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At the opposite end of the town stands Wahnfried, the family home, now a museum. We found it shut for renovations and were told that it will not reopen for the composer's bicentenary next year, being a couple of million euros short on budget and some way behind schedule. The inefficiency was mildly reassuring, almost charming.

Before leaving for the opera, we were served champagne in the hotel lobby. Black tie is optional, festivity obligatory. Fifteen minutes before curtain time, the brass section steps onto the outside balcony and blows a themed fanfare from Lohengrin, repeated at five-minute intervals.

Inside, the wooden seats are arranged in a hemisphere, unbroken by aisles. If someone falls ill, they are borne aloft down the row, the music uninterrupted. Once the doors shut, there is no escape.

The lights go down and what follows is a silence unlike any other, a silence so profound that it qualifies as a musical sound. The orchestral chords that emerge shrink the auditorium to pocket size. Wagner buried his orchestra unseen beneath the stage, allowing the audience close proximity to the singers, who can deliver without vocal stress even when the accompaniment is ffff. At Bayreuth, Wagner is soft on the voice.

The acoustic is incomparable to any other musical space on earth. I enjoy the opera with a depth of concentration that is hard to sustain in less perfect surroundings. I feel privileged to be here.

This intensity is a Bayreuth miracle. Never have I sat among so rapt and motionless a crowd, many of them whole families and young couples whose tickets must have come by legacy or connections. These are the regular attenders, at home in their pews. I have fallen among true believers: men and women who fulfil an annual ritual for reasons unquestioned, reasons whose origins they have long forgotten.

Expecting a preposterous production, I am not disappointed. Hans Neuenfels dresses his Lohengrin chorus as rats and presents the famous swan as a piece of white sanitary ware that, in the finale, reverses to display a human foetus in the womb. What this has to do with Lohengrin is anyone's guess. Regietheater ("director's theatre") is the ruling creed in German opera, nowhere more so than at Bayreuth where its faux-modernism serves as yet another layer of deception to conceal an odious past. Don't look, advises a conductor friend, just listen to that inimitable sound.

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Tom Whittaker
September 4th, 2012
7:09 AM
It is enough of a sin to go there, regardless of excuses. No conductor is worth an interview in Bayreuth.

Peter hayden
September 3rd, 2012
5:09 PM
Well I had a good laugh reading that. Its not only hypocrisy its pompous sanctimonious sloganising. Wagner may have been a dreadful man but at least he wrote wonderful music. I am not sure what your contribution is. Do you really think Wagner has any current influence on German political life. If so please give some evidence? I would ask more questions but they are mostly answered in academic journals which I suggest you (re)read.

Lorna Salzman
September 2nd, 2012
11:09 PM
I think it is silly and purposeless to boycott Bayreuth. Wagner himself is dead so we can't teach him a lesson. Unless the writer has evidence that the living Wagner family members, including the co-directors, had or have Nazi sympathies, then he is doing nothing more than making a statement about his moral superiority: "I detest Nazism and anti-Semitism...I'm a good moral person, unlike Richard and Winifred Wagner". So how does this distinguish HIM from the Eva and Katerina? Or from the rest of us who also detested Hitler and Nazism? This kind of statement is just puffed up ego and moral righteousness to no end whatsoever.

Dave Rosenbaum
September 2nd, 2012
2:09 PM
Unless, of course, somebody else gives you their free tickets. Talk about hypocrisy!

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