A Singer’s Life Pt18

Looking through my archive material at the weekend, I found the script for my talk to the Wagner Society in 1990, reporting on my trip to Bayreuth that year as a result of the award to me of the 1990 Wagner Society Bursary. I was beginning to sing a little more Wagner at the time and at 34 I was reaching an age that would make singing his music feasible and safe for the vocal chords. Not long after this talk, I started rehearsing the roles of Fafner and Hagen with Graham Vick’s City of Birmingham Touring Opera Company which was about to premiere Jonathan Dove’s new cut-down orchestration of the Ring Cycle. Dove had turned the mammoth 4 opera tetralogy into 2 very long operas (Rheingold and Valkyrie on one night and Siegfried and Twilight of the Gods on the second) and we played it in sports centres and town halls around Britain. It proved to be an overwhelming success, as it allowed people to get up close and intimate with operas which previously could only take place in huge theatres. The public loved it, the critics swooned, and we had a wonderful time. It was exhausting both to rehearse and perform, as Graham Vick was a hard task master, but we were a most homogenous cast and many of us formed lifelong friendships. We used the old Andrew Porter translation which ENO and Reginald Goodall had used in the 60s as the basis, although I estimate we ourselves rewrote most of it to fit 1990s English and better singing styles. It was always amusing to read the glowing tributes from most of the press about the wonderful Porter translation, since I reckon only about 20% remained! Opera in translation is the subject of a forthcoming part of this series of articles. 

The ‘two evening’ scenario was understandable but impractical, as the poor singers playing Brunhilde, Siegmund/Siegfried and particularly Wotan were literally exhausted at the end. When I was lucky enough to sing Wotan (in German, this time) in the Longborough Festival at the end of the 90s, using the same version, only once did they try to put it on in two days, as I had explained that we had had such problems before. It was scheduled over a weekend once, and I nearly lost my voice! The reaction to the CBTO tour in 1990/91 was phenomenal and was a major spur for my career.  

The chance to go to Bayreuth in 1990 was a once in a lifetime opportunity, as tickets for the Festival are like gold dust. I saw Lohengrin, Flying Dutchman and Parsifal over 4 days, and, reading the script for my talk, I realised how extraordinary the experience had been. I had driven my new Saab Turbo there and relished the lack of speed limits on many of the German Autobahns. Driving consistently for miles and miles averaging 110 mph was an exhilarating feeling, and knowing I sometimes had to pull over to let German drivers pass at 130 kept the concentration levels high. That year in particular, one had to be even more watchful as the Wall had come down the previous year. Bayreuth is not far from the old East German border, and many former DDR people were beginning to venture over to the decadent west in their little Trabant and Lada cars. Unfortunately, their top speed was about 50 mph, and so they were a serious danger on the Autobahns. In addition, the Trabant was famous for its lightweight construction (people used to say that in an accident between a Trabby and a pedestrian, the car would come off worse!), so one was aware of the potential for disaster. 

Reading my notes, I am aware that, even at that age, I had developed a strong critical sense. I imagined in my naivety that I had been so astounded by the whole experience that my critical faculties had been put aside, but no! I was underwhelmed by some of the singing (my view of the tenor singing Parsifal was as follows: “The American Parsifal was almost a disaster. He is tall and athletic but can neither sing nor act! His technique is appalling, and he only survived the evening through strength of vocal chords!”).  I thought that James Levine’s conducting was slow and ponderous, and found the Gurnemanz, although vocally adequate, utterly boring. Only the Kundry of Waltraud Maier apparently saved the evening, singing wonderfully (although severely taxed toward the end of Act 2) and acting with a savage sexuality that gripped the audience. Wolfgang Wagner (the composer’s grandson) directed the opera, and my younger self admired the ritualistic nature of the production but bemoaned his lack of direction for the singers. The music fortunately overcame all these caveats! 

Werner Herzog, the famous film director, was responsible for the production of Lohengrin, which I enjoyed much more. The same singer who had bored me as Gurnemanz sang King Henry and bored me again. It seems though that I was in a minority as he was cheered to the rafters at the end, and it might just be that I was suffering from bass envy! I am not convinced though. I was very impressed with the Canadian Paul Frey who sang Lohengrin (although worried by his open technique) and the wonderfully named Gabriele Schnaut as Ortrud and enjoyed the conducting of Peter Schneider. I was less thrilled by Herzog’s production. It had many felicities and some fabulous effects, but his handling of the singers (a perennial problem with film directors trying to work with singers) and some of his weirder concepts (Telramund gradually turns into a wolf, and many of his followers were wolves from the start) marred the evening and led to an equivocal end as Elsa appears to be condemned into the heathen grasp of Ortrud, rather than finding ethereal redemption. However, my memories now and then were musical, and I will never forget the sound of those shimmering strings in the Prelude to the opera rising out of the vast under-stage pit at Bayreuth, in complete darkness! 

I seem to have enjoyed The Flying Dutchman most, as a modern but exciting production by Dieter Dorn and thrilling conducting by Giuseppe Sinopoli, made for a magical night in a magical theatre. Bernd Weikl, Elizabeth Connell, Hans Sotin and Reiner Goldberg were the fabulous leads, and the production, although criticised by the press, impressed me enormously. The comparison with the acting by numbers in Lohengrin and Parsifal was huge, and I felt I was part of a wonderful theatrical experience. I sang a reasonable amount of Wagner in my career, and have always wished I could have sung more, but perhaps the fact that my voice is still quite fresh sounding now, 30 years later as I write, is testament to a bit of good fortune.  

In December 1988, I was invited to Israel to sing in Bach’s Magnificat with the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra in the Liturgica Festival and set off from my London home to Heathrow Airport, prepared to be fascinated and troubled in equal measure. The first Intifada had started in 1987, but apparently things had died down and we were told that, provided we were careful, we should be quite safe. We were flying to Tel Aviv on El Al and I had been warned that this airline, for sensible reasons (i.e. ongoing terrorism!), had pretty strict security measures at the gate. However, I was unprepared for the grim interrogation I had to endure, when, for over half an hour, I was quizzed on my reasons for going to Israel by unsmiling unpleasant security staff. I tried to explain that their government and its cultural department had invited me to sing in their country, and that I was going as an honoured guest, but this cut little ice. When I had to show them my vocal score of Bach’s Magnificat as proof that I was legit, and after they had perused it for some minutes as if it were some bomb-making code, I was eventually permitted to board their plane, but I must say, I was very close to telling them I was going home to Hackney. The whole trip became a huge contradiction between the wonders of Israel and especially, Jerusalem, and the antics and prejudices of its officials.  

This was an extraordinary contract, as I had one short aria to sing in the Magnificat, and nothing else. The Liturgica was a major festival, with 3 big concerts using the Jerusalem Symphony in the magnificent Henry Crown Hall, employing choirs from the USA and Israel, and international soloists and conductors. Penderecki conducted his own “St Luke Passion”, Lawrence Foster conducted Verdi’s “Four Sacred Pieces” and the renowned American/Israeli/Romanian Sergiu Commissiona conducted our Bach concert. Since I had so little to sing, I had lots of free time to investigate Jerusalem and it turned out to be fascinating and revelatory. 

I spent much of my time exploring the Old City, famous from biblical times, and traditionally split into four quarters, Jewish, Christian, Muslim and Armenian. Who knew about the Armenian bit? Certainly not me! The Intifada made things tense, but not really dangerous then for tourists, and I was able to travel fairly freely. We were warned to use Jewish taxis rather than Arab ones, but I think that was probably just the official line. I saw the wonders of the Temple Mount and the Western (Wailing) Wall (Jewish), the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (traditionally built in the 4th Century where Christ was originally buried) (Christian), The Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque (Muslim) and the quaint Armenian section. It was uncanny to wander around this ancient place of which one has heard and read so much, squeezed behind very old walls built in the 16th Century by Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. Much has been altered over the years, especially in the Jewish quarter, but the rebuilding has been pretty tasteful. I walked on the hills nearby, saw supposed tombs of ancient prophets, and sauntered through the Gardens of Gethsemane. I tried to maintain both reverence and obvious innocence of bias towards any group and was largely ignored and felt reasonably safe. It was fascinating, and I was thrilled to be there. Our hotel was fairly luxurious but was run by an Orthodox group which meant that on Friday and particularly Saturday (Sabbath), no Jew was allowed to do anything but pray. Consequently, little Arab boys were employed to work the lifts and serve in the restaurants on the Sabbath. It was all very unusual. 

We had a trip to Jaffa which was very pleasant and much more secular. We paddled in the Mediterranean, (remember it was December/January!), and drank rather good Israeli wine with delicious falafels and lamb kebabs. The concert was a great success, although our celebrated conductor was not au fait with the current Baroque style that I have written about in previous articles, and the whole thing felt very ponderous to me. Since the soloists were from various European countries, I was able to enjoy New Year thrice, once in Israeli time, once in Central European and once in Greenwich Mean Time. Much jollity! One of my abiding memories was when we were taken to the American Colony Hotel, in East Jerusalem, where we enjoyed pork chops for the first time in two weeks. 

The return journey was, unbelievably, as tedious as the outward flight with more interrogation at the airport, and I tired of the continuous lament of officialdom about the ungrateful Palestinians. As I said, I loved the country and many of the ordinary people were delightful, but my abiding memory was of a society uncomfortable with itself. The history of the Jewish people is full of tragedy and strife, and I share their feelings of horror about the Holocaust (I visited the Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem and was deeply moved!) but I couldn’t escape the uncomfortable feeling that this did not excuse the behaviour of the government and its minions. I have no idea what things are like there now, and I fear for the region. I was invited there once more, to sing Death in The Emperor of Atlantis many years later, but decided not to go, as the security situation was much more critical, and I couldn’t justify leaving my family at home. The reaction was shocking, as I was told in no uncertain terms that I was now banned from working in Israel. I have not been back, but I treasure those wonderful memories of a fabulous land and hope one day that peace and happiness will be restored there.