete me. . . .
I'm selfishly glad that the latest airport uproar happened last week and not this week, so at least I can make sure to have no contraband pudding or suspicious contact lens cases on me if I get pulled aside, which seems probable, since I am an angry-looking bearded man with a suspicious-sounding surname. In preparation for what I've heard of the temperatures in the Festspielhaus I have cut off all my hair, so now I'm wondering if I looked crazier with my hair falling below my shoulders or with my head shaved the way it is now. Time and eventually this blog will tell.
I'm selfishly glad that the latest airport uproar happened last week and not this week, so at least I can make sure to have no contraband pudding or suspicious contact lens cases on me if I get pulled aside, which seems probable, since I am an angry-looking bearded man with a suspicious-sounding surname. In preparation for what I've heard of the temperatures in the Festspielhaus I have cut off all my hair, so now I'm wondering if I looked crazier with my hair falling below my shoulders or with my head shaved the way it is now. Time and eventually this blog will tell.
10 August 2006
on the ever-lasting need for narrative
From the Iliad, in Alexander Pope's translation (Book 6, lines 181-188):
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now with'ring on the ground,
Another race the following spring supplies,
They fall successive, and successive rise;
So generations in their course decay,
So flourish these, when those are past away.
But if thou still persist to search my birth,
Then hear a tale that fills the spacious earth.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now with'ring on the ground,
Another race the following spring supplies,
They fall successive, and successive rise;
So generations in their course decay,
So flourish these, when those are past away.
But if thou still persist to search my birth,
Then hear a tale that fills the spacious earth.
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