07-17-2025, 04:52 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-17-2025, 04:53 PM by RiverNotch.)
I've already posted this in another forum (not poetry related), but still:
I picked a strange year to start getting into Wagner.
But the fascination in his music, for me, has always been its ties to progressive movements, to progressive ideas, or at least to media that could be more easily read as progressive. I first listened to something with a Wagnerian ear after I got into the music for the Lord of the Rings film trilogy, where the Wagnerian influence---especially in the finale of the entire saga---was explicit. Then the first Wagner opera I heard in full was Tristan und Isolde, followed by Das Rheingold and Parsifal, and now I've listened to the whole Ring cycle multiple times. The first proper treatment of Wagner I read, meanwhile, was George Bernard Shaw's The Perfect Wagnerite, where he made explicit the revolutionary socialism that one could potentially read in Der Ring. And then, I've recently learned, Theodor Herzl, in his book The Jewish State, gushed about the composer. His explicit antisemitism and implicit racialism had their responses long before the Nazis were even an idea.
Tristan und Isolde, I think, is something of a specialist's favourite. To those without much experience in opera, or at least in the Western classical tradition, it might seem overlong and indulgent, but once one develops enough patience, only its indulgence remains apparent. I, personally, think of it as four brief hours of edging.
Parsifal, I barely remember. It might be the most self-serious of Wagner's operas, and many commentators also consider it to be his thorniest play when it comes to potential antisemitism. I hope to revisit it once I've finally given all his other mature operas, and possibly also Rienzi, a go.
Here, my focus has to be on Der Ring, just as the cycle was also the focus in Shaw's book. It's certainly the easiest of his operas to get into, in the Wagnerian sense: unlike Der fliegende Hollaender, Tannhaeuser, or Lohengrin, his ideas of associating musical passages to certain themes was there fully developed, but unlike Tristan und Isolde, the choice of themes are much less subtle. The most obvious examples of themes here, for me, are those associated with specific races---here Wagner meant fantasy races---i.e., a motive of the Giants, some motives of the Rhinedaughters, a motive of Walhall (and thus of the Gods as a collective), and a motive of the Dwarves.
Der Ring des Nibelungen, really, is a distillation of Germanic myth, and this distillation's subsequent application to the socioeconomic upheavals of the 19th century, upheavals which seem more relevant than ever. As in Germanic myth, the world is structured around a giant ash tree, with the Gods living on top, Giants and Humans living in the middle, and Dwarves living in the depths. The leader of the Gods is the one-eyed Wotan; his wife, Fricka, is the goddess of law; and the other gods that briefly feature in the cycle are the god of thunder Donner, the goddess of love Freia, and Freia's handsome brother Froh. Freia, in this distillation, is fused with Sif, as she tends the grove of golden apples from which the Gods derive their immortality.
Half-God, Half-Giant is Loge, the trickster-god of fire, an agent which initially poses as Wotan's friend, but it soon becomes clear that he serves pretty much everyone. The leaders of the Giants are the brothers Fasolt and Fafner, initially employed by the Gods to build Walhall. The leader of the Dwarves is Alberich; his brother, Mime, is a smith.
Of unclear status are the Rhinedaughters, deities which reside in the river Rhine, as well as Erda, or the personification of the Earth.
The cycle begins with Das Rheingold, or The Rhinegold. It's in four scenes with no breaks in-between, about two hours and forty minutes on average.
Scene 1. The Rhinedaughters swim about. Alberich enters, seeking for one of them to be his bride. They mock and reject him, then reveal that their swimming about is not random: they are guarding the titular Rhinegold, a treasure which can be fashioned into a Ring with the potential to conquer the world by someone who renounces love. This, Alberich promptly does, stealing the gold then scurrying off.
This entire scene, for me, is a musical highlight. The prelude is something many of you will have already heard: one piece of media I remember it being a part of is Terrence Malick's The New World. The most striking musical motives here are the motives associated with the Rhinedaughters, the motive of the Rhinegold itself, and the motive of Alberich's renunciation.
Per Shaw's reading, the Rhinedaughters represent nature, or perhaps the mocking class of otherwise-gorgeous quasi-aristocrat that has an easy affinity for nature, while Alberich represents the uncouth Capitalist. Think Elon Musk.
Scene 2. Transition to just outside Walhall. Fricka is worried for Freia, since she has been promised as payment to Fasolt and Fafner for Walhall's construction. Eventually, the Giants claim Freia as their hostage, while Wotan and Loge leave to find a worthy substitute.
Here we are introduced to the motive of Walhall, a really evocative piece for brass; the motive of the Giants, a booming piece of music that rarely recurs outside of this opera, like the other much less memorable motives for each God; the motives of Wotan's treaties and of his spear, which are as subtle as the motives for the other Gods but become memorable by their repetition in the later operas; and the motives of Loge, which double as the motives of fire.
Per Shaw's reading, the Gods are akin to nobles, aristocrats, pontiffs, or old-money capitalists. Wotan he specifically declares as "Godhead and Kingship", whereas I'm inclined to divide the Gods into two classes, as per the original myths, with Freia and Froh being Gods closer to nature than Wotan, Fricka, and Donner. The Giants are one sort of underclass these nobles exploit. Loge, per Shaw, is "Logic and Imagination without Living Will...Brain without Heart, to put it vulgarly", but I am inclined to disagree. Certainly that's the interpretation were Loge seen as a person, and certainly Loge in the play seems dynamic enough---moreso than the other Gods, bar Wotan and Fricka---to be so seen, yet to me he's as much a pure force of Nature as the Rhinedaughters.
Scene 3. Transition to Nibelheim, or the domain of the Dwarves. With the Ring, Alberich has enslaved his fellow Dwarves, even his brother Mime. The Dwarves have been forced to gather up a great treasure; Mime has been forced to craft the Tarnhelm, a coif of mail able to transform its wearer into anything they should want, so long as they themselves bear the Ring.
Wotan and Loge arrive. In an episode taken from any number of myths, they trick Alberich into bondage.
The motive of the Dwarves, or perhaps of the Dwarves' labours, is introduced here in a passage that is absolutely deafening---as originally orchestrated, and as performed in a recording as faithful as those of Sir Georg Solti, it's played on a set of anvils---but also introduced are subtler motives of treasure and of dragons.
The Dwarves are another sort of exploited underclass, one which relies more on wit than on brute force.
Scene 4. Transition back to just outside Walhall. Wotan and Loge force Alberich to give up his treasure, including the Tarnhelm and the Ring, and here Alberich issues a curse: whoever else wields the Ring will soon come to a nasty end. The Gods nevertheless let the Dwarf go.
Fasolt and Fafner exchange Freia for the treasure, but Wotan, seduced by the power of the Ring, refuses to give it up. Deus ex machina, or should I say deus ex terra, as Erda suddenly appears, telling him to give up the Ring. Perhaps the seductive powers of the Ring yielded to the seductive powers of Mother Earth, because Wotan promptly does as he was told, and here Alberich's curse is most viscerally demonstrated, as Fafner murders his brother for the Ring. The Giant leaves; the Gods enter Walhall; Wotan ponders Erda; the Rhinedaughters lament; Loge sneers at everyone.
Erda has a few motives associated with her, but they're all very subtle: I remember more her presence, her necessarily powerful voice, than any of the melodies she issues. Instead, the most magnificent portion of this scene, the entry of the Gods into Walhall, is mostly a recapitulation of previous motives, beginning with these weighty lines sung by Donner:
Sultrily mists float in the air;
heavy hangeth the glomy weight!
Ye hovering clouds, come now with lightning and thunder
and sweep the heavens clear!
The second play is Die Walkuere, or The Valkyrie, whose three act structure is more conventionally operatic. This is the play universally acclaimed as best realizing Wagner's original intentions, when it comes to associating musical passages with themes, and I have to agree with that assessment, with this play also being far more dramatic than the two to flank it.
Act 1. A stranger enters Sieglinde's house. Sieglinde offers the man hospitality; she learns that he is being chased.
Enter Hunding, both the stranger's pursuer and Sieglinde's husband. We learn that this stranger---Wehwalt, literally "Woeful"---is being pursued after trying and failing to save a girl from marriage by abduction. As a devout man, Hunding will not revoke the hospitality offered Wehwalt by his wife---instead, the two will continue their fight the following day---and Hunding retires to his room, quickly falling asleep.
Sieglinde has little affection for her husband. The drink she had earlier offered Wehwalt was clean; the drink she had given Hunding was drugged. She reveals two things: first, that another stranger had stuck a sword in the tree at the heart of Hunding's house; and second, that she herself was a victim of marriage by abduction. Wehwalt then reveals that he was so determined to save that girl because his sister was also such a victim, and that his name is actually Siegmund. He withdraws the sword, naming it Nothung---Need---then he and his sister abscond.
The most important motives here are those associated with Hunding, with the clan of Sieglinde and Siegmund, with the love between Sieglinde and Siegmund, and with Nothung. The latter three motives recur frequently throughout the cycle; that of the Waelsungs, in particular, may be considered one of the cycle's signature motives, like that of the Fellowship in the Lord of the Rings. But the musical passage most frequently anthologized, in this act, is the love duet towards this act's end, especially the passage that begins:
Winter storms have waned in the moon of May,
with tender radiance sparkles the spring....
My enjoyment of this act would be complete, if not for what the penultimate lines of this passage make clear:
The bride and sister is freed by the brother;
in ruin lies what held them apart....
Act 2. Some additional context. The story makes clear, in this act, what was implied by the music---specifically the recurrence of the Walhall theme---in the previous act, which is that Siegmund and Sieglinde's father is a disguised Wotan. Here, too, we learn that Wotan had also coupled with Erda, who brought forth for him the Valkyries, or those warrior women tasked with collecting the souls of heroes for to defend Walhall should Alberich reclaim the Ring. His favourite, among the Valkyries, is Bruennhilde, who leaves to prepare for the confrontation between Hunding and Siegmund.
Once Bruennhilde has left, however, Fricka arrives. To reiterate, Fricka is the goddess of law, and here her allegorical role is to represent the very Law itself, the very organ by which Wotan's nobility is legitimized---the very woman for which Wotan had given up his eye. She is uncomfortable with the Valkyries, who I likewise reiterate were born of Wotan's adultery, but now she absolutely despises the Waelsungs, who have just committed, not only adultery, but also incest.
Bruennhilde returns. Wotan rescinds his earlier command---that Siegmund survive his fight with Hunding---and describes, in a lengthy passage that musically is somewhat dull but dramatically is one of the cycle's highlights, his motivations for having both Siegmund and Bruennhilde. His power, he derives from all the treaties he has signed with all the agents of the world, treaties which he has carved into his spear: thus, to secure the Ring from Fafner, he needs a hero completely free from his influence, one which he had initially hoped he would find in Siegmund. What Fricka had just made plain to him, however, is that Siegmund, his son, is not at all a free agent---even Nothung came directly from Wotan's hand---and the God resigns himself to despair.
The scene changes. Sieglinde and Siegmund are on the run. Sieglinde, panicking, passes out. Siegmund sees Bruennhilde, who announces his impending death. Siegmund is fine with this, at first, until he learns that Sieglinde is not to join him in Walhall. He threatens to immediately end it all, for both him and Sieglinde, even after Bruennhilde reveals that Sieglinde bears his child, and Bruennhilde, in another exceptionally dramatic moment, is convinced to disobey her father.
The final scene. Siegmund and Hunding fight. Just when it seems that Siegmund is about to slay Hunding, Wotan personally intervenes, shattering Nothung with his spear, and Hunding slays Siegmund. Bruennhilde takes Sieglinde and flees. With a "contemptuous wave of [his] hand", Wotan slays Hunding, then flies off in a rage for his daughters.
Musically, the highlights for this are the prelude, which introduces the motives of the Valkyries, as well as the last two scenes; another noteworthy motive here introduced is that of Wotan's rage. The exchange between Bruennhilde and Siegmund always gives me chills, as well as Wotan's near-growling dispatch of Hunding.
Act 3. Tied with Lohengrin's wedding march is the start of this act, the Ride of the Valkyries, for the most iconic piece of music Wagner has ever written, although this beginning is dramatically rather empty: it's just the Valkyries, sans Bruennhilde, getting together after a busy day.
Bruennhilde and Sieglinde then arrive, with Bruennhilde desperately asking her sisters for help. Sieglinde resigns herself to death, until Bruennhilde tells her what she had earlier told Siegmund: Sieglinde is with child. Sieglinde, finding a new lease in life, thanks Bruennhilde, then flees to the forest where Fafner dwells, or the one place in all Middle-earth which Wotan would dare not visit.
Wotan arrives. The Valkyries scatter. Wotan initially condemns Bruennhilde to becoming a mortal---to living as a woman in a strongly patriarchal society---until Bruennhilde correctly points out that, while she didn't follow his word, she did follow his will. Wotan now lightens the punishment, surrounding Bruennhilde in a fire only a man who knows no fear can pass, and the play ends.
Yet another musical highlight is the entire final scene, for which Wagner had also arranged a concert version. For motives, a melody that is only revealed to be a motive in the very end of the play is Sieglinde's thanksgiving to Bruennhilde:
O radiant wonder! Glorious maid!
Thou bring'st me, true one, holiest balm!
For him whom we loved I save the beloved one:
may my thanks yet bring laughing reward!
Fare thou well! be blest in Sieglinde's woe!
Introduced in this act is the motive of Siegfried, the son of Sieglinde and Siegmund, which is yet another of the cycle's "signature motives", as well as the motives of Wotan's love for Bruennhilde and of Bruennhilde's magic sleep.
Shaw's allegorical reading, here, is somewhat inadequate for me, at least when it treats with Bruennhilde. He characterizes her as "the inner thought and will of Godhead", but I am simply not convinced. Theoretically, Bruennhilde is indeed not a free agent, being as restrained by Wotan's treaties as Wotan himself, but two of the most dramatically compelling moments of the play are, as I noted, not only when Bruennhilde changes her mind, but also when she changes someone else's mind, both of which tend to be the hallmarks of a fully realized character. Group those moments with the mundane-by-design punishment that she receives, and if she is still to be allegorized, it may be as the first potential member of the revolutionary class: perhaps the upper class twit who stumbles onto the right ideas.
The third play is Siegfried.
The title character is interesting. Initially, I despised him, as he seemed virtually identical to Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, but later on I realized that the character is a mere teen, just as Bruennhilde the character, rather than the stereotypical fat middle-aged lady who sings, is really a brawny youth. I was helped toward this realization by the version on Youtube I had watched, the 1990 cycle at the Metropolitan Opera, where the Siegfried still looked too old, but the Bruennhilde was perfect, looking about half the age of the actual performer. It's a shame that the channel I found that on has some dubious other content, while the performance's conductor has a genuinely odious personal record....
At any rate, act 1. Mime forges a sword. Siegfried, his ward, arrives from the surrounding forest accompanied by a bear. Mime is startled; Siegfried claims he cannot help it, as the friends his horn attracts are never gentle. Siegfried lets the bear go, then handles Mime's sword. The sword easily breaks in Siegfried's hands.
Frustrated, Siegfried bullies Mime. Mime, in teaching Siegfried to love him, tells him his sob story:
A whimpering babe, brought I thee up,
warmly I clothed the tiny mite:
food, too, and drink gave I to thee,
sheltered thee safe as my very self....
Siegfried, however, continues to bully Mime, as he wishes to learn who his real parents were. Mime insists, at first, to have been both mother and father to Siegfried, but eventually he relents, telling Siegfried that his mum's name was Sieglinde, as well as showing Siegfried the fragments of Nothung. Sieglinde, it is revealed, had died giving birth to Siegfried, and Siegfried runs off, sad about his mother's fate, but happy that he's not actually related to ugly Mime.
As Mime gets back to work, enter the Wanderer. The Wanderer was initially Wotan's disguise, especially when he put Nothung in Hunding's house, but Shaw suggests that something had fundamentally changed, since the events of the last play, for this disguise to be another persona entirely. Mime, not a very good host, tries to drive the Wanderer away; the Wanderer then challenges Mime to a game, offering him his head if he could not answer Mime's three riddles.
Mime's three riddles, all insignificant, are easily answered, and the Wanderer now challenges the Dwarf with three of his own riddles. The first two riddles, again, are insignificant, but the third---who can reforge the shards of Nothung, the only sword able to slay Fafner---Mime is unable to answer. Of course, that was the question the Wanderer had hoped to receive in the first place, and so he answers it:
He who the force of fear ne'er felt
Nothung shall he forge.
The Wanderer forfeits Mime's head to this mystery person, then leaves. Siegfried immediately returns, and Mime realizes that, while he's taught Siegfried a lot of things, he's not quite taught him fear. Soon enough, Siegfried reforges Nothung---simultaneously, Mime plots to kill Siegfried, once Siegfried has slain for him Fafner, in order to claim Fafner's treasure for his own.
Much of this play is comic, but again, the insufferability of its protagonist makes the comedy feel off. Not necessarily unfunny, just too mean-spirited for to safely be indulged. This act's musical highlight, by far, is Siegfried's magnificent forging song, although the recapitulation of much of the cycle's motives in the previous two scenes are also quite satisfying. The most noteworthy of the new motives, aside from those associated with the forge, are those of Siegfried's horn call and of Mime's sob story.
In his complete disdain for someone that, even nominally, took care of him---in his being the completely free agent of which Wotan had long dreamed---Siegfried is clearly the Nietzschean Uebermensch, the kind of person by which true revolutions are enacted. Mime showcases just how much the system can corrupt those it exploits.
Act 2. Alberich schemes before Fafner's lair: Fafner, using the Tarnhelm, has transformed himself into a dragon, which now lies on top of his hoard. The Wanderer arrives and mocks Alberich. Mime and Siegfried then arrive, with Mime claiming he'll teach Siegfried fear by showing him the dragon. Mime and Alberich soon leave Siegfried alone, and Siegfried marvelously finds beauty in the gloom of the forest by fixating on a Woodbird's song. He crafts himself a reed with a nearby stick and tries to imitate the Woodbird. This failing, he just blows on his horn as usual....
Fafner appears. What convinces Siegfried to fight him is when he speaks, unlike the bear, and when he uses his speech to threaten to eat young Siegfried. Siegfried and Fafner fight---Fafner dies---Siegfried, stung by Fafner's corrosive blood, instinctively draws his blood-stained fingers to his lips, and suddenly he finds himself able to understand the thoughts of others, such as the Woodbird above. The Woodbird instructs Siegfried to retrieve from Fafner's hoard the Tarnhelm and the Ring.
Mime and Alberich return, arguing. Siegfried returns from Fafner's lair---Alberich hides---and Mime tries to offer Siegfried a cool refreshing drink after his hard day's work. Siegfried, however, hears Mime's thoughts, discerning how the drink has been drugged. Siegfried kills Mime. Alberich laughs, then leaves entirely.
Siegfried now laments that he has no one with whom to share his treasure. The Woodbird again addresses him: atop some mountain is a circle of fire, and in the midst of that fire sleeps a woman....
The comedy here is much better, especially in Siegfried's petty attempts to communicate with the Woodbird, and in Siegfried and Mime's duet after the slaying of Fafner. Not only that, but the music which conveys the comedy is as sublime as that in the last act of the preceding play: the composer had also arranged for it a concert version. Here comes, in full force, the dragon-motive, and here is introduced the woodbird-motive.
Act 3. Wotan, briefly in his original persona, summons Erda, asking for advice. Erda, however, is largely confused---things seem to have changed considerably, since Das Rheingold---and the fundamental change in Wotan is revealed, as he is actually happy about his coming doom.
Erda leaves. Siegfried and the Woodbird enter, though the Woodbird, noticing Wotan, immediately leaves. Wotan, however, is quick to become the Wanderer once again, by the time Siegfried notices him. The Wanderer admires Siegfried, especially his sword, but Siegfried takes this affection as an insult when the Wanderer laughs at Siegfried's not knowing from whence the original Nothung came. Thus, Siegfried tries to barrel his way ahead, and the Wanderer chastises Siegfried, noting that Siegfried should "honor the aged", only the one aged person Siegfried had ever properly interacted with beforehand was Mime. Siegfried now notices that the Wanderer has but one eye, to which the Wanderer responds, if cryptically, that the lost eye is one of Siegfried's own....
Siegfried again tries to barrel his way towards Bruennhilde, and now Wotan reveals himself in all his glory, mentioning how his spear had once before shattered Nothung. Siegfried, either obstinate or just plain stupid, declares Wotan to have been his father's enemy, striking at his spear with his sword. This time, the spear shatters, and Wotan withdraws, not just from Siegfried, but from all worldly affairs....
Siegfried reaches the peak. He finds what seems to be a dead warrior and, curious, strips the body of its armor. The body, of course, is Bruennhilde, likely the first ever woman Siegfried has encountered, and the young hero finally learns what fear is. He kisses her---again recall, not so much that this story is a fairytale, but that Siegfried is an unschooled teen---and Bruennhilde wakes up, declaring Siegfried to be her husband. As the two duet, Siegfried declares that he has forgotten what fear is again, while Bruennhilde scorns her previous life as an immortal out of her tremendous love for Siegfried, and eventually the two sing:
Light of loving, laughing death!
Light of loving, laughing death:
light of loving, laughing death!
All three scenes of this act are splendid, musically, though the third is splendid in a markedly different way from the rest of the cycle beforehand, at least according to Shaw. If the first two plays, as well as the first two acts and the first two scenes of the third act of the third play, are a proper Gesamtkunstwerk, the rest of the cycle is more of a classic Grand Opera, which in Shaw's eyes means having far less philosophical significance. When it comes to Siegfried, I don't quite agree, in part because the ecstasy in the version I first watched was genuinely sublime---Hildegard Behrens stretching out from the rock and greeting the sun while Siegfried Jerusalem gazed in silent awe was a real flash of inspiration---and in part because Shaw himself is able to milk so much from it, even when all he milks are questions rather than solutions. The real issue, as it should soon be apparent, is with the very last play, where the problems posed, of which the association between love and death in the above quotation is emblematic, ultimately receive nothing.
The only distinct new motives at this point are found in the final scene, but they're distinct only if one is familiar with the Siegfried Idyll, a sort of tone poem Wagner composed for his wife at the same time he was working on Der Ring, and they all fundamentally mean the same thing, being but subtle distinctions on the love between Siegfried and Bruennhilde.
Goetterdaemmerung is last. Shaw translates this as Night Falls on the Gods, but the more common and likely more accurate translation is Twilight of the Gods.
The longest of the three plays, it begins with an extended prologue. The three Norns---the Germanic fates---weave a rope, recapitulating the events of the past, including how the world ash tree began to rot the moment Wotan had plucked from its branches what was to become his spear. When they move on to the subject of the Rhinegold, the rope snaps: perhaps the last "meaningful" moment in the entire cycle. Then Siegfried and Bruennhilde show up, singing an extended love duet. Bruennhilde sends Siegfried off to further adventures, while Siegfried hands Bruennhilde the Ring.
Transition to the first act, with the various motives played demonstrating Siegfried's movement through the fire, along the Rhine, and finally towards the hall of the Gibichungs. Here we are introduced to the Gibichung king Gunther, his half-brother Hagen, and his sister Gutrune. All three are bachelors. Hagen advises that Gunther claim, for his wife, Bruennhilde, but Gunther is afraid of the fire surrounding her. Hagen then suggests he commission Siegfried to do so, as he had heard through the grapevine how Siegfried had slain Fafner and won the Tarnhelm---he also suggests marrying off Gutrune to Siegfried, with Gutrune devising some kind of magic potion for insurance.
Siegfried arrives. Gunther offers Siegfried the hall's hospitality; Gutrune offers Siegfried her poisoned drink. Siegfried immediately forgets Bruennhilde and falls in love with Gutrune; Gunther promises Siegfried Gutrune's hand if Siegfried were to win for him Bruennhilde. Siegfried and Gunther swear an oath of blood-brotherhood, one which Hagen deliberately does not join, and the act ends.
Only it seems Wagner refuses to call this play what it is---a Grand Opera in the style of Verdi---when the act continues, this time rapidly transitioning back to Bruennhilde's rock. One of the other Valkyries, Waltraute, entreats her to give up the Ring, in order to stay the Gods' doom---Shaw correctly points out that this is nonsense, as the Gods were doomed the moment Siegfried shattered Wotan's spear---and Bruennhilde refuses.
Gunther arrives, surprising Bruennhilde. Bruennhilde is subjected to marriage by abduction, with Gunther seizing from her the Ring, then forcing her to sleep with him in a cave. Gunther then reveals himself to the audience to be a disguised Siegfried---he claims that he will keep his abduction of Bruennhilde chaste by having himself and Bruennhilde sleep separated by Nothung's blade---and the act ends.
Siegfried's initial amicability with Gunther was somewhat believable---perhaps his interactions with Bruennhilde had finally softened him---and we are fortunate enough to have Gutrune's magic potion complete the change in his character, but more questionable are the changes in that of Bruennhilde, as she seems much less attached to the fate of her beloved father Wotan than before. Maybe she knows that Waltraute's entreaties are nonsense, or maybe---as she herself claims in the opera---she really had lost much of her divine wisdom, when she became mortal, but either way there is something dramatically dissatisfying in her conversation with her sister, even if that moment is musically quite engaging.
The Gibichungs, like the Waelsungs, are supposed to have a motive of their own, but I barely detect it. There are also supposed to be a couple of motives for Gutrune, but again, I barely detect it. The only memorable new motive here is for Hagen, though it has been pointed out to me that, when written out, it's identical to the motive of Grief or Woe that's been recurring in the cycle since the first scene of Das Rheingold, only with more consistent orchestration.
Fortunately, Grand Opera has plenty of musical pleasures of its own, and here what Wagner had arranged into a concert is Siegfried's musical journey from Bruennhilde's rock to the hall of the Gibichungs. Also a highlight, for me, is the rest of the prologue, and evidently Waltraute's role is typically a showcase for former Bruennhildes, though the same goes for Fricka in Die Walkuere.
Act 2. Speaking of [i}Die Walkuere[/i], there it had also been revealed that Alberich had paid a woman to conceive for him a son---a coupling yet loveless, per his character---and that son is here revealed to be Hagen (so the Gibichungs' former queen was a prostitute?). This act begins with Hagen and Alberich scheming to reclaim the Ring, before Siegfried returns, ahead of Gunther and Bruennhilde, and tells Hagen and Gutrune of his recent adventure, assuring Gutrune that he remained chaste with the former Valkyrie.
Hagen, in another of this opera's musical highlights, blows a steerhorn, then summons all of Gunther's vassals in a booming bass song:
Hoiho! Hoiho hoho!
Ye Gibich vassals, gather ye here.
Arm ye! Arm ye! Weapons! Weapons!
Arm through the land!
Of course, the vassals are relieved when the summons is actually for a wedding celebration. Perhaps Hagen only called for them to be armed so that not a one of them would refuse.
Gunther and Bruennhilde then arrive. Bruennhilde's first shock is to see Siegfried with Gutrune; her second shock, to see the Ring on Siegfried's finger. She accuses Siegfried of not being chaste with her---most likely a blatant lie, Shaw points out---and Siegfried swears otherwise upon Hagen's spear. Eventually, the vassals scatter, along with Siegfried and Gutrune, leaving Hagen, Gunther, and Bruennhilde to plot Siegfried's demise.
Again, the character of Bruennhilde here seems much maligned, even if the trio between Hagen, Gunther, and Bruennhilde at the end, like Hagen's summoning of the vassals, is another of the opera's musical highlights. The trio, I believe, is one of the few instances of a proper trio in the entire cycle, as the vassals are the only instance of a choir. Trios and choirs, of course, are mainstays in the genre of Grand Opera, but Hagen's role here remains exceptional, with a 1984 interview between music journalist Bruce Duffie and German bass Kurt Moll claiming that it's a real voice-killer.
Act 3. Siegfried has joined a hunt with Gunther, Hagen, and Gunther's vassals. Briefly, he alone retires next to the Rhine, where he meets with the Rhinedaughters, who implore him to give up the Ring. Siegfried is initially tempted to do so, until the Rhinedaughters seem to threaten him by mentioning the Ring's curse, at which point Siegfried happily surrenders himself to death.
The rest of the hunting party arrives. Gunther and Hagen ask Siegfried about his life, and Siegfried---like the Norns---recapitulate the events of the cycle. One would think that the recapitulations here get tiring, but the fact that we are so close to the cycle's end makes them all feel earned, if intellectually empty.
Gunther and Hagen secretly give Siegfried another magic potion, and Siegfried begins to remember his earlier tryst with Bruennhilde. This, Hagen spins as Siegfried having been unfaithful to Gunther, and Hagen stabs Siegfried in the back with his spear. Siegfried, in a haunting little melody, has one final vision of Bruennhilde before he dies. Gunther then orders his vassals to carry Siegfried back to their hall.
Hagen's stab in the back has since become one of the foundational myths of Nazi Germany---that the German and Austrian defeat of the First World War was caused by the Jews' betrayal---but it is important here to note a few things. First, and most obviously, this myth just isn't true, and I won't waste my breath arguing against those who say otherwise.
Second, the image of Hagen stabbing Siegfried in the back is actually much older than Wagner. In the original stories, the Woodbird also told Siegfried to bathe in Fafner's blood, for to make himself invincible, but when Siegfried did so, a linden leaf had fallen on his back, leaving a conspicuous weak spot. In Wagner, meanwhile, Bruennhilde claims to have cast a protective spell around Siegfried, but knowing that Siegfried was no coward, she never bothered to have the spell wrap completely around him.
Finally, the Nazis themselves were pretty inconsistent with their use of this myth. On the one hand, you have them equating the Jews with treacherous Hagen; on the other hand, you have them valorizing the characters of Hagen and Gunther, or at least those characters from the original stories, especially when the two faced the doom to which their treacherous actions led with what seemed like heroic stoicism. This hopefully demonstrates how one can redeem a lot of the cultural products the Nazis have appropriated, however iffy the task might seem.
Returning to the opera, Hagen, Gunther, and the vassals are met by Gutrune and Brunnhilde. Hagen tries to claim the Ring for his own, but Gunther wishes for it to pass on to Siegfried's widow Gutrune, for which Hagen slays him. Gutrune effectively dies of grief; Bruennhilde, declaring herself to be Siegfried's true widow, claims the Ring for her own. She orders a funeral pyre be built up for Siegfried; lighting it, she rides her horse into the fire, killing herself; the flames rise further, consuming the hall, and eventually setting alight Walhall; the waters of the Rhine likewise rise, and the Rhinedaughters finally reclaim the Rhinegold; Hagen, himself also claiming the Rhinegold, is drowned by the Rhinedaughters. The end.
If the whole first scene of the cycle's first play is a musical highlight, then I think the same of this entire act, though Wagner only arranged into a concert the scene of Siegfried's funeral march onwards. Though it's maybe too late to introduce any new motives, at this point, the chords underscoring Siegfried's death are occasionally counted as such. Here also returns the melody of Sieglinde's thanksgiving, first played in the background as Bruennhilde sings:
Grane, my steed, I greet thee, friend!
Know'st thou now to whome
and whither I lead thee?
In fire radiant, lies there thy lord,
Siegfried, my hero blest....
Later, as fire and water consume the entire scene, this melody is now played by the strings, while the rest of the orchestration plays what they will. It's very moving, comparable to the melody for "Into the West" in the Lord of the Rings, only Howard Shore actually takes care to introduce his finale's themes across more scenes than Wagner, so emotions there feel a lot more earned. Indeed, unlike Wagner, Howard Shore maintains a very consistent use of themes across his entire trilogy (let's not talk about The Hobbit), surpassing Wagner in the very principles Wagner himself espoused, although Wagner still manages to musically outshine Shore insofar as he had to write for voices in all his fourteen hours.
But yes, the final lesson Wagner wishes to impart seems to be the redeeming power of love, coupled with the intimate association between love and death, without much in the way of serious, concrete action---no "hold on to the little things" as in Tolkien, no "be kind regardless of your enemies' cruelty" as in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power or the New Testament, nothing. Intellectually, this is incredibly dissatisfying, but emotionally, this is also disappointing, since he imparts this same exact lesson, but with much more focus, in Tristan und Isolde. I would call this a shame, but again, this is thirteen hours of Gesamtkunstwerk followed by four hours of Grand Opera: it's still felt as a feat.
Shaw blames this final failure to the cycle's long gestation period. Evidently the libretto was finished a good twenty or so years before the actual music, receiving only a handful of additional changes during the music's composition; it was also worked on backwards, according to Wikipedia, with Wagner first writing Goetterdaemmerung, whereas the music was worked on in the right order. At the same time, however, Wagner began conceptualizing the cycle only a few months after his participation in the Dresden Uprising, where a bunch of revolutionaries failed to steer the governments of Saxony and Prussia to a more liberal direction, but his libretto was mostly finished at around the same time that his first antisemitic screed was published. I'd rather put the blame squarely on the author's personality: as an article in the Telegraph notes, "Wagner was a genius, but also a fairly appalling human being." Sometimes, leftist ideas can be born out of incredibly backwards motivations, and we always have to be wary of that, especially in ourselves.
Finally, listening recommendations! I do not recommend listening to any of the orchestral distillations of Der Ring first, as you'll never get a sense of how momentous the work is through those. I'll still put my personal playlist of such distillations at the very end, but I only recommend listening to it after you've given the cycle a few goes.
The most famous recording of Wagner was conducted by the Hungarian Jewish artist Sir Georg Solti, recorded and published from 1958 to 1965, and that recording remains the gold standard. Solti's tempi and loudness seem perfect, when it comes to Wagner; the recording was state of the art at the time, so no annoying stereo separation as in, say, the Beatles' earlier albums; and the artists Solti employed were all as top tier as he was. If you're as easily distracted as I am, you're not likely to properly listen to the entire cycle, or even an entire opera, in one continuous go, and that's fine. In fact, it took watching the aforementioned 1990 performance for me to truly get this music, so I imagine that, for the lot of you, the theater of the mind will easily give way to an actual, visible stage. Before this, I had also watched a recording of the centenary performance of the Ring at Bayreuth, conducted by Pierre Boulez, but I only managed to finish Das Rheingold, as its set-dressing---19th century industrialists, making obvious the allegory Shaw had otherwise merely interpreted, rather than the pure fantasy of the Met performance, or even Wagner's original conception---ultimately left me cold. I might like it, now that I've gotten through the whole cycle multiple times, but I really recommend first-time viewers find a staging that's "traditional", or maybe a concert version, rather than one of the Postmodern or even Modernist interpretations that have since become standard.
One last note. I of course recommend a bilingual libretto, to be able to follow along either Solti's recording or a performance sans-subtitles, but there also exists at least one recording of Der Ring in English, the 1970-1973 cycle by Sir Reginald Goodall. There are four things about that cycle that ward me from recommending it wholeheartedly, however. First is the instrumentation, which was clearly cheaper than that of Solti: few anvils in Das Rheingold, no proper steerhorn in Goetterdaemmerung. The voices are also not very great, at least when it came to Goetterdaemmerung, with the choir being rather muddled and Hagen audibly struggling. The tempi are painfully slow---meditative, perhaps, for sequences as capital-r Romantic as those of the Woodbird, but inappropriate for moments which were always meant to pulsate, like that of Siegfried's forging song---such that the recording is a good three hours longer than that of Solti. Finally, I hear Goodall was another appalling human being, like Wagner or James Levine, though to a much worse degree, I think, as the man supposedly referred to the Holocaust as a BBC-Jewish plot. Good thing all these men are dead now.
The bilingual libretti I have were translated by Frederick Jameson and edited by Mark D. Lew, but the site from which I got them from is long dead.
Shaw's book: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1487/1487-h/1487-h.htm
Interview of Kurt Moll: https://www.bruceduffie.com/moll.html
Telegraph article (likely the quote is from the book reviewed, rather than the article): https://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/book...eview.html
I'll only share a link to the James Levine performance in DM's: while Levine is dead, I don't know about the Youtube account and its questionable content.
Solti's Ring: https://open.spotify.com/album/3tDNolZfh...zBfKUlxerg
Symphonic Ring: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7axZVz...3d39dd4e8b
My references for Wagner's motives:
https://www.monsalvat.no/RingList.htm
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAqWi_Y...41ojy4RAdA
Bonus:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07E5sLsJQe0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_NwWFleDlo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDY0gs_AWUQ
I picked a strange year to start getting into Wagner.
But the fascination in his music, for me, has always been its ties to progressive movements, to progressive ideas, or at least to media that could be more easily read as progressive. I first listened to something with a Wagnerian ear after I got into the music for the Lord of the Rings film trilogy, where the Wagnerian influence---especially in the finale of the entire saga---was explicit. Then the first Wagner opera I heard in full was Tristan und Isolde, followed by Das Rheingold and Parsifal, and now I've listened to the whole Ring cycle multiple times. The first proper treatment of Wagner I read, meanwhile, was George Bernard Shaw's The Perfect Wagnerite, where he made explicit the revolutionary socialism that one could potentially read in Der Ring. And then, I've recently learned, Theodor Herzl, in his book The Jewish State, gushed about the composer. His explicit antisemitism and implicit racialism had their responses long before the Nazis were even an idea.
Tristan und Isolde, I think, is something of a specialist's favourite. To those without much experience in opera, or at least in the Western classical tradition, it might seem overlong and indulgent, but once one develops enough patience, only its indulgence remains apparent. I, personally, think of it as four brief hours of edging.
Parsifal, I barely remember. It might be the most self-serious of Wagner's operas, and many commentators also consider it to be his thorniest play when it comes to potential antisemitism. I hope to revisit it once I've finally given all his other mature operas, and possibly also Rienzi, a go.
Here, my focus has to be on Der Ring, just as the cycle was also the focus in Shaw's book. It's certainly the easiest of his operas to get into, in the Wagnerian sense: unlike Der fliegende Hollaender, Tannhaeuser, or Lohengrin, his ideas of associating musical passages to certain themes was there fully developed, but unlike Tristan und Isolde, the choice of themes are much less subtle. The most obvious examples of themes here, for me, are those associated with specific races---here Wagner meant fantasy races---i.e., a motive of the Giants, some motives of the Rhinedaughters, a motive of Walhall (and thus of the Gods as a collective), and a motive of the Dwarves.
Der Ring des Nibelungen, really, is a distillation of Germanic myth, and this distillation's subsequent application to the socioeconomic upheavals of the 19th century, upheavals which seem more relevant than ever. As in Germanic myth, the world is structured around a giant ash tree, with the Gods living on top, Giants and Humans living in the middle, and Dwarves living in the depths. The leader of the Gods is the one-eyed Wotan; his wife, Fricka, is the goddess of law; and the other gods that briefly feature in the cycle are the god of thunder Donner, the goddess of love Freia, and Freia's handsome brother Froh. Freia, in this distillation, is fused with Sif, as she tends the grove of golden apples from which the Gods derive their immortality.
Half-God, Half-Giant is Loge, the trickster-god of fire, an agent which initially poses as Wotan's friend, but it soon becomes clear that he serves pretty much everyone. The leaders of the Giants are the brothers Fasolt and Fafner, initially employed by the Gods to build Walhall. The leader of the Dwarves is Alberich; his brother, Mime, is a smith.
Of unclear status are the Rhinedaughters, deities which reside in the river Rhine, as well as Erda, or the personification of the Earth.
The cycle begins with Das Rheingold, or The Rhinegold. It's in four scenes with no breaks in-between, about two hours and forty minutes on average.
Scene 1. The Rhinedaughters swim about. Alberich enters, seeking for one of them to be his bride. They mock and reject him, then reveal that their swimming about is not random: they are guarding the titular Rhinegold, a treasure which can be fashioned into a Ring with the potential to conquer the world by someone who renounces love. This, Alberich promptly does, stealing the gold then scurrying off.
This entire scene, for me, is a musical highlight. The prelude is something many of you will have already heard: one piece of media I remember it being a part of is Terrence Malick's The New World. The most striking musical motives here are the motives associated with the Rhinedaughters, the motive of the Rhinegold itself, and the motive of Alberich's renunciation.
Per Shaw's reading, the Rhinedaughters represent nature, or perhaps the mocking class of otherwise-gorgeous quasi-aristocrat that has an easy affinity for nature, while Alberich represents the uncouth Capitalist. Think Elon Musk.
Scene 2. Transition to just outside Walhall. Fricka is worried for Freia, since she has been promised as payment to Fasolt and Fafner for Walhall's construction. Eventually, the Giants claim Freia as their hostage, while Wotan and Loge leave to find a worthy substitute.
Here we are introduced to the motive of Walhall, a really evocative piece for brass; the motive of the Giants, a booming piece of music that rarely recurs outside of this opera, like the other much less memorable motives for each God; the motives of Wotan's treaties and of his spear, which are as subtle as the motives for the other Gods but become memorable by their repetition in the later operas; and the motives of Loge, which double as the motives of fire.
Per Shaw's reading, the Gods are akin to nobles, aristocrats, pontiffs, or old-money capitalists. Wotan he specifically declares as "Godhead and Kingship", whereas I'm inclined to divide the Gods into two classes, as per the original myths, with Freia and Froh being Gods closer to nature than Wotan, Fricka, and Donner. The Giants are one sort of underclass these nobles exploit. Loge, per Shaw, is "Logic and Imagination without Living Will...Brain without Heart, to put it vulgarly", but I am inclined to disagree. Certainly that's the interpretation were Loge seen as a person, and certainly Loge in the play seems dynamic enough---moreso than the other Gods, bar Wotan and Fricka---to be so seen, yet to me he's as much a pure force of Nature as the Rhinedaughters.
Scene 3. Transition to Nibelheim, or the domain of the Dwarves. With the Ring, Alberich has enslaved his fellow Dwarves, even his brother Mime. The Dwarves have been forced to gather up a great treasure; Mime has been forced to craft the Tarnhelm, a coif of mail able to transform its wearer into anything they should want, so long as they themselves bear the Ring.
Wotan and Loge arrive. In an episode taken from any number of myths, they trick Alberich into bondage.
The motive of the Dwarves, or perhaps of the Dwarves' labours, is introduced here in a passage that is absolutely deafening---as originally orchestrated, and as performed in a recording as faithful as those of Sir Georg Solti, it's played on a set of anvils---but also introduced are subtler motives of treasure and of dragons.
The Dwarves are another sort of exploited underclass, one which relies more on wit than on brute force.
Scene 4. Transition back to just outside Walhall. Wotan and Loge force Alberich to give up his treasure, including the Tarnhelm and the Ring, and here Alberich issues a curse: whoever else wields the Ring will soon come to a nasty end. The Gods nevertheless let the Dwarf go.
Fasolt and Fafner exchange Freia for the treasure, but Wotan, seduced by the power of the Ring, refuses to give it up. Deus ex machina, or should I say deus ex terra, as Erda suddenly appears, telling him to give up the Ring. Perhaps the seductive powers of the Ring yielded to the seductive powers of Mother Earth, because Wotan promptly does as he was told, and here Alberich's curse is most viscerally demonstrated, as Fafner murders his brother for the Ring. The Giant leaves; the Gods enter Walhall; Wotan ponders Erda; the Rhinedaughters lament; Loge sneers at everyone.
Erda has a few motives associated with her, but they're all very subtle: I remember more her presence, her necessarily powerful voice, than any of the melodies she issues. Instead, the most magnificent portion of this scene, the entry of the Gods into Walhall, is mostly a recapitulation of previous motives, beginning with these weighty lines sung by Donner:
Sultrily mists float in the air;
heavy hangeth the glomy weight!
Ye hovering clouds, come now with lightning and thunder
and sweep the heavens clear!
The second play is Die Walkuere, or The Valkyrie, whose three act structure is more conventionally operatic. This is the play universally acclaimed as best realizing Wagner's original intentions, when it comes to associating musical passages with themes, and I have to agree with that assessment, with this play also being far more dramatic than the two to flank it.
Act 1. A stranger enters Sieglinde's house. Sieglinde offers the man hospitality; she learns that he is being chased.
Enter Hunding, both the stranger's pursuer and Sieglinde's husband. We learn that this stranger---Wehwalt, literally "Woeful"---is being pursued after trying and failing to save a girl from marriage by abduction. As a devout man, Hunding will not revoke the hospitality offered Wehwalt by his wife---instead, the two will continue their fight the following day---and Hunding retires to his room, quickly falling asleep.
Sieglinde has little affection for her husband. The drink she had earlier offered Wehwalt was clean; the drink she had given Hunding was drugged. She reveals two things: first, that another stranger had stuck a sword in the tree at the heart of Hunding's house; and second, that she herself was a victim of marriage by abduction. Wehwalt then reveals that he was so determined to save that girl because his sister was also such a victim, and that his name is actually Siegmund. He withdraws the sword, naming it Nothung---Need---then he and his sister abscond.
The most important motives here are those associated with Hunding, with the clan of Sieglinde and Siegmund, with the love between Sieglinde and Siegmund, and with Nothung. The latter three motives recur frequently throughout the cycle; that of the Waelsungs, in particular, may be considered one of the cycle's signature motives, like that of the Fellowship in the Lord of the Rings. But the musical passage most frequently anthologized, in this act, is the love duet towards this act's end, especially the passage that begins:
Winter storms have waned in the moon of May,
with tender radiance sparkles the spring....
My enjoyment of this act would be complete, if not for what the penultimate lines of this passage make clear:
The bride and sister is freed by the brother;
in ruin lies what held them apart....
Act 2. Some additional context. The story makes clear, in this act, what was implied by the music---specifically the recurrence of the Walhall theme---in the previous act, which is that Siegmund and Sieglinde's father is a disguised Wotan. Here, too, we learn that Wotan had also coupled with Erda, who brought forth for him the Valkyries, or those warrior women tasked with collecting the souls of heroes for to defend Walhall should Alberich reclaim the Ring. His favourite, among the Valkyries, is Bruennhilde, who leaves to prepare for the confrontation between Hunding and Siegmund.
Once Bruennhilde has left, however, Fricka arrives. To reiterate, Fricka is the goddess of law, and here her allegorical role is to represent the very Law itself, the very organ by which Wotan's nobility is legitimized---the very woman for which Wotan had given up his eye. She is uncomfortable with the Valkyries, who I likewise reiterate were born of Wotan's adultery, but now she absolutely despises the Waelsungs, who have just committed, not only adultery, but also incest.
Bruennhilde returns. Wotan rescinds his earlier command---that Siegmund survive his fight with Hunding---and describes, in a lengthy passage that musically is somewhat dull but dramatically is one of the cycle's highlights, his motivations for having both Siegmund and Bruennhilde. His power, he derives from all the treaties he has signed with all the agents of the world, treaties which he has carved into his spear: thus, to secure the Ring from Fafner, he needs a hero completely free from his influence, one which he had initially hoped he would find in Siegmund. What Fricka had just made plain to him, however, is that Siegmund, his son, is not at all a free agent---even Nothung came directly from Wotan's hand---and the God resigns himself to despair.
The scene changes. Sieglinde and Siegmund are on the run. Sieglinde, panicking, passes out. Siegmund sees Bruennhilde, who announces his impending death. Siegmund is fine with this, at first, until he learns that Sieglinde is not to join him in Walhall. He threatens to immediately end it all, for both him and Sieglinde, even after Bruennhilde reveals that Sieglinde bears his child, and Bruennhilde, in another exceptionally dramatic moment, is convinced to disobey her father.
The final scene. Siegmund and Hunding fight. Just when it seems that Siegmund is about to slay Hunding, Wotan personally intervenes, shattering Nothung with his spear, and Hunding slays Siegmund. Bruennhilde takes Sieglinde and flees. With a "contemptuous wave of [his] hand", Wotan slays Hunding, then flies off in a rage for his daughters.
Musically, the highlights for this are the prelude, which introduces the motives of the Valkyries, as well as the last two scenes; another noteworthy motive here introduced is that of Wotan's rage. The exchange between Bruennhilde and Siegmund always gives me chills, as well as Wotan's near-growling dispatch of Hunding.
Act 3. Tied with Lohengrin's wedding march is the start of this act, the Ride of the Valkyries, for the most iconic piece of music Wagner has ever written, although this beginning is dramatically rather empty: it's just the Valkyries, sans Bruennhilde, getting together after a busy day.
Bruennhilde and Sieglinde then arrive, with Bruennhilde desperately asking her sisters for help. Sieglinde resigns herself to death, until Bruennhilde tells her what she had earlier told Siegmund: Sieglinde is with child. Sieglinde, finding a new lease in life, thanks Bruennhilde, then flees to the forest where Fafner dwells, or the one place in all Middle-earth which Wotan would dare not visit.
Wotan arrives. The Valkyries scatter. Wotan initially condemns Bruennhilde to becoming a mortal---to living as a woman in a strongly patriarchal society---until Bruennhilde correctly points out that, while she didn't follow his word, she did follow his will. Wotan now lightens the punishment, surrounding Bruennhilde in a fire only a man who knows no fear can pass, and the play ends.
Yet another musical highlight is the entire final scene, for which Wagner had also arranged a concert version. For motives, a melody that is only revealed to be a motive in the very end of the play is Sieglinde's thanksgiving to Bruennhilde:
O radiant wonder! Glorious maid!
Thou bring'st me, true one, holiest balm!
For him whom we loved I save the beloved one:
may my thanks yet bring laughing reward!
Fare thou well! be blest in Sieglinde's woe!
Introduced in this act is the motive of Siegfried, the son of Sieglinde and Siegmund, which is yet another of the cycle's "signature motives", as well as the motives of Wotan's love for Bruennhilde and of Bruennhilde's magic sleep.
Shaw's allegorical reading, here, is somewhat inadequate for me, at least when it treats with Bruennhilde. He characterizes her as "the inner thought and will of Godhead", but I am simply not convinced. Theoretically, Bruennhilde is indeed not a free agent, being as restrained by Wotan's treaties as Wotan himself, but two of the most dramatically compelling moments of the play are, as I noted, not only when Bruennhilde changes her mind, but also when she changes someone else's mind, both of which tend to be the hallmarks of a fully realized character. Group those moments with the mundane-by-design punishment that she receives, and if she is still to be allegorized, it may be as the first potential member of the revolutionary class: perhaps the upper class twit who stumbles onto the right ideas.
The third play is Siegfried.
The title character is interesting. Initially, I despised him, as he seemed virtually identical to Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, but later on I realized that the character is a mere teen, just as Bruennhilde the character, rather than the stereotypical fat middle-aged lady who sings, is really a brawny youth. I was helped toward this realization by the version on Youtube I had watched, the 1990 cycle at the Metropolitan Opera, where the Siegfried still looked too old, but the Bruennhilde was perfect, looking about half the age of the actual performer. It's a shame that the channel I found that on has some dubious other content, while the performance's conductor has a genuinely odious personal record....
At any rate, act 1. Mime forges a sword. Siegfried, his ward, arrives from the surrounding forest accompanied by a bear. Mime is startled; Siegfried claims he cannot help it, as the friends his horn attracts are never gentle. Siegfried lets the bear go, then handles Mime's sword. The sword easily breaks in Siegfried's hands.
Frustrated, Siegfried bullies Mime. Mime, in teaching Siegfried to love him, tells him his sob story:
A whimpering babe, brought I thee up,
warmly I clothed the tiny mite:
food, too, and drink gave I to thee,
sheltered thee safe as my very self....
Siegfried, however, continues to bully Mime, as he wishes to learn who his real parents were. Mime insists, at first, to have been both mother and father to Siegfried, but eventually he relents, telling Siegfried that his mum's name was Sieglinde, as well as showing Siegfried the fragments of Nothung. Sieglinde, it is revealed, had died giving birth to Siegfried, and Siegfried runs off, sad about his mother's fate, but happy that he's not actually related to ugly Mime.
As Mime gets back to work, enter the Wanderer. The Wanderer was initially Wotan's disguise, especially when he put Nothung in Hunding's house, but Shaw suggests that something had fundamentally changed, since the events of the last play, for this disguise to be another persona entirely. Mime, not a very good host, tries to drive the Wanderer away; the Wanderer then challenges Mime to a game, offering him his head if he could not answer Mime's three riddles.
Mime's three riddles, all insignificant, are easily answered, and the Wanderer now challenges the Dwarf with three of his own riddles. The first two riddles, again, are insignificant, but the third---who can reforge the shards of Nothung, the only sword able to slay Fafner---Mime is unable to answer. Of course, that was the question the Wanderer had hoped to receive in the first place, and so he answers it:
He who the force of fear ne'er felt
Nothung shall he forge.
The Wanderer forfeits Mime's head to this mystery person, then leaves. Siegfried immediately returns, and Mime realizes that, while he's taught Siegfried a lot of things, he's not quite taught him fear. Soon enough, Siegfried reforges Nothung---simultaneously, Mime plots to kill Siegfried, once Siegfried has slain for him Fafner, in order to claim Fafner's treasure for his own.
Much of this play is comic, but again, the insufferability of its protagonist makes the comedy feel off. Not necessarily unfunny, just too mean-spirited for to safely be indulged. This act's musical highlight, by far, is Siegfried's magnificent forging song, although the recapitulation of much of the cycle's motives in the previous two scenes are also quite satisfying. The most noteworthy of the new motives, aside from those associated with the forge, are those of Siegfried's horn call and of Mime's sob story.
In his complete disdain for someone that, even nominally, took care of him---in his being the completely free agent of which Wotan had long dreamed---Siegfried is clearly the Nietzschean Uebermensch, the kind of person by which true revolutions are enacted. Mime showcases just how much the system can corrupt those it exploits.
Act 2. Alberich schemes before Fafner's lair: Fafner, using the Tarnhelm, has transformed himself into a dragon, which now lies on top of his hoard. The Wanderer arrives and mocks Alberich. Mime and Siegfried then arrive, with Mime claiming he'll teach Siegfried fear by showing him the dragon. Mime and Alberich soon leave Siegfried alone, and Siegfried marvelously finds beauty in the gloom of the forest by fixating on a Woodbird's song. He crafts himself a reed with a nearby stick and tries to imitate the Woodbird. This failing, he just blows on his horn as usual....
Fafner appears. What convinces Siegfried to fight him is when he speaks, unlike the bear, and when he uses his speech to threaten to eat young Siegfried. Siegfried and Fafner fight---Fafner dies---Siegfried, stung by Fafner's corrosive blood, instinctively draws his blood-stained fingers to his lips, and suddenly he finds himself able to understand the thoughts of others, such as the Woodbird above. The Woodbird instructs Siegfried to retrieve from Fafner's hoard the Tarnhelm and the Ring.
Mime and Alberich return, arguing. Siegfried returns from Fafner's lair---Alberich hides---and Mime tries to offer Siegfried a cool refreshing drink after his hard day's work. Siegfried, however, hears Mime's thoughts, discerning how the drink has been drugged. Siegfried kills Mime. Alberich laughs, then leaves entirely.
Siegfried now laments that he has no one with whom to share his treasure. The Woodbird again addresses him: atop some mountain is a circle of fire, and in the midst of that fire sleeps a woman....
The comedy here is much better, especially in Siegfried's petty attempts to communicate with the Woodbird, and in Siegfried and Mime's duet after the slaying of Fafner. Not only that, but the music which conveys the comedy is as sublime as that in the last act of the preceding play: the composer had also arranged for it a concert version. Here comes, in full force, the dragon-motive, and here is introduced the woodbird-motive.
Act 3. Wotan, briefly in his original persona, summons Erda, asking for advice. Erda, however, is largely confused---things seem to have changed considerably, since Das Rheingold---and the fundamental change in Wotan is revealed, as he is actually happy about his coming doom.
Erda leaves. Siegfried and the Woodbird enter, though the Woodbird, noticing Wotan, immediately leaves. Wotan, however, is quick to become the Wanderer once again, by the time Siegfried notices him. The Wanderer admires Siegfried, especially his sword, but Siegfried takes this affection as an insult when the Wanderer laughs at Siegfried's not knowing from whence the original Nothung came. Thus, Siegfried tries to barrel his way ahead, and the Wanderer chastises Siegfried, noting that Siegfried should "honor the aged", only the one aged person Siegfried had ever properly interacted with beforehand was Mime. Siegfried now notices that the Wanderer has but one eye, to which the Wanderer responds, if cryptically, that the lost eye is one of Siegfried's own....
Siegfried again tries to barrel his way towards Bruennhilde, and now Wotan reveals himself in all his glory, mentioning how his spear had once before shattered Nothung. Siegfried, either obstinate or just plain stupid, declares Wotan to have been his father's enemy, striking at his spear with his sword. This time, the spear shatters, and Wotan withdraws, not just from Siegfried, but from all worldly affairs....
Siegfried reaches the peak. He finds what seems to be a dead warrior and, curious, strips the body of its armor. The body, of course, is Bruennhilde, likely the first ever woman Siegfried has encountered, and the young hero finally learns what fear is. He kisses her---again recall, not so much that this story is a fairytale, but that Siegfried is an unschooled teen---and Bruennhilde wakes up, declaring Siegfried to be her husband. As the two duet, Siegfried declares that he has forgotten what fear is again, while Bruennhilde scorns her previous life as an immortal out of her tremendous love for Siegfried, and eventually the two sing:
Light of loving, laughing death!
Light of loving, laughing death:
light of loving, laughing death!
All three scenes of this act are splendid, musically, though the third is splendid in a markedly different way from the rest of the cycle beforehand, at least according to Shaw. If the first two plays, as well as the first two acts and the first two scenes of the third act of the third play, are a proper Gesamtkunstwerk, the rest of the cycle is more of a classic Grand Opera, which in Shaw's eyes means having far less philosophical significance. When it comes to Siegfried, I don't quite agree, in part because the ecstasy in the version I first watched was genuinely sublime---Hildegard Behrens stretching out from the rock and greeting the sun while Siegfried Jerusalem gazed in silent awe was a real flash of inspiration---and in part because Shaw himself is able to milk so much from it, even when all he milks are questions rather than solutions. The real issue, as it should soon be apparent, is with the very last play, where the problems posed, of which the association between love and death in the above quotation is emblematic, ultimately receive nothing.
The only distinct new motives at this point are found in the final scene, but they're distinct only if one is familiar with the Siegfried Idyll, a sort of tone poem Wagner composed for his wife at the same time he was working on Der Ring, and they all fundamentally mean the same thing, being but subtle distinctions on the love between Siegfried and Bruennhilde.
Goetterdaemmerung is last. Shaw translates this as Night Falls on the Gods, but the more common and likely more accurate translation is Twilight of the Gods.
The longest of the three plays, it begins with an extended prologue. The three Norns---the Germanic fates---weave a rope, recapitulating the events of the past, including how the world ash tree began to rot the moment Wotan had plucked from its branches what was to become his spear. When they move on to the subject of the Rhinegold, the rope snaps: perhaps the last "meaningful" moment in the entire cycle. Then Siegfried and Bruennhilde show up, singing an extended love duet. Bruennhilde sends Siegfried off to further adventures, while Siegfried hands Bruennhilde the Ring.
Transition to the first act, with the various motives played demonstrating Siegfried's movement through the fire, along the Rhine, and finally towards the hall of the Gibichungs. Here we are introduced to the Gibichung king Gunther, his half-brother Hagen, and his sister Gutrune. All three are bachelors. Hagen advises that Gunther claim, for his wife, Bruennhilde, but Gunther is afraid of the fire surrounding her. Hagen then suggests he commission Siegfried to do so, as he had heard through the grapevine how Siegfried had slain Fafner and won the Tarnhelm---he also suggests marrying off Gutrune to Siegfried, with Gutrune devising some kind of magic potion for insurance.
Siegfried arrives. Gunther offers Siegfried the hall's hospitality; Gutrune offers Siegfried her poisoned drink. Siegfried immediately forgets Bruennhilde and falls in love with Gutrune; Gunther promises Siegfried Gutrune's hand if Siegfried were to win for him Bruennhilde. Siegfried and Gunther swear an oath of blood-brotherhood, one which Hagen deliberately does not join, and the act ends.
Only it seems Wagner refuses to call this play what it is---a Grand Opera in the style of Verdi---when the act continues, this time rapidly transitioning back to Bruennhilde's rock. One of the other Valkyries, Waltraute, entreats her to give up the Ring, in order to stay the Gods' doom---Shaw correctly points out that this is nonsense, as the Gods were doomed the moment Siegfried shattered Wotan's spear---and Bruennhilde refuses.
Gunther arrives, surprising Bruennhilde. Bruennhilde is subjected to marriage by abduction, with Gunther seizing from her the Ring, then forcing her to sleep with him in a cave. Gunther then reveals himself to the audience to be a disguised Siegfried---he claims that he will keep his abduction of Bruennhilde chaste by having himself and Bruennhilde sleep separated by Nothung's blade---and the act ends.
Siegfried's initial amicability with Gunther was somewhat believable---perhaps his interactions with Bruennhilde had finally softened him---and we are fortunate enough to have Gutrune's magic potion complete the change in his character, but more questionable are the changes in that of Bruennhilde, as she seems much less attached to the fate of her beloved father Wotan than before. Maybe she knows that Waltraute's entreaties are nonsense, or maybe---as she herself claims in the opera---she really had lost much of her divine wisdom, when she became mortal, but either way there is something dramatically dissatisfying in her conversation with her sister, even if that moment is musically quite engaging.
The Gibichungs, like the Waelsungs, are supposed to have a motive of their own, but I barely detect it. There are also supposed to be a couple of motives for Gutrune, but again, I barely detect it. The only memorable new motive here is for Hagen, though it has been pointed out to me that, when written out, it's identical to the motive of Grief or Woe that's been recurring in the cycle since the first scene of Das Rheingold, only with more consistent orchestration.
Fortunately, Grand Opera has plenty of musical pleasures of its own, and here what Wagner had arranged into a concert is Siegfried's musical journey from Bruennhilde's rock to the hall of the Gibichungs. Also a highlight, for me, is the rest of the prologue, and evidently Waltraute's role is typically a showcase for former Bruennhildes, though the same goes for Fricka in Die Walkuere.
Act 2. Speaking of [i}Die Walkuere[/i], there it had also been revealed that Alberich had paid a woman to conceive for him a son---a coupling yet loveless, per his character---and that son is here revealed to be Hagen (so the Gibichungs' former queen was a prostitute?). This act begins with Hagen and Alberich scheming to reclaim the Ring, before Siegfried returns, ahead of Gunther and Bruennhilde, and tells Hagen and Gutrune of his recent adventure, assuring Gutrune that he remained chaste with the former Valkyrie.
Hagen, in another of this opera's musical highlights, blows a steerhorn, then summons all of Gunther's vassals in a booming bass song:
Hoiho! Hoiho hoho!
Ye Gibich vassals, gather ye here.
Arm ye! Arm ye! Weapons! Weapons!
Arm through the land!
Of course, the vassals are relieved when the summons is actually for a wedding celebration. Perhaps Hagen only called for them to be armed so that not a one of them would refuse.
Gunther and Bruennhilde then arrive. Bruennhilde's first shock is to see Siegfried with Gutrune; her second shock, to see the Ring on Siegfried's finger. She accuses Siegfried of not being chaste with her---most likely a blatant lie, Shaw points out---and Siegfried swears otherwise upon Hagen's spear. Eventually, the vassals scatter, along with Siegfried and Gutrune, leaving Hagen, Gunther, and Bruennhilde to plot Siegfried's demise.
Again, the character of Bruennhilde here seems much maligned, even if the trio between Hagen, Gunther, and Bruennhilde at the end, like Hagen's summoning of the vassals, is another of the opera's musical highlights. The trio, I believe, is one of the few instances of a proper trio in the entire cycle, as the vassals are the only instance of a choir. Trios and choirs, of course, are mainstays in the genre of Grand Opera, but Hagen's role here remains exceptional, with a 1984 interview between music journalist Bruce Duffie and German bass Kurt Moll claiming that it's a real voice-killer.
Act 3. Siegfried has joined a hunt with Gunther, Hagen, and Gunther's vassals. Briefly, he alone retires next to the Rhine, where he meets with the Rhinedaughters, who implore him to give up the Ring. Siegfried is initially tempted to do so, until the Rhinedaughters seem to threaten him by mentioning the Ring's curse, at which point Siegfried happily surrenders himself to death.
The rest of the hunting party arrives. Gunther and Hagen ask Siegfried about his life, and Siegfried---like the Norns---recapitulate the events of the cycle. One would think that the recapitulations here get tiring, but the fact that we are so close to the cycle's end makes them all feel earned, if intellectually empty.
Gunther and Hagen secretly give Siegfried another magic potion, and Siegfried begins to remember his earlier tryst with Bruennhilde. This, Hagen spins as Siegfried having been unfaithful to Gunther, and Hagen stabs Siegfried in the back with his spear. Siegfried, in a haunting little melody, has one final vision of Bruennhilde before he dies. Gunther then orders his vassals to carry Siegfried back to their hall.
Hagen's stab in the back has since become one of the foundational myths of Nazi Germany---that the German and Austrian defeat of the First World War was caused by the Jews' betrayal---but it is important here to note a few things. First, and most obviously, this myth just isn't true, and I won't waste my breath arguing against those who say otherwise.
Second, the image of Hagen stabbing Siegfried in the back is actually much older than Wagner. In the original stories, the Woodbird also told Siegfried to bathe in Fafner's blood, for to make himself invincible, but when Siegfried did so, a linden leaf had fallen on his back, leaving a conspicuous weak spot. In Wagner, meanwhile, Bruennhilde claims to have cast a protective spell around Siegfried, but knowing that Siegfried was no coward, she never bothered to have the spell wrap completely around him.
Finally, the Nazis themselves were pretty inconsistent with their use of this myth. On the one hand, you have them equating the Jews with treacherous Hagen; on the other hand, you have them valorizing the characters of Hagen and Gunther, or at least those characters from the original stories, especially when the two faced the doom to which their treacherous actions led with what seemed like heroic stoicism. This hopefully demonstrates how one can redeem a lot of the cultural products the Nazis have appropriated, however iffy the task might seem.
Returning to the opera, Hagen, Gunther, and the vassals are met by Gutrune and Brunnhilde. Hagen tries to claim the Ring for his own, but Gunther wishes for it to pass on to Siegfried's widow Gutrune, for which Hagen slays him. Gutrune effectively dies of grief; Bruennhilde, declaring herself to be Siegfried's true widow, claims the Ring for her own. She orders a funeral pyre be built up for Siegfried; lighting it, she rides her horse into the fire, killing herself; the flames rise further, consuming the hall, and eventually setting alight Walhall; the waters of the Rhine likewise rise, and the Rhinedaughters finally reclaim the Rhinegold; Hagen, himself also claiming the Rhinegold, is drowned by the Rhinedaughters. The end.
If the whole first scene of the cycle's first play is a musical highlight, then I think the same of this entire act, though Wagner only arranged into a concert the scene of Siegfried's funeral march onwards. Though it's maybe too late to introduce any new motives, at this point, the chords underscoring Siegfried's death are occasionally counted as such. Here also returns the melody of Sieglinde's thanksgiving, first played in the background as Bruennhilde sings:
Grane, my steed, I greet thee, friend!
Know'st thou now to whome
and whither I lead thee?
In fire radiant, lies there thy lord,
Siegfried, my hero blest....
Later, as fire and water consume the entire scene, this melody is now played by the strings, while the rest of the orchestration plays what they will. It's very moving, comparable to the melody for "Into the West" in the Lord of the Rings, only Howard Shore actually takes care to introduce his finale's themes across more scenes than Wagner, so emotions there feel a lot more earned. Indeed, unlike Wagner, Howard Shore maintains a very consistent use of themes across his entire trilogy (let's not talk about The Hobbit), surpassing Wagner in the very principles Wagner himself espoused, although Wagner still manages to musically outshine Shore insofar as he had to write for voices in all his fourteen hours.
But yes, the final lesson Wagner wishes to impart seems to be the redeeming power of love, coupled with the intimate association between love and death, without much in the way of serious, concrete action---no "hold on to the little things" as in Tolkien, no "be kind regardless of your enemies' cruelty" as in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power or the New Testament, nothing. Intellectually, this is incredibly dissatisfying, but emotionally, this is also disappointing, since he imparts this same exact lesson, but with much more focus, in Tristan und Isolde. I would call this a shame, but again, this is thirteen hours of Gesamtkunstwerk followed by four hours of Grand Opera: it's still felt as a feat.
Shaw blames this final failure to the cycle's long gestation period. Evidently the libretto was finished a good twenty or so years before the actual music, receiving only a handful of additional changes during the music's composition; it was also worked on backwards, according to Wikipedia, with Wagner first writing Goetterdaemmerung, whereas the music was worked on in the right order. At the same time, however, Wagner began conceptualizing the cycle only a few months after his participation in the Dresden Uprising, where a bunch of revolutionaries failed to steer the governments of Saxony and Prussia to a more liberal direction, but his libretto was mostly finished at around the same time that his first antisemitic screed was published. I'd rather put the blame squarely on the author's personality: as an article in the Telegraph notes, "Wagner was a genius, but also a fairly appalling human being." Sometimes, leftist ideas can be born out of incredibly backwards motivations, and we always have to be wary of that, especially in ourselves.
Finally, listening recommendations! I do not recommend listening to any of the orchestral distillations of Der Ring first, as you'll never get a sense of how momentous the work is through those. I'll still put my personal playlist of such distillations at the very end, but I only recommend listening to it after you've given the cycle a few goes.
The most famous recording of Wagner was conducted by the Hungarian Jewish artist Sir Georg Solti, recorded and published from 1958 to 1965, and that recording remains the gold standard. Solti's tempi and loudness seem perfect, when it comes to Wagner; the recording was state of the art at the time, so no annoying stereo separation as in, say, the Beatles' earlier albums; and the artists Solti employed were all as top tier as he was. If you're as easily distracted as I am, you're not likely to properly listen to the entire cycle, or even an entire opera, in one continuous go, and that's fine. In fact, it took watching the aforementioned 1990 performance for me to truly get this music, so I imagine that, for the lot of you, the theater of the mind will easily give way to an actual, visible stage. Before this, I had also watched a recording of the centenary performance of the Ring at Bayreuth, conducted by Pierre Boulez, but I only managed to finish Das Rheingold, as its set-dressing---19th century industrialists, making obvious the allegory Shaw had otherwise merely interpreted, rather than the pure fantasy of the Met performance, or even Wagner's original conception---ultimately left me cold. I might like it, now that I've gotten through the whole cycle multiple times, but I really recommend first-time viewers find a staging that's "traditional", or maybe a concert version, rather than one of the Postmodern or even Modernist interpretations that have since become standard.
One last note. I of course recommend a bilingual libretto, to be able to follow along either Solti's recording or a performance sans-subtitles, but there also exists at least one recording of Der Ring in English, the 1970-1973 cycle by Sir Reginald Goodall. There are four things about that cycle that ward me from recommending it wholeheartedly, however. First is the instrumentation, which was clearly cheaper than that of Solti: few anvils in Das Rheingold, no proper steerhorn in Goetterdaemmerung. The voices are also not very great, at least when it came to Goetterdaemmerung, with the choir being rather muddled and Hagen audibly struggling. The tempi are painfully slow---meditative, perhaps, for sequences as capital-r Romantic as those of the Woodbird, but inappropriate for moments which were always meant to pulsate, like that of Siegfried's forging song---such that the recording is a good three hours longer than that of Solti. Finally, I hear Goodall was another appalling human being, like Wagner or James Levine, though to a much worse degree, I think, as the man supposedly referred to the Holocaust as a BBC-Jewish plot. Good thing all these men are dead now.
The bilingual libretti I have were translated by Frederick Jameson and edited by Mark D. Lew, but the site from which I got them from is long dead.
Shaw's book: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1487/1487-h/1487-h.htm
Interview of Kurt Moll: https://www.bruceduffie.com/moll.html
Telegraph article (likely the quote is from the book reviewed, rather than the article): https://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/book...eview.html
I'll only share a link to the James Levine performance in DM's: while Levine is dead, I don't know about the Youtube account and its questionable content.
Solti's Ring: https://open.spotify.com/album/3tDNolZfh...zBfKUlxerg
Symphonic Ring: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7axZVz...3d39dd4e8b
My references for Wagner's motives:
https://www.monsalvat.no/RingList.htm
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAqWi_Y...41ojy4RAdA
Bonus:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07E5sLsJQe0
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_NwWFleDlo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDY0gs_AWUQ
