Mahler on period instruments—how does that sound? The Mahler Academy Orchestra, conducted by Philipp von Steinaecker, gave us the opportunity to explore this question. Amsterdam is well-acquainted with Mahler and while debates occasionally arise here about whether his extensive presence in the concerthalls keeps new composers away from their well-needed time of exposure, his symphonies remain a singular phenomenon in the annals of classical music. On September 12th at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, the Austrian maestro once again ensnared a fresh audience in his spectral allure, hinting at his timeless charm. (At least the average age of the audience, which was a lot lower than that of Der Fliegende Holländer ​almost a week earlier in this hall, suggested something like that.)

​The inexorable pull of the past continues to mesmerize us, and performances on period instruments offer a striking glimpse into this mystic voyage. Far more profound than a mere visit to the museum, the quest to reawaken a symphony as it might have sounded a century and two decades ago seeks to dispel the cobwebs spun by an age-old musical tradition. Does it unlock our senses anew? Do we rediscover a composition that we have delved into through innumerable versions and interpretations?

Philipp von Steinaecker was once a cellist and assistant conductor to the illustrious Claudio Abbado, who founded the Mahler Academy in Bolzano in 1999. Here, youthful musicians from the far reaches of Europe immerse themselves in chamber music and historical Viennese instruments. This endeavor culminated in the Originalklang Project, where students and seasoned musicians from top European orchestras strive to capture the sound that Mahler himself might have envisioned.

What stands out about the historical instruments is their transparent sound. Additionally, the orchestral balance is different (and perhaps better); modern brass instruments are much louder than their predecessors that have a greater emphasis on color rather than volume.

Along with the sound of period instruments, Von Steinaecker gave us an interpretation that referred to Willem Mengelberg, the founding father of the Mahler tradition in the Netherlands. Rich in portamento in the strings and a rather free, almost  capricious use of rubato. The efficacy of this approach was variable. At times, the deliberate delays intended to heighten tension seemed burdensome. The Adagietto unfurled with an intense, fiery fragility that I found profoundly moving, though my partner deemed it excessively languorous. The nature of perceived slowness is intrinsically subjective. The appropriateness of tempi is a matter of context. Von Steinaecker allowed the orchestra to blaze with fervor and the fin-de-siècle ambiance resounded with formidable power and grandeur, yet in evoking tension through contrast—a domain where Mengelberg reigned supreme—Von Steinaecker fell short of the Dutch maestro.

The strings, warm and resonant, performed beautifully as the orchestra's beating heart. They excelled in expressive pizzicato, almost as if dancing a Sirtaki, and were glowing pillars of support for the brass and woodwinds that were revealing a delicate, almost trembling vulnerability. With the period instruments, it was as if you could hear the building blocks of Mahler's 5th Symphony finding their place. The result was refreshing and by times perspective-altering (for instance in the 3rd movement where the horn was given a solo spot, as if in a concerto). Though as a whole, it was not a drastically daring departure from what might be expected. Next year, on the occasion of the Mahler Festival in Amsterdam, which was previously cancelled due to Covid, orchestra and conductor (they previously recorded Mahler's 9th using period instruments) will return for a revival of the 5th.

Before the intermission, Rachmaninoff's 3rd Piano Concerto served as a warm-up, with the excellent soloist Leif Ove Andsnes returning for a well-received encore. While Andsnes's pianistic skills were unquestionable, I couldn't shake the feeling, as often with Rachmaninoff, that his music is most compelling when performed by Rachmaninoff himself. When the virtuoso aspect of his music does not unfold too explicitly before our ears and eyes but remains more hidden, like a potential that can be unlocked.

​In compositions that resonate deeply, the notes appear where you don't expect them but where you definitely want them. With Rachmaninoff, the notes often fall where you expect, which can make them seem somewhat redundant. The imposing sequences can become complacent, with the moments of excitement and transcendence proving too infrequent to deliver a wholly satisfying listening experience. But this, I concede, may be a solitary perspective given the fervent reception of the audience (my partner was ecstatic).

Wagner is a master of turning sound into narrative, and that’s precisely why his operas thrive in concert form. Here, the orchestra isn’t just accompanying the drama—it is the drama. With the orchestra laid bare before us, the music rises like a tempest, a vast, churning sea that threatens to engulf all in its path. The storm is the manifestation of eternal unrest, of passions so intense they border on madness. The wind howls, the waves crash—an allegory for a soul adrift, seeking redemption in a world where only the most harrowing sacrifice can bring meaning. And in the hands of Jaap van Zweden this tumultuous force is masterfully controlled. He grasps Wagner’s complex score with grim determination, guiding us in moderate tempi through a musical landscape that allows every haunting moment to breathe, every sinister whisper to be heard.

In this world, so vividly brought to life, the fate of both men and women is far from enviable. Yet, it is particularly the fate of women that offers little to no hope. Wagner's vision of womanhood is one fraught with peril, for in his universe, the woman holds the key to the man’s salvation. This burden is a cruel one. Wagner’s reverence for the feminine form is a double-edged sword, exalting women only to bind them to a role of servitude. Independence, in this desolate realm, is but an illusion. The woman is supposed to do what the man requires, bring redemption for need or desire. It’s a dynamic that’s still alive and kicking in many of today’s love songs and power ballads—a painful reminder of how far we haven’t come.

A power ballad of sorts in Wagner’s opera is Senta's ballad. An aria that's supposed to be a gut-wrenching confession of longing, a dream spun from the darkest corners of her soul. Yet Ricarda Merbeth, stepping in at the eleventh hour, lacked the spectral quality required to summon Senta’s vision of the pale, cursed man of her dreams. Instead, she belted it out like Brünnhilde torching Valhalla, or Venus unleashing her wrath on Tannhäuser. The vulnerability, the quiet desperation that should have drawn you into Senta’s world was absent. Merbeth did better later on when Senta’s passion tipped into bordeline insanity, but by then, the spell had already broken. Merbeth, also when taken into account that she was a last-minute substitute, was the weak link of the cast. 

With Brian Mulligan as the Dutchman there was a man with a tortured soul whose every note was steeped in doom. His bariton was dark, resonant, and filled with the weight of centuries spent drifting on a ghost ship, cursed and haunted. You could feel his torment. Andreas Bauer Kanabas as Daland—the man willing to sell off his own daughter's future for fortune—had a bass voice that rumbled like thunder, matching his character’s moral decay. And Benjamin Bruns as Erik, the hapless lover who watches Senta slip away into the abyss, gave a solid performance that was laced with desperation and sorrow,  a portrayal that lingered like the final echo of a dying storm. The roles of the men were well covered with the Helmsman of Matthew Swensen as possible exception. His nasal tenor didn’t exactly steer us into safer waters. 

But the real stars of the afternoon were the Radio Philharmonic Orchestra, Van Zweden leading them like a man possessed, and the voices of the Groot Omroepkoor and Cappella Amsterdam. Together, they created this tidal wave of sound, this massive, overwhelming force that swept over everything in its path. It was pure, unfiltered Wagner—no pretense. ​

​Der Fliegende Holländer - Concertgebouw Amsterdam, 7 September 2024

​Radio Filharmonisch Orkest
Groot Omroepkamerkoor
Cappella Amsterdam
Jaap van Zweden conductor
Benjamin Goodson chorus master
Brian Mulligan bariton (Holländer)
Ricarda Merbeth soprano (Senta)
Benjamin Bruns tenor (Erik)
Andreas Bauer Kanabas bass (Daland)
Matthew Swensen tenor (Der Steurmann Dalands)
Iris van Wijnen mezzo soprano (Mary)

THE GODFATHERS
As I crossed the threshold into the exhibition, a blast of sound engulfed me—Black Sabbath's primal, doom-laden tones, the very genesis of the genre. The air vibrated with a palpable energy, thick with the weight of decades of rebellion and unbridled passion. On a screen there was next to the mighty Sabbath, concert footage of Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple. Epitomes of hardrock and metal. Sources of inspiration for many bands that were to follow.

Metal comes with imaginings and images and since we were in France, a country where they know how to honour their cultural heritage we saw, as part of Black Sabbath’s illustrious back catalogue, an authentic sculpture by Auguste Rodin: 'Idole éternelle' from 1889. In 1986, Black Sabbath had sought to immortalize this very sculpture on the cover of their album, The 'Eternal Idol'. The intention was to fuse the esoteric with the eternal, an homage to both the dark arts of music and the immortalized flesh of Rodin's creation. Yet, they were denied permission to do so. For the cover photo, they therefore used a re-enactment of that sculpture, by two models covered in bronze paint. That did not end well. Due to the toxicity of the paint, both man and woman were hospitalized after the shoot. 

HAUNTING THE CHAPEL
The exhibit was structured around Seven Chapels of Metal. In these chapels several musicians were commemorated. Icons of metal, representing several subgenres: Cliff Burton (trash), Bon Scott (hardrock), Chuck Schuldiner (death), Per 'Dead' Ohlin (black), Riley Gale (hardcore), Chester Bennington (nu) & Nicole Bogner (prog). Their lives celebrated, their demises mourned. Their images flickered in the dim light of stained glass, spectral and solemn. 

But it was at the shrine of Lemmy Kilmister where I felt the full weight of the exhibition's power. At the moment I laid eyes on his bass guitar, enshrined in glass like a holy relic, the haunting strains of Motörhead’s "God Was Never on Your Side" filled the room. The world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to unravel, and I found myself lost in a vortex of sound and emotion, where only the music mattered. I was both here and elsewhere—in the crowded halls of a live concert, in the solitary refuge of my room where music had been my only companion in endless, lonely hours.

In this realm, sound was not merely heard but *seen*—images of horror and beauty intertwined, like the serpentine curves of a Giger monster, or the sinister grin of a killer clown. The exhibition reveled in metal’s affinity for the macabre—guillotines and demons and "Frankenstein" (Eddie Van Halen’s guitar, a creation more alive than any mere instrument, its jagged body invoking rites that liberate and expand the mind).

METAL EXPANSION
And heavy metal, with its roots so embedded in the West, is spreading its tendrils towards other continents. To Africa for instance, as shown on a wall full of photos with African metalheads. A continent steeped in its own rich traditions, rhythms, and struggles—a place where the music of the land had always been powerful, alive with both pain and joy. A place where metal, a genre that has always thrived on rebellion and the exploration of darkness, found new furtile soil to flourish and grow (Botswana has some deliciously death metal bands with Overthrust being the most well-known).  

METAL REDEMPTION
Few buildings, I mused, could so aptly contain the dark, wild energy of heavy metal as the Philharmonie. Its vast, angular roof seemed to stretch toward the heavens like the spires of some infernal cathedral. As I stood on the rooftop, the view of Paris below seemed distant and almost unreal. This, I thought, could be the setting for a staging of Wagner's Parsifal. Backdrop for the story of a hero seeking redemption in a world that had long since forgotten what it meant.

And when I was listening to the silence on that spacious rooftop, with the distant rumble of drums and the faintest wail of a guitar echoing in my brain, Heavy Metal, I realized again, was not merely a genre of music. It was a big toy in the hands of a kid, a gateway to liberation, a way to your place in the world. It was a key to a door that, once opened, could never be closed.

And as I walked downstairs I was already looking forward to my next visit. The Grande Salle de Pierre Boulez, with its modular design, the concert hall where Behemoth performed in April, as part of the Philharmonie's focus on heavy metal until the end of September, is something I must definitely experience in concert.

The moon hung low over the jagged peaks of the forested mountains, casting an eerie silver glow on the mist-shrouded Rhine. Deep within its inky waters lay the Rhinegold, a treasure of unimaginable power and malevolence. For centuries, it had remained hidden, guarded by the ethereal Rhine Maidens, whose haunting beauty was matched only by their mysterious nature.

In a decrepit castle perched atop a cliff, Wotan, the Vampire Lord, brooded over his decaying domain. His once-glorious reign was threatened by the relentless spread of death and decay. Beside him, his wife Fricka, a vampiress of unrivaled beauty and cunning, whispered dark prophecies of doom.​

"We must act, Wotan," she urged, her eyes glowing with an unholy light. "The power of the Rhinegold can restore our dominion over the night."
But to seize the Rhinegold, Wotan needed the cunning of Loge, a shape-shifting trickster, a fire starter, whose allegiance was as fluid as the mists of the river. Loge had whispered to Wotan of a vile creature, Alberich, who had stolen the Rhinegold and renounced love in order to forge a ring of immense power.

​​Before Wotan could respond, a terrifying crash echoed through the castle. The giant Fafner, a colossal undead beast with hollow, glowing eyes, had come to collect a debt. Years ago, Wotan had promised Fafner the lovely Freia, the goddess of youth and beauty, in exchange for building the fortress Valhalla. Now Fafner had come to claim his prize.
​
With a roar that shook the very foundations of the castle, Fafner seized Freia in his massive, decaying hands. Her screams of terror echoed through the halls as Wotan and Fricka watched helplessly. The giant's strength was too great, even for Wotan in his corrupted state.

"We must save her!" Fricka cried, her eyes blazing with desperation. "Without Freia's apples of youth, we are doomed to wither and die." Loge, ever the schemer, saw an opportunity. "We can trade the Rhinegold for Freia," he suggested. "Fafner's greed is boundless; he will accept the gold in her stead."​

In the aftermath, the mournful lament of the Rhine Maidens echoed through the lifeless forests and desolate lands as the daughters of the Rhine, once epitomes of all good and grace, themselves turned into creatures of the night. The Rhine River, once a symbol of life and beauty, flowed black and corrupted, its waters a testament to the darkness that now reigned.

H.P. Lovecraft, the master of cosmic horror and the creator of an intricate mythos was known for his complex relationship with art and music. In his letters, Lovecraft often expressed a rather limited appreciation for music, noting that his enjoyment was largely through associative memory rather than intrinsic appreciation. Yet, amidst his general indifference, he showed, at least on one occasion (see quote above) his admiration for Richard Wagner. Lovecraft’s sporadic admiration for Wagner provides a fascinating insight into how the operatic grandeur and mythological depth of Wagner's works could resonate with Lovecraft's own literary cosmos. (Lovecraft is not known to have ever attended a Wagner opera in full production. Note that what follows is a toying with ideas, this article by no means tries to prove something.)

​LOVECRAFT’S MUSICAL INDIFFERENCE AND WAGNERIAN EXCEPTION
Lovecraft's self-professed indifference to most music is well-documented. He confessed to deriving more emotional appeal from simple, patriotic tunes like It's a Long Way to Tipperary or Rule, Britannia than from the complex compositions of, let's say, Liszt, Beethoven and (also) Wagner. Lovecraft acknowledged his limitations in enjoying music but avoided the common pitfall of deriding what he did not comprehend. Instead, he expressed a form of reverence for those who could appreciate the musical intricacies.

EMOTIONAL AND AESTHETIC PARALLELS
Emotionally, both Wagner and Lovecraft create works that transcend their mediums to evoke profound, often unsettling emotions. Wagner’s music is known for its ability to convey intense emotions, from (temporarily) triumph to the (inevitable) tragic downfall of heroes. Lovecraft, through his prose, elicits a different emotional response—fear, awe, and a sense of the unknown. The emotional depth in Wagner’s compositions might have spoken to Lovecraft’s appreciation for the dramatic and the otherworldly, offering him a glimpse into the emotional potential of art that he otherwise found elusive.
 
Aesthetically, Wagner’s innovative use of leitmotifs—recurring musical themes associated with particular characters, places, or ideas—parallels Lovecraft’s own use of recurring motifs and themes throughout his works. Just as Wagner's leitmotifs build a complex, interwoven narrative structure, Lovecraft’s recurring references to his pantheon of eldritch beings and forbidden tomes create a rich, interconnected mythos. This structural similarity might have further enhanced Lovecraft's appreciation for Wagner, recognizing a kindred complexity in the narrative techniques they employed.
 
OPERA & CTHULHU
To the Wagnerian universe, we add a monster. Because good stories, even those already rich in drama and conflict, can always use a monster (see the movie Godzilla Minus One). So what if Cthulhu, Lovecraft's most famous creation, pops up in a few of Wagner's operas?

Wotan meets Cthulhu:
Wotan, in his guise as the Wanderer, enters the scene. He is on a quest to observe the unfolding fate of his grandson, Siegfried, who is destined to forge a new future. As Wotan approaches the place where he wants to summon Erda, the goddess of the Earth, the atmosphere grows oppressive. The air itself seems to thrum with a dark energy.

Wotan:
What dark power stirs in this ancient wood?
A force beyond the ken of gods and men.
My spear, once mighty, quivers in my grasp,
As shadows deepen and the light grows dim.

(The mist thickens, and from the depths of the forest, Cthulhu’s massive form begins to emerge. The creature’s sheer size and otherworldly nature defy comprehension.)

Cthulhu (communicating telepathically, his voice a deep, resonant echo that reverberates in Wotan's mind):
Wotan, king of gods, your time has come,
The age of man and gods alike shall end.
I rise from depths where madness dwells,
To claim this world as mine, beyond your ken.

Wotan (struggling to maintain his composure, confronts the cosmic horror before him):
Great Old One, from realms unknown, you tread,
But this is not your time, nor your domain.
The Norns have woven fate’s unyielding thread,
And Siegfried’s hand shall forge a new refrain.

(Cthulhu’s presence warps the very fabric of reality around him, the forest seeming to bend and twist.)

Cthulhu (with an aura of ancient, incomprehensible power):
The fate you speak of matters not to me,
For I am eternal, beyond time’s frail chains.
Your world shall crumble, your Valhalla fall,
As chaos reigns and madness stains.

Wotan (steeling himself and raises his spear):
Then let us clash, titans of different spheres,
For the sake of man and gods, I’ll stand my ground.
Though doom may follow, and Valhalla fade,
In this twilight hour, our fates are bound.

Emerging from the darkness, towering over the trees, was a grotesque, monstrous figure. Its eyes, glowing with an otherworldly light, fixed on Isolde. As she faced the eldritch horror, Cthulhu’s deep, resonant voice filled her mind. "The monster is within," it seemed to say, "for your deepest fears and desires have summoned me."

In that moment, Isolde realized that their forbidden love, their yearning to escape the confines of their mortal lives, had conjured this manifestation of their innermost darkness. The monster was not merely an external force but a reflection of her own tortured soul, an embodiment of the fears and desires that drove her into his arms.

2024:
BEYOND SPACE AND SOUND: BLOOD INCANTATION, PARSIFAL AND PHILIP K. DICK​
IPHIGÉNIE IN MARIUPOL (Iphigénie en Tauride)
BRUCKNER'S BICENTENARY
​MAHLER'S 5TH ON PERIOD INSTRUMENTS
DER FLIEGENDE HOLLÄNDER​
DIABOLUS IN MUSICA
THE RHINE GOTHIC
WAGNER & H.P. LOVECRAFT
WAGNER & COMIC BOOKS​
DIE WALKURE (HIP)
​​
2023:​
GOING TO LEGOLAND
LIVING COLOUR
SIEGFRIED IN A GLORIOUS WALL OF SOUND
LOHENGRIN IN THE FACTORY
CASSANDRA: VOICES UNHEARD
THE MERCILESS TITO OF MILOU RAU
AUFSTIEG UND FALL DER STADT MAHAGONY
BAYREUTH (TANNHAUSER AND PARSIFAL)
​THE STEAMPUNK RING
THE DAY OF THE DEATH
MAHLER AND THE RESURRECTION
TIME (DER ROSENKAVALIER & METALLICA)​

2022:​
KONIGSKINDER (A TRIUMPH IN TRISTESSE)
DER FREISCHUTZ
DAS RHEINGOLD (HIP)
UPLOAD (LIVING IN A DATA STREAM)

2021:​
DER SILBERSEE
​A (POST?) COVID PARSIFAL
​THE WRITE OF SPRING

2020:
A DESCENT INTO THE NIBELHEIM OF THE MIND
EDDIE VAN HALEN
WAGNER AT THE MOVIES
WITH MAHLER AND STRAVINSKY INTO THE NEW YEAR

2019:
THE RETURN OF DIE WALKÜRE
PAGLIACCI / CAVALLERIA RUSTICANA: A GAME WITH REALITY IN ITALIAN VERISMO
(NO) BAYREUTH (SUMMER BLOG)
TANNHAUSER: WHAT'S ON A MAN'S MIND
ABOUT EXTREME MUSIC
DIE TOTE STADT
HELMUT LACHENMANN IN THE MOZART SANDWICH

2018:
OEDIPE: IS MAN STRONGER THAN FATE?
ONE MORE ... (RING CYCLE)
MARNIE: OPERA & PICTURES
THE HALLOWEEN TOP 10
​JENUFA: ICE-COLD REALITY IN WARM-BLOODED MUSIC
MY PARSIFAL CONDUCTOR: A WAGNERIAN COMEDY
LOHENGRIN: IN THE EMPIRE OF THE SWAN
DIE ZAUBERFLÖTE IN A ROLLER COASTER
PARSIFAL IN BAYREUTH
HEAVY SUMMER (THE ROAD TO PARSIFAL)
LOHENGRIN IN SCREENSHOTS
LESSONS IN LOVE AND VIOLENCE
BERLIN/BLOG: FAUST & THE CLAWS OF TIME
THE GAMBLER: RUSSIAN ROULETTE WITH PROKOFIEV
BACH/BLOG#1: THE ROAD TO LEIPZIG
BACH/BLOG#2: BACHFEST LEIPZIG
BACH/BLOG#3: JOHANNES PASSION & MORE
DER FLIEGENDE HOLLÄNDER, WAGNER & DRACULA
THE CHRISTINA CYCLUS OF KLAS TORSTENSSON
LA CLEMENZA DI TITO: MOZART ÜBER ALLES
BRUCKNER AND THE ORGAN
GURRE-LIEDER: THE SECOND COMING
PARSIFAL IN FLANDERS: REIGN IN BLOOD
TRISTAN & ISOLDE AND THE IMPOSSIBLE EMBRACE
DANIELE GATTI & BRUCKNER'S NINTH

2017:
ON THE BIRTHDAY OF LUDWIG (BEETHOVEN'S MIGHTY NINE)
THE DINNER PARTY FROM HELL 
ZEMLINSKY & PUCCINI: A FLORENTINE DIPTYCH
VENI, VIDI, VICI
ELIOGABALO (HERE COMES THE SUN KING)
LA FORZA DEL DESTINO
DAS WUNDER DER HELIANE
'EIN WUNDER' TO LOOK FORWARD TO
EIN HOLLÄNDER IN BAYREUTH
FRANZ LISZT IN BAYREUTH
SALOME & THE WALKING DEAD
LOHENGRIN IN HOLLAND

2016:
ORFEO (Richard Powers)
WAGNER WEEKEND
THE SUMMER OF 2016
PARSIFAL IN SCREENSHOTS (BAYREUTH 2016)
BEING TCHAIKOVSKY
GUSTAVO & GUSTAV: DUDAMEL & MAHLER
HAITINK & BRUCKNER: A NEVER-ENDING STORY
DAVID BOWIE
FOR LEMMY AND BOULEZ
BOULEZ IST TOT

2015:
LEMMY - ROCK IN PEACE
THE BATTLE: WHO'S THE BETTER LOHENGRIN?
STOCKHAUSEN AND HEAVY METAL
FRANZ LISZT IN THE FUNNY PAPERS
TRISTAN UND ISOLDE
DER ROSENKAVALIER
SOLTI'S RING AND BAYREUTH IN 1976
EASTER CHANT
BOULEZ TURNS 90
HOLY TINNITUS
FRANZ LISZT IN THE PHOT-O-MATIC
THE HOLY GRAIL
FRANZ LISZT - ROCK STAR AVANT LA LETTRE

2014:
THE BEST THEATER EXPERIENCE IN MY LIFE

Right from the premiere of the complete cycle in 1876 at the Bayreuther Festspielhaus, the operas of Der Ring des Nibelungen have inspired artists. The highly imaginative musical dramas (and their highly imaginative composer) were the inspiration for paintings, drawings and, later, comic books. We have, of course, the comic books (or graphic novels) of the complete Ring by P. Craig Russell on the one hand, and the series by Roy Thomas and Gil Kane on the other (before he could incorporate the Ring into a graphic novel, Roy Thomas was already warming up by incorporating the story of the Ring into a Thor-storyline for Marvel Comics: New Asgards for Old).

JUDGING A BOOK BY ITS COVER
Especially fun for people who do know the Ring operas, I think, are the following covers of a comic book series that doesn't exist. It's a bit like making movie posters for films that were never made. A poster that evokes a film that exists only in your mind and, perhaps for that reason, fascinates all the more. As an extension of those film posters, which announce something that will never be seen, this is a series of comic books that tell the story of Richard Wagner's Ring des Nibelungen. Books that can only be judged by their covers. All images of the following covers are made with the help of an AI-image generator.

Taking a moment of Das Rheingold, the adbuction of Freia by the giants, mentioned by Fricka, not seen on stage, and highlighting it in comic book fashion. So that the graphic depiction of that moment can take on a life of its own, beyond the original story.

I have always found the combination of Wagner and the gothic element very attractive. Der fliegende Holländer is, of course, the most obvious opera to make that association but Die Walküre also lends itself perfectly to a gothic atmosphere. What if Hunding were a vampire?

Siegfried is essentially an opera about characters trying to sleep (this goes for both Fafner and Brünnhilde). Until they are awakened by the hero of the Ring, that is. The cover image for the third part of the Ring is in straightforward, action-packed (super)hero-style.

Although ravens are definitely horror-worthy, it's not Wotan's ravens but a sky full of bats on this cover for Götterdämmerung where the final part of Wagner's tetralogy gets a push towards a Hammer-movie. With Brünnhilde as a witch-like ghostly apparition. 

Software: DALL-E, Adobe Photoshop & Illustrator 

​- Wouter de Moor

In the year 2021, we were offered an encounter with a Wagner opera in a performance based on historical research. The result of this historically-informed performance of Das Rheingold exceeded all expectations and dispelled the possible reservations one could initially have about such an undertaking with the strongest possible resolve. Instead of being exposed to stiff museum atmospheres, we were taken into a maelstrom of haunting excitement. The nineteenth-century instruments and their replicas blew a breath of fresh air through Wagner's work, making the performance effortlessly rival the Wagner summit. And now, three years later, Kent Nagano and Concerto Köln, joined by musicians from Dresdner Festspielorchester, return with the next chapter of the Ring.

It must be said that the surprise and delight that the historical approach to Das Rheingold gave us was somewhat less imposing with Die Walküre. Once again, we were confronted with Wagner's nineteenth-century instrumentation containing the organic, pleasantly unsteady sounds of the brass and woodwinds. The prelude to the first act, Winter Storm, sounded on gut strings crystal clear and heady. It was the beginning of a Walküre that rushed rapidly towards Wotan's farewell. The acts lasted 60, 80 and 65 minutes respectively, making this Walküre one whose second act, at 80 minutes, would fit on one CD; a rarity as far as I know. This speed did not come at the expense of the dramatic moments; they were given enough weight, it did sound swift, not rushed. That there was less of a revelation here could partly have to do with the context in which the performance of Das Rheingold took place at the time - for the first time since the Covid pandemic, we were able to attend a fully cast Wagner opera again. In view of its reception as part of a full Ring, something else might be added. As 'just' a preliminary evening, Das Rheingold, in full production and in concert performance, often comes with a promise that is not quite fulfilled in the remainder of the cycle. This is especially true for staged productions (I'm thinking here of the last Ring of Valentin Schwarz in Bayreuth, where it becomes weaker by each part, but also of Frank Castorf's Ring there, although Castorf recovers after a weak Walküre in Siegfried) but here, of course, that promise lay in the sound of a historically informed performance. How that sound would make us listen to Wagner differently. 

It was as if that historically informed performance elevated Das Rheingold more to a performance in the outer class than Die Walküre. As if Das Rheingold held more musical interpretative potential because it was less 'finished' as an opera than its successor. The historically informed performance revealed many previously unheard nuances that elicited unprecedented theatrical expression from the first part of the Ring. The sound of the orchestra was like an X-ray vision of Wagner's instrumentation, and in the historically informed treatment of the voices, Das Rheingold seemed at times to anticipate someone like Kurt Weill. Proto-cabaret in a musical drama where the treatment of the text serves expression, and everything, including its beauty (Wagner loved Italian bel canto), was set to that purpose. Indeed, with the musical storyteller Wagner, music is not mere music, but a means of conveying a story (one wonders to what extent he would have been successful in writing symphonies, compositions where you cannot lean on a story).

​As a prelude, it is great (my appreciation for it has only grown in recent years), but the drama in Das Rheingold does not yet reach the heights of its successor Die Walküre. Die Walküre is three dramas for the price of one, and Wagner unleashes them on the listener with a Schubertian sense of melody. Each act is a drama that can stand on its own. Going home after the first act, we would have experienced a story with a hopeful ending. In the second act, that hope is brutally dashed and we witness the death of a hero, Siegmund. The third act begins with one of the most recognisable tunes in music history, the Walkürenritt, a musical boost after the dystopian conclusion of the previous act. With Wotan's farewell that third act ends with one of the most beautiful pieces in the entire opera catalogue. 

In Die Walküre, the imaginative world Wagner creates is painted with nineteenth-century instrumentation in transparent tones and refined brushstrokes. The bombast with which Wagner is often associated was absent here. Even in the Walkürenritt, the windows remained wide open and the sound remained clear at all times. At times it was akin to a radio play, with even the singers with relatively modest voices not having to force themselves anywhere. With everything neatly proportioned, both orchestra and voices, in the acoustics of the Concertgebouw, not exactly an easy task, the narrative power took precedence over the orchestral power.

The love between Siegmund and Sieglinde is doomed. That love is doomed because of the laws Wotan has imposed to subjugate the rest of the world. (And of course Wagner knows that stories that end badly make more of an impression than a happy ending.) The fact that Wotan also binds himself in the process is something he is pointed out insistently by his wife Fricka. She makes it clear to Wotan that he must remove his hands from the incestuous love of the Wälsungen twins if he is not to undermine his own power, and the power of the gods. The laws of marital union that condemn the love between Siegmund and Sieglinde are emphatically not dictated by nature. They are artificial, imposed by a supreme god, and are all too human in character. Morality is a social concept and it seems that here, it is impossible not to sympathise with the Wälsungen pair, Wagner deliberately presents incestuous love as an act of resistance to the bourgeois mores that dictate how people should relate to each other. ​Wagner himself would have plenty more to cope with this when he begins a relationship with the married Cosima von Bülow-Liszt and when his affair with Mathilde Wesendonck forces him to take refuge in Venice. (The composer incorporates his own worldly struggles into his work, and the tantalising way in which he does so tends to make people, then and now, forgive him for his less-than-pretty traits and behaviour. As Hans von Bülow said after Wagner ran off with Cosima: "If it had been anyone but Wagner, I would have shot him.")

In Die Walküre, Wagner encounters the primacy of music in his search for his desired musical drama. In the music of magic fire (in the third act), he unlocks a symphonic potential that he will fully explore in Siegfried. In the historically informed performance, that symphonic potential is given less space (less voluptuous weight) to manifest itself; it has to make room for an almost chamber-musical approach. With radio play-like moments as a result. With Wotan's great monologue in the second act, thoughts turned to what Wilhelm Fürtwangler once called his favourite performance of an opera. That was a performance of Die Meistersinger in Bayreuth in 1912, conducted by Hans Richter, during which he was barely aware of the music. It was an ideal symbiosis of all the components of a total theatre. The music here too, with a smaller orchestral sound, more than in an orchestra with modern instruments, is at the service of the singers.

The transparency in the orchestral image reveals details that add a subtle nuance to the listening experience. It certainly contributes to a better understanding of the musical architecture and the newly perceived details can enrich the story in new ways. That the music is entirely at the service of the singers was entirely according to Wagner's intentions but a transparent orchestral sound was not. In his own Festspielhaus, Wagner placed the orchestra below the stage because the singers' intelligibility was an absolute priority. This resulted in an orchestral sound in which the various instrumental parts melted together more and sounded less clear overall. After the premiere of the Ring in 1876 at the Bayreuther Festspielhaus, Wagner therefore thought of rearranging the orchestral parts. 

But perhaps even more than by the historically informed orchestral sound, the difference from other modern performances was determined by the singers' treatment of the text. That treatment of the text was more linked to the immediacy of the spoken word. For the singers, the first stage for rehearsing their texts consisted of pronouncing them where they found their tempo and intonation. Only then did the singing follow. The result was a singing that was less pompous and which, even in the more exuberant moments, was more in the service of narration than vocal prowess. This allowed, for instance, Siegmund to be cast with a smaller voice than is usually the case. Ric Furman's tenor flourished best in the more lyrical moments, though a bit more mass would have been welcome in the big dramatic moments. The same could be said of Christiane Libor's Brünnhilde. Patrick Zielke's Hunding was like a piece of basalt in this cast of relatively small voices. A bit angular but that suited exactly the brute who slaves Sieglinde to be his wife. Not small in voice was likewise Derek Walton's Wotan. His vocal impact was imposing, although he could have used a bit more lyricism to make the Werdegang of the supreme god more dramatically palpable. An observation that, in the light of the performance, was little more than a side note. After Wotan's farewell, I was floored. Empty and purified. Tired yet fulfilled. As if I had experienced something of magnificent importance. Exactly as it should be after a Wagner opera.

Music evokes images. A record comes with a cover. To listen to an opera is to look with your ears. Music can unlock a world in the mind waiting to be made visible. And an AI-image generator can be a handy tool for that. After previously toying around with prompt design, resulting in the image gallery of Der Ring des Nibelungen in Steampunk-style, Wagner & Heavy Metal goes to Legoland. Music from my adult life staged with a toy from my early childhood. It's a versatile toy, you can make all sorts of things with it, which perhaps because of its limitation is still so popular. ​It is like building something in low resolution with 3D pixels where the Lego bricks add a decidedly tactile dimension to a digital image.

We begin with history's first rock star, Franz Liszt, the man who reinvented the piano, a bit like Jimi Hendrix reinvented the electric guitar. A man whose concerts delighted his audiences (women!) in proto-rock-like fashion.

Next: the man whom Liszt saw as the starting point for the musical innovation of the 19th century; Ludwig van Beethoven.

“Beethoven’s music sets in motion the machinery of awe, of fear, of terror, of pain, and awakens that infinite yearning which is the essence of romanticism.”
— E. T. A. Hoffmann

Richard Wagner, as well as being a composer, was a man of the theater. When asked what images to add to that illustrative music of Wagner, Frank Castorf came up with fascinating and frustrating answers for his Ring production for Bayreuth. The result, however, stuck. Since that Ring production, the crocodile has been a visual leitmotif that automatically brings thoughts to Siegfried. Nor has the image of Wotan eating spaghetti left me since.

Bayreuth is host to some of the most daring Wagner productions in the world, and Tobias Kratzer's Tannhäuser and Stefan Herheim's Parsifal are certainly amongst the most bold and successful. Productions in which the mind-boggling sound world of Wagner finds a worthy partner in the imagination of the theatermaker.

Hans Neuenfels' Lohengrin production introduced me to the hallowed ground of the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth and to the often avant-garde productions of Wagner's operas that this festival stages. There I learned to appreciate the kind of stagings that take a free interpretation of the source material, even if those interpretations seems counter-intuitive. Better a production that dares to make choices than one that playes it safe. After all, for the ideal staging you always can, and especially in a Wagner opera, rely on your own mind.

When I attended Lohengrin at the Festspielhaus in 2014, I felt those jitters again that I knew from my youth, those jitters when I first attended a concert of my idols Rush. I consider their album 2112 my introduction to heavy metal. There was little more heavy in those years than the title track and the priests of Syrinx.

Slayer has always held a special place in heavy metal. With Slayer, no danger of metal sounding stiff. Their music, with its abrupt tempo changes and out-of-the-box (atonal!) guitar solos, creates a realm of sound that combines tightness and looseness in a way that is unique in metal - metal mayhem in which time flies by so fast it seems to stand still. It makes Slayer (with Jeff Hanneman and Dave Lombardo!) at their best moments sound more like an extension of an electric jazz band on steroids than a hard rock band. Slayer proves that in order to take your breath away, music (any music) has to breathe. With their third studio album, Reign in Blood, the band reached the top of the trash metal Mount Everest.

Back to operaland where things can also get very bloody. An opera like a slasher-movie is Richard Strauss' opera Elektra from 1909. A screaming-for-vengeance opera that brought domestic relations to dystopian lows and drama in the genre of opera to new musical heights.

Alban Berg's Wozzeck was the first opera I saw live. Reducing Wozzeck to atmospheric music to a tragic story does Alban Berg's musical drama a disservice (Karl Böhm called Berg a greater dramatist than Wagner) but the cinematic component in Berg's music is unmistakable. It made the first atonal opera in music history arrive at me a lot more accessible than expected. Moreover, it made me curious for more. Fortunately, there was also Lulu (Berg's other, second, opera and this guilty pleasure). 

After Alban Berg, it was tracing the path back to the founder of the Second Viennese School. The air of other planets in Arnold Schoenberg's second string quartet with soprano was a path to a new music and a breath of fresh air.

At the end of many an opera, many a main character dies. For Tristan and Isolde, that death is a portal to a world where they can finally be together. A world beyond the perception of the senses. An opera that is like a fever dream in which you can die of undying love.

In Wagner's highly visceral music lurks a staging. It is perhaps for this reason that a Wagner opera often presents itself in an ideal way in a concert performance. In Siegfried, Wagner gives free rein to the symphonist in him. Here he seems to have less consideration for the singers' audibility. In Bayreuth, that  audibility is guaranteed because the orchestra is below the stage. In a concert performance, however, the singers must contend with an orchestra at full exposure. In that glorious wall of sound, coming form the ideal sound system that is the Wagnerian orchestra, a world reveals itself into which you, as a listener, love to get lost.

Living Colour made music that confirmed what you actually already knew, that genre boundaries don't really matter that much. Living Colour not only rocked hard, they also, as is often the case with good music, made you curious about where their music came from. Through Living Colour, I followed the path back to bands like Bad Brains and Funkadelic. Bands that were like the missing link between Jimi Hendrix and the hard rock of that era I was listening to. Living Colour complemented your knowledge and expanded the mind.

I kind of lost track of them after their third record Stain. A gig, as part of the European leg of the Stain 30th Anniversary tour, was a re-encounter with the heroes of my youth. It was an utter pleasant and insistent reminder of what a beast of an album Stain was, and what a powerhouse of a band Living Colour still is.
 
It lasted two songs. It took band and sound a bit to find each other, but once the quartet embarked on an integral performance of their album Stain, it was all hit and no miss.

Go away, opening track from that record, with a riff from the meat grinder, set the tone for a party in multicoloured sound. Forged with metal that splits skulls -spiced with punk, funk, soul, hip-hop, trip-hop and jazz- they enchanted the senses with passion, craftsmanship and elegance.

Living Colour was never a band that resorted to mere platitudes and simple tricks to make their music accessible and engaging. Instrumentation and vocals do not follow each other in obvious ways. No melody over a chord progression played with just barre chords. Beneath those ever-lyrical vocal lines lies a volcano of harmonically and rhythmically challenging instrumentation that sizzles and boils. The exceptional musicianship of the quartet from New York has always guaranteed dazzling live performances but at this gig the band sounded exceptionally inspired. "Never take a sold-out venue for granted," Vernon Reid had tweeted prior, and that thought and feeling translated into a performance that did what good live performances do. It purified and it liberated body and mind.

That the music has more than just stood the test of time was no surprise - we took note of it with exhilaration and delight. Frantically singing along to songs until your head is loose on your neck is sometimes what a person needs on a Friday night at the end of the week. That that person, in politically shaky times, feels a song like Ignorance is Bliss closing in on him and notes that the band's lyrics are as relevant today as they were three decades ago was an experience that was not undividedly liberating. Times don't necessarily change for the better and, like three decades ago, Time's Up. Still.
 
The riffs coming from the guitar of Vernon Reid were like insights cleaving the mind, with his solos exploring the territory from James Blood Ulmer back to John Coltrane - tapestries of notes manifesting into sheets of sound. Sound eruptions that created a sense of freedom, an energy of anything goes, something one finds, for example, in artists as diverse as Prince in his best guitar solo moments, as well as Slayer's Kerry King. The undulations in Corey Clover's voice were by turns like a caress of the evening wind and a scream from the underworld. Doug Wimbish took a moment to celebrate the anniversary of half a century of hip-hop. Wimbish was on fire. This time no fiddling with a laptop, thankfully, but full focus on inspired bass playing that, in a choreography of flowing movements and driving power, smashed its low notes like graceful splotches of paint on a colourful canvas.