(soprano) and DAVID SYRUS (piano) - Wagner Society of England

ack in Act III instead of the “wondrous woman” who has taken possession of his
imagination. Incidentally Robert Dean Smith sang “Winterstürme wichen dem
Wonnemond” and much else with an incomparable legato, somehow taking its phrasing
through all Wagner’s awkward consonants which break up his beautiful melos.
Burkhard Ulrich has advanced his arresting Loge a stage further, creating a kind of
performance of a performance for his own sardonic appraisal and amusement without ever
sacrificing the impression of being the most clear-sighted and truthful of the gods, as well
as the most amoral. It was in character that after Wotan has robbed Alberich (the slightly
soft-centred Gordon Hawkins) of the Ring and stands gazing at it in besotted self-regard,
this Loge watched him with a mix of disbelief, disgust and horror that anyone could be so
deluded. Burkhard Ulrich went on to present a Siegfried Mime who was thoroughly
dislikeable and again beautifully sung. Greer Grimsley made a spirited attempt at the
Walküre Wotan but he seemed miscast, with a vocalism too high and too light, and a
conception too homely, particularly in the context of this mythic production. At the end of
Die Walküre, Grimsley’s Wotan staggered across the stage clutching his heart and
emoting, suggesting the possibility (heresy!) that Wagner’s heroes might after all simply
be petit bourgeois grossly inflated, as Nietzsche jeeringly alleged. Grimsley’s
predecessors had never for one moment run the risk of letting us think of the Walküre
Wotan as anything less than a god, however devastated by events he may be. Mark Delavan
in Das Rheingold and Siegfried may have been smaller in voice and stature, but he seemed
to have a better measure of the role.
One of this Ring’s many other fine features was its Rhinemaidens, all ravishingly
pure, and even more so its Woodbird, whose every note of every phrase was sung with a
perfect, silvery purity by Hila Fahima. As usually happens at the Deutsche Oper, there was
not a weak link among the “minor roles”, such as Erda, and Waltraute or the Rheingold
gods and giants. There was a Gutrune out of Rubens and a magnificent set of Valkyries,
even though the idea of having them wake up and slowly stretch themselves free of
slumber went against the tumultuous energy unleashed instantly by their music.
The finest part of this Ring was Götterdämmerung. Janice Baird had shown
immense promise as the Siegfried Brünnhilde, and in Götterdämmerung she fulfilled
every hope with her intense, overwhelming portrayal. Nowhere did she ever let up on
brilliant singing and brilliant acting, and we should have had her for Brünnhilde in Die
Walküre as well, instead of Jennifer Wilson who was outclassed by Baird. I have never
seen the moment when Gunther commends to the populace the two happy couples more
heartrendingly realised. The look of joy that lit up this Brünnhilde’s face on hearing the
name Siegfried, her turning round and her headlong rush to embrace him, and then her
confusion and the gradual, wondering anguish of her growing disbelief – all this she
presented incomparably. Possibly her voice itself, so bright and pure above the stave, could
do with a little filling out in the five notes above middle C, but I have no hesitation in
hailing her Brünnhilde as belonging to the same great league as the youthful Gwyneth
Jones or Astrid Varnay.
Almost as impressive was the Siegfried of Stephen Gould, whose bronze
magnificence barely comes across on any of his recordings. Matti Salminen, equally
magnificent as Hagen, is so scheming and menacing that any Siegfried with the slightest
sense or awareness should have instantly left Gibichung territory for a different continent,
although Salminen was far different from that great Hagen of the past, Gottlob Frick, who
managed to combine a threatening grimness with a scrawny, unmeritable exterior more in
line with Wagner’s own conception.
–7– – 7–