I think my review of Die Walküre is going to take more than one blog entry. I only hope that I can capture everything I have to say without writing great tedious detail.
The day didn't start very well. Keyed up and anxious, struggling with the concept of 'time', I found it difficult to settle to sleep, sitting bolt upright, checking whether I had set my alarm, reacting to sounds outside and starting at the creaking noises of an old house. Awake at 5.30 am, or 4.30 as it now was with the clocks gone back, I slept fitfully until alarm went off, probably getting no more than three hours sleep all night. Which was not a good start to the day.
I had allowed myself plenty of time to do all that I had to do, include make that long and difficult transition from being technically awake and 'up', and actually functioning in a rational state. I left the house in plenty of time; when I got on the bus I thought I would phone Jimmy to tell him I was on my way out, only to realise I didn't have my phone with me. I have done this a few times recently, and I feel naked without it, which is sad...I then realised that the nail varnish on my right thumb had wrinkled and creased, which is my own fault for trying to apply some from a bottle which is old and should have been thrown out (but I do like the colour, a ruddy burnished autumnal old gold). Both these facts upset me, although I told myself that if the worst catastrophes that can befall one are a phone left at home and badly applied nail-varnish, life isn't that bad. My journey went extremely well, but for some reason I started hyperventilating as I waited for the lift at Covent Garden station. Which is pathetic. I'm not in the habit of hyperventilating, perhaps once every couple of years, or less, and there was no reason for this. Deep breaths of air, and some desperate drags on my cigarette helped a little, but by the time I arrived on Floral Street I was still discombobulated and anxious.
There were plenty of people hanging around Floral Street, waiting! I was joined by Mandy, Anne Marie and Mo, and we waited for Plácido, wondering if he would arrive on foot, despite the rain. He did, and, of course, was surrounded by a throng of admirers. Of course, I didn't get anywhere near him and I was disinclined to use my best bus-boarding skills and notorious sharp elbows to push other people out of the way. I did take a couple of photos, but they are far from being anything special. I think I spend too long trying to frame the 'perfect' shot rather than just shooting and hoping...we are talking about moments, here. But it was nice to see him and good to find out that he would be around during the second interval. It's very good of him of to be so approachable; because he is, people wait for him. I really do think that if he decided to play the superstar and sneak into the theatre avoiding the fans, all reasonable people would understand.
No longer feeling anxious, a warming and soothing coffee was in order, and then it was time to go to the Royal Opera House for the First Day of the Ring of the Nibelung (Das Rheingold is merely a preliminary evening). One of the aspects I enjoy most about attending Wagner operas, and I suspect that this is even more in the case of a Ring Cycle is that one can pretty much guarantee that nearly everybody is there because of a love of the music, or, at worst, slavish devotion to a particular singer - and in my view, if you have slavish devotion to a particular singer, it's probably bet also to have a liking for their repertoire. There appears to be an absence of people dressed up to be seen, an absence of people on an early-date-to-impress, and even though I am aware in my head of being a Wagnerian newbie, I don't feel a need to apologise for my inexperience. And most of all is a sense of excitement and anticipation.
I went to my seat and, as expected, my right hand neighbours were the same as for Das Rheingold. But on my left was a new neighbour, we got chatting and it turns out that she is Stephen "Hunding" Milling's manager. I said he had come up in conversation earlier and we were wondering how tall he was. She said didn't know precisely but 'very tall'. Beyond her was someone I visited a few times years ago for Audit purposes, and I often see in the Royal Opera House etc and sometimes on the bus near work. So I said hello, and then I apologised for my ability to remember faces and names from years ago (I'm not so good at recent faces and names...). She said she was due to be writing a review for Wagner News.
The auditorium lights grew dim, the audience chatter went quiet, very quiet, Tony Pappano was applauded onto the podium, and Die Walküre was due to begin. Following my less than wonderful Rheingold experience I tried to lower my expectations, but I just couldn't do that.
The curtains opened...but that is another blogpost!
Comments