Classical & Opera

Wagner’s ‘Ring’ has been appropriated by Christians, Buddhists, atheists,  Marxists, Nazis and even Glastonbury (ENO performed Act Three of ‘Die Walküre’ in 2004, enthusiastically received; it helps if you’re on something).

Recently comedy has sneaked in, sometimes intentionally. Covent Garden’s last production had those naked roly-poly Rhinemaidens loved by the tabloids. And now we have giant hands curling around visitors to Nibelheim, a mechanical hopping frog, and magic fire that doesn’t always ignite on cue. Overall philosophical message? Keith Warner’s direction doesn’t seem too far from the current view of Valhalla plc, the gods as a capitalist concern getting above (and below) themselves until the inevitable crash. Does the flame-girt rock where Brünnhilde’s put to sleep have ‘Northern’ written through it?

Covent Garden’s in mid-cycle, all four operas of the tetralogy being performed in sequence. The opening ‘Rheingold’ (pictured), a mere 150 interval-less minutes, speeds by. If you want to queue for returns (the cycle’s sold out), this is the one to go for. Things have been tweaked and tidied since its first performance three years ago. Bryn Terfel backed out during rehearsals (when usually impassive press releases use words like ‘shocked’ you can bet the Royal Opera was spitting feathers) but his replacement by John Tomlinson was all gain except in vocal freshness. Sir John, a globally acclaimed Wotan,was anyway due to share the role with Terfel. The voice has its hoarse and dry patches but for sheer authority he knocks Boyo Bryn into a tarnhelm – for all his cannon-like vocalisation, Terfel’s blubbery persona always evokes a rugger club post-match binge, whether he’s singing Don Giovanni or John the Baptist.

In ‘Rheingold’ Sir John’s run pretty close by Loge, the god of fire, the mercurial wide boy who will destroy them all. The superb Philip Langridge is unrecognisable, even in a role where he’s familiar. Replacing the dirty-raincoated spiv of the ROH’s last production, he darts on in tails and waistcoat, red pony-tail flying, like some terrifyingly everyday monster from ‘Struwwelpeter’, the tailor who’ll snip your thumbs off, perhaps. The Germanic iconography continues with the descent to the dwarves’ workshops where a lesser race toils in horribly modern-looking labs for mad masters. The production reveals the darkness in the heart of the forest of German romanticism. What starts with Grimm and ETA Hoffmann ends with Dr Mengele.

Some of the production ideas remain silly (the magic Tarnhelm is a large Rubik’s cube) and frequently undercut the characters’ dignity, though full marks to Lisa Gasteen’s Brünnhilde for being a sport (and for singing recognisable notes). Maestro Pappano excels in the score’s lyrical moments – never has the giant Fasolt’s music sounded so tender as he claims Freia as payment. Elsewhere, the orchestra’s clarity anticipates Richard Strauss in wheedlingly sensuous mode. Pappano’s a superb accompanist of singers – unusually in Wagner, here they’re never drowned out – but as yet lacks the big guns to shatter us. His approach was at its best with Simon O’Neill, a fresh-voiced Siegmund of intimate lyricism (Domingo takes over this week). Peter Sidholm, unlike most Alberichs, mellifluously sings the malevolent dwarf, a role usually barked; Eva-Maria Westbroek is a vibrant Sieglinde; Marina Poplavskaya makes a steady, clean-toned Third Norn. Gerhard Siegel’s vividly malevolent Mime, Kurt Rydl (Hagen), Peter Coleman-Wright and Emily Magee (Gunther and Gutrune – are there any siblings in ‘The Ring’ who don’t fancy incest?) combine dramatic and vocal gifts, unlike many of their colleagues who manage only one. But that may be Wagner’s fault.