Go, go, go, they told me! This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience! If you miss the Seattle Opera's Tristan und Isolde, you'll never forgive yourself! Having read some exuberant advance hype and a few (estatic) reviews, my partner and I agreed: we must see this event, and so we booked tickets for the August 10 performance. Then we discovered that tickets were likely to be available for Thursday 13th, when would still be in Seattle. Should we risk a second viewing? We thought we'd wait and see what Monday was like before doing anything rash.

After Act 1, I was ready to join the ecstatic brigade, and had to be restrained from going to the box-office and buying those tickets. We had a beer instead. ("Hey" said the barman, "You're the first Englishmen I've met who wanted chilled glasses.") After Act 2, I was still quite keen on trying for Thursday; after Act 3, I agreed that we shouldn't. My enthusiasm had slowly seeped away as the opera went on.

Seattle, or maybe Speight Jenkins, seems to favour brisk-ish, polite and rather lightweight conductors in Wagner. That worked OK in 1995's Ring, Herman Michael complementing especially Monte Pederson's lyrical Wotan, and doing wonders for the interminable length of Goetterdaemmerung Act 1. On this occasion, Armin Jordan supplied plenty of lyricism, lots of orchestral detail - but, in the last analysis, a lack of oomph at the big moments when the orchestra ought to be whipped up to almost a state of hysteria or delirium. So, at least once during the overture, and at critical points thereafter, I found myself wishing for a Solti, a Bernstein, even a Levine. I think the conducting was one reason why Act 3 left me cold. 

Act 1: Very impressive singing indeed from both Eaglen and Heppner. I wasn't surprised at how well she sounded - full tone and lots of volume, very secure, everything dead-on - but was agreeably surprised by how easily he coped (no sign of obtrusive wobble, though the voice no longer seems as beautiful as on the Lohengrin recording, or the Sawallisch Meistersinger recording, or the Strauss disc). The monumental set, occupying most of the stage picture, presented a sideways-on view of a big modern ship, all panels and rivets, with railings high up at the top. On deck were Tristan, Kurwenal and some sailors engaged in synchronised mopping. The Young Sailor sang his solo lines (clearly and plangently) leaning on the railings. Meanwhile, a section of the ship's hull moved aside to disclose Isolde and Brangaene in a cabin, and a stairway up to the deck on the right. 

The production was mostly quite good - Eaglen was well-costumed in a purple Art Nouveau gown and didn't have to move much. She conveyed appropriate emotions satisfactorily (I especially liked her look of contempt - "What do you know?" - when Michelle de Young's kittenish Brangaene told her what a good match King Marke was). Three minor irritations were the unnecessary appearances whenever the chorus sang of luridly-lit galley-slave supers below the Eaglen cabin, the bizarre campery of the sailors waving their mops as they echoed Kurwenal's taunts - and the absence of Brangaene during the drinking of the potion (she is supposed to prepare it there and then, not beforehand - her "Oh, dear, what have I done?" solo was sung on the steps down to the cabin rather than after witnessing the effect of her meddling immediately she's done it). But overall, pretty good.

Act 2: I also enjoyed this Act, though somehow it didn't seem quite on the same level. Isolde's lodge in the forest was a perspex box placed in the centre of the raised stage. I was told that this box also formed the bones of the cabin in Act 1. Oh. It was surrounded by stylised but effective trees, with the hunting-party about to depart as snow descended. Once the love-duet got under way, with Brangaene perched on the roof of the box, the trees moved away, a semi-circular "Tres Riches Heures" frame descended with a canopy of stars behind it - beautiful effect, only half-reminding me of the end of Ariadne auf Naxos. At the climax of the duet, flames arose around the happy couple - not really necessary, but nothing to worry about. With the appearance of Kurwenal, Melot and Marke, the trees swung back. I wasn't bothered by the "big cut" (the opera ended after 11.30pm as it was) or by the production (I particularly liked the ending, with Tristan's wounding depicted by a stylised and magnified streak of blood quickly descending in front of the box). What did seem to be missing was some sort of spark between the protagonists, but their singing still made up for that. Rose, pacing back and forth, sang Marke's solo musically, though he was never a real authority-figure, Napoleonic costume notwithstanding. Cornelison looked determined to make something of Melot, but only seemed to be overdoing it. 

Act 3: I couldn't fault Heppner's delivery of the monologue, but somehow he didn't seem quite inside the part, something I've noticed also in his Walther on stage and his broadcast Grimes. Greer Grimsley (Kurwenal) has quite an attractive dark voice, but I found him too monochrome when heard at length, and would have preferred a warmer tone. I did not get over-excited over his obvious affection for his master. The staging also contributed to my creeping dissatisfaction. The perspex box (again!! What did it all mean??) was a waste of space, didn't remotely suggest a castle and positively got in the way of the action. The decision, no doubt on cost grounds, to send the chorus/supers home early was a tremendous mistake - there was no sense of menace, of ambiguous forces pushing their way in, of Kurwenal's misunderstanding of who he was fighting. Having the trusty retainer commit suicide was simply preposterous. Meanwhile, I'd found it impossible to suspend disbelief and imagine that Isolde was hurrying in when in fact she was moving very slowly indeed. At the end (after Rose's eloquent solo), I found the Liebestod dull, and not just because I was by this point rather disaffected - Jordan's failure to rise to the occasion seemed matched by uninvolving singing from Eaglen. When the curtain fell, some members of the audience rose to their feet. Those behind them (and those behind them, and so proceed ad infinitum) perforce had to rise themslves in order to see the curtain-calls. I believe these so-called standing ovations as common in America as the digital watch that struck the hour during the performance and the woman behind me rattling her jewellery. Well, at least I was spared the mobile phones ringing and the radios tuned in to the baseball game. So, was Tristan worth seeing? Yes, it was. Could it have been better? Yes, it could.

We dropped our bags at the hotel and dashed over to the Festspielhaus to see if we could scare up a ticket for Renée Fleming singing the Vier Letzte Lieder. Unfortunately, she cancelled "on short notice", so we switched to plan B and returned a few hours later for the first performance of the revival of Messiaen's St François d'Assise -- even if this meant sitting through six and a half hours (with intermissions) of operatic spirituality on only 3 hours of sleep. 

The trendies were out in full force: four button suits and scaffold-like eyewear were de rigeur. The crowd yammered ecstatically in multiple languages about the thrill of attending a Peter Sellars production. Meanwhile, a coterie of Salzburg traditionalists grimly huddled in the corner recognizing that their hope that Peter Sellars and the festival director, Gerard Mortier, would be dragged off to hell a la Don Giovanni was looking increasingly remote. We managed to find two tickets and went inside to encounter the remarkable space for the production. 

The Felsenreitschule (as seen in the "So long, farewell" number in The Sound of Music)is a theatre created out of an old riding school that was carved into the side of a mountain. The extremely wide playing area is surrounded by imposing stone colonnades. The stage features a retractable roof that can allow natural light onto the stage. Faced with opera's answer to the Sky Dome, Peter Sellars had his designer, George Tsypin, created an abstract, disassembled cathedral featuring an enormous tilted grid of multi-colored neon tubes at center stage. The grid serves the dual role of stained-glass window and mood ring, with different colored patterns ranging from abstract crosshatching to crosses appearing in response to timbral, motivic, or textural elements in the opera. The wooden frame on stage left invoked the Gothic arches of a cathedral. The designer was clearly inspired by Tevye the dairyman, as the frame also contained one long stairway just going up and one even longer going down and one more going nowhere just for show. 

Finally, there were 40 television monitors suspended from the ceiling or piled in a variety of shapes on stage. These monitors were on for nearly the entire opera showing nature films or footage of a saint-like figure. The singers hardly moved within this complex framework, limiting themselves to simple gestures and the challenge of simply remaining on stage. Sometimes, as in the scene where St Francis receives the stigmata, the different elements combined to form a riveting complex stage picture. Other times, the videos simply distracted from the singers and the music. During the opera's ecstatic close, when the neon gizmo burst into a complex psychedelic light show, the effect was one of Las Vegas style kitsch. James F. Ingalls did a masterful job of lighting all this with a painterly glow, particularly in the outdoor scenes that appeared to be entirely lit by a heavenly light coming through the open roof. Costumes by Dunya Ramicova included simple monks' robes, except for Dawn Upshaw's Angel, who inexplicably had to wear a sensible wool suit just her outfit in The Rake's Progress. 

Messiaen regarded St. François as the culmination of his life's work. His musical trademarks - nature invocations, eruptions of birdsong, complex polyrhythms, the plaintive wail of the ondes martenot, fearsomely dissonant chords alternating with celestial melodies - are deployed to maximum expressive effect. Layered on top of this are the main characters' simple chant-like melodies and choral writing that ranges from otherworldly whisperings to massive outpourings of sound. The performance could scarcely be bettered musically. Kent Nagano and the Hallé Orchestra of Manchester overcame the extraordinary complexities of the score to deliver a performance that had real narrative momentum and flow. José van Dam sang St. Francis with uncomplicated directness and beatific strength, finding enormous reserves of energy and legato for the lengthy part. Dawn Upshaw was simply perfect as the Angel, finding a profound sweetness that was never cloying. Every phrase glowed as she invested even simple gestures with expressive intensity. Chris Merritt was playing the Leper, a character suffering in physical and spiritual agony, so his vocal wobble voice did not mar the performances. Urban Malmberg displayed a promising baritone voice as Brother Leon. A second performance three days later found the singers and orchestra to be even more secure and commanding.

Messiaen intended this opera to be a difficult journey for both performers and audience, and it is not one to see after a day in the office. It is ideal for festivals, however, and surely deserves its place in the repertory. I would gladly see it again -- preferably in a production that trusted the opera and did not overwhelm it like this production did. Still, Peter Sellars is to be congratulated for demonstrating that the opera is a viable work of music drama and not just an elaborate staged oratorio. The audience at the opening performance definitely had mixed feelings. Peter Sellars was noticeably booed at his curtain call, but the boos died away and were overshadowed by the applause and bravos. 

As our schedule included Don Carlo, and wanting to experience the power of the church firsthand, it seemed natural that we visit the Archbishop's fortress above Salzburg. The tour included a lengthy visit to the torture chamber and our young guide seemed all too aroused by the equipment. After a quick nap, we were off to another opera about saintliness and self-denial: Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny. Charging a $300 top for a morality tale about the corrupting power of greed is certainly ballsy; unfortunately, nothing in the production by Peter Zadek was as courageously ironic as the decision to perform the work here in the first place. Did we really need a McDonald's flag in the courtyard where Jimmy awaited execution? Richard Peduzzi didn't help matters with his bland, monumental sets. 

Catherine Malfitano's Jenny was not the typical jaded, embittered but still frightened hooker, but rather a woman desperate to experience everything in life except responsibility. She provided much of the fire in the performance, even when she was asked to sing the first half of her big second act number riding piggyback on Jerry Hadley, a compelling Jimmy Mahoney. He did push too much, even shouting on occasion, but that might be attributed to the director, who had him running through the audience and singing into a megaphone. Fortunately, Hadley transcended this stridency during his big Tristanesque lament at the start of Act III, finding surprising reserves of power and a tragic grandeur.

Dame Gwyneth Jones's Widow Begbick was, sadly, not a success. In other roles, she overwhelms the audience with dramatic intensity and power; here, she seemed confused. She looked fabulous in her swanky costumes, but sounded worn and ill at ease. Only in Act III, when she got to call for Jimmy's death, did she connect with the part. Although she was heavily booed in her curtain call, she smiled gamely and motioned for the rest of the cast to take a group bow, forgetting that the two main cast members had not emerged for their solo bows. Dennis Russell Davies, led the Radio Symphony Orchestra of Vienna in a performance distinguished by its imposing drive and rhythmic energy, but lacking in eroticism. He did manage to avoid swamping his singers in the harsh acoustics of the Grosses Festspielhaus. 

In earlier Salzburg seasons, one spectacular production was guaranteed each season, something where all the glitter on the stage seemed to reflect off all the glitter on the titled (and entitled) who filled the audience. As nothing else seemed likely to fit the bill, the traditionalists chose Don Carlo as the fashion parade opera. With the audience festooned in tuxes, Tyrolean garb, and dresses that would make Mr. Blackwell consider expanding his list to the 2000 worst dressed, one could imagine being at a von Karajan event. Unfortunately, little else about the performance suggested that bygone era. The initially glamorous cast of singers was decimated by cancellations: Andrea Gruber, the scheduled Elisabetta, was replaced by Georgina Lukacs. Samuel Ramey cancelled Filippo II. Luckily, René Pape was around for Carlo V, so he became Filippo and Robert Lloyd got to sing Carlo V as well as Dr. Bartolo in Figaro. Also, for some reason, Johan Botha, announced for Don Carlo, switched with Sergei Larin the scheduled Florestan in Fidelio. At least the Vienna Philharmonic was still in the pit.

Herbert Wernicke, the producer, director, and designer, created an incoherent mishmash consisting of colonnades, some very dangerous looking pointy gold things, and a V-shaped structure. Multiple time periods were alluded to in the scenery and costumes, including regal vestments of the king, modern dress for the crowds, a Zorro-like getup for Posa, and black-shirted uniforms for the soldiers. I suppose I was meant to draw some profound conclusions about the timelessness of the abuse of power. Other glaring directorial conceits included transforming the blind, feeble grand inquisitor into a spry, middle-aged cleric with reading glasses and having Carlo V roam through the scenes like the ghost in Hamlet. 

In theory, one puts up with all the willful directorial conceits in a "European" opera production in exchange for the masterful direction of the singers and the consequent adumbration of character and motive. We had none of that in this Don Carlo. The director's solution to dealing with the width of the Salzburg stage was to place characters as far apart as possible, thus turning the more intimate moments into yodeling contests. Alternatively, he would have everyone march across the stage as if on an unseen conveyor belt of fate. Since most of the cast were tackling their roles for the first time, we had none of the specificity of character that was needed to make the work interesting. Great singing did not compensate for dramatic inadequacy. Sergei Larin's voice became extremely raspy and unfocused in the auto-da-fé scene and only recovered intermittently. He approached his role with little musicality or poetry. Carlos Alvarez as Posa was little better. Perhaps intimidated by the blaring Vienna Philharmonic, he sang the entire role somewhere between forte and fortissimo, except when he ran out of breath at the end of phrases. Georgina Lukacs, in her role debut as Elisabetta, showed a promising spinto, but her singing was dull. By the time we got to "Tu che la vanità", I just wanted the opera to be over. Yvonne Naef, another debutante, has a mezzo voice with the right combo of flexibility and power for Eboli, but she too failed to put across some of the key moments in the role, either because of lack of coaching or inexperience. Lorin Maazel led an orchestral performance that was high in fat and carbohydrates, but all too lacking in protein. 

One assumes Herbert Wernicke was given the opportunity to produce Don Carlo based on his previous successes at Salzburg and elsewhere. I don't see how his 1996 production of Fidelio, which we saw in a revival two days later could be counted among them. The set was a tunnel-like structure with a steeply raked floor and movable grates at either end. The prisoners emerged from the darkness of their cells to near blackness on stage, dressed in loose fitting suits and T-shirts, suggesting that they had been arrested by fashion police. Rocco got to display his collection of watches stolen from prisoners in the gold aria. In the largest deviation from the libretto, the second scene of the second act was performed as a staged concert performance, complete with scores and music stands. After struggling through the German-only essay in the program book by the producer and his dramaturg Albrecht Puhlmann, we concluded that this was done because Beethoven was hopelessly naïve. His vision of the unity of man was averred to be the first step in the path leading to Nazism. Thus, it was better to present his joyous finale as an elaborate formal gesture rather than anything sincere. 

Deborah Voigt, the scheduled Leonore, dropped out of the production during rehearsals because of illness. Replacement Karen Hufstodt, also announced as ill, came to grief frequently, missing half the high notes in "Abscheulicher!" entirely and emitting pained shrieks for the others. However, she recovered somewhat for the remainder and proved to have a commanding stage presence. Johan Botha made a strong impression as Florestan despite being costumed in the most unflattering way possible. He had the power for the role, but his voice was not always under control and he had trouble around the break. He is not yet an imposing actor. Ruth Ziesak sang Marzelline without much soul. On a positive note, Monte Pederson was a real find as Don Pizzaro. He has a large dramatic baritone voice and made a fearsome villain. At times he resorted to barking, but that seemed to be more an interpretive choice rather than a sign of vocal problems. Franz-Josef Selig as Rocco was adequate, but no better. Michael Gielen led the Vienna Philharmonic in a supersonic performance of the score, notable for its chilly X-ray clarity and lack of exhilaration at the close.

By day, we had been slowly working our way through all the sites made famous in The Sound of Music, so it seemed time for a fairytale operetta. Unfortunately, no one mentioned that fact to the producer of Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail, François Abou Salem, so instead we got a work of political theater. In his first-ever opera staging, the director moved the opera to an unnamed Middle Eastern Country where, according to the program book, Pasha Selim, "an exiled politician from the East�has taken Konstanze prisoner in order to force the occupiers of his country to the negotiating table." Excerpts from Arabic poems and music were interpolated into the opera. Konstanze's feelings for Selim are decidedly ambiguous. On paper, this comes across as a most egregious example of wunderkind directorial tinkering. In performance, however, it worked remarkably well, as the stage action was convincing and absorbing,

Christine Schäfer, the Konstanze, has an unconventional sound for a coloratura lyric. Her tone is not sweet and the sound is edgy, very tightly focused and penetrating, but not unpleasant. She handled the part's notorious difficulties with almost complete success, the exception being some flat singing early on. Her characterization was deeply affecting with a much wider emotional range than is typical in the part. As Belmonte, Paul Groves sang with great fire and abandon , but the florid singing was noticeably less smooth and "Ich baue ganz" was cut. Franz Hawlata, Osmin, proved to be an adept and charming basso buffo, even if he barely had the lowest notes the part requires. The mostly German-speaking audience applauded him most heartily. Desiree Rancatore, who is just 20 years old, was a very sweet perky Blonde although she could not always be heard. In fact, she sounded heftier 3 nights earlier as the (amplified?) heavenly voice in Don Carlo. The Arab actor Akram Tillawi was a sexy, charismatic Selim, although his heavily accented German provoked comments from the audience (but not from us). Once past a manic gallop through the overture, Marc Minkowski led an energetic yet lyrical performance, one that also gave the singers freedom in their arias.

Even if the Salzburg regulars have forgiven Mortier some mistakes and excesses, a bad production of Le Nozze di Figaro is still a mortal sin. In its first year, the current production with Luc Bondy's erratic staging, ugly sets by Richard Peduzzi, and the perverse conducting by Nikolaus Harnoncourt of a period instruments orchestra was almost universally despised. Things were regarded as little better the next time around when Edo de Waart took over as conductor. This year, Sir Charles Mackerras and the Vienna Philharmonic were brought in to the rescue. Also, Bondy has vanished, with his assistant Joël Lauwers receiving sole directorial credit.

Musically, things were very, very good. Charles Mackerras obtained a subtle, beautifully balanced performance from the orchestra that was sloppy and inauthentic in that special Vienna Philharmonic way. What other orchestra would do big juicy string portamentos as the countess grants her forgiveness? Vocally, the star of the performance was Barbara Frittoli as the Countess. Her sound and basic stage deportment she reminded me a great deal of Carol Vaness, although her voice may be bigger. She sang with nobility and reserve, but still allowed her increasing despair to surface in her more private moments. Dwayne Croft's Count is a fairly well known commodity; the portrayal is still growing in subtlety and vocal variety. If he is going to ornament his part, as the singers were encouraged to do in this performance, he needs to take trilling lessons with Will Crutchfield. The sexual frisson between him and the countess helped to explain why she still pursued his love. Dorothea Raschman was an extremely fine Susanna. She had spunk and verve as well as the requisite tenderness for "Deh vieni non tardar." Ildebrando d'Arcangelo complemented her well and for once it was refreshing to have a Figaro that was not a complete ham. Only Maria Bayo disappointed as Cherubino. The voice is a lovely one, but I found her singing very generic and by the fourth act I wearied of her mugging. The audience, however, gave her an extremely warm ovation. Robert Lloyd was luxury casting for Dr. Bartolo. The remaining parts were well taken and every one got an aria - we even heard the arias in Act IV that are usually cut.

Unfortunately, the production is still problematic. The stage in the Kleines Festspielhaus is remarkably tiny, so any sets are likely to be claustrophobic. However, in this production, an imposing classical frame, heavy wooden paneled sets and extremely dark lighting create a Bergmanesque gloom. Act III looked like it was set in an airport chapel. For Act I, Figaro's bedroom was a small cube with folding sides that barely had enough room for 3 people and a small chair let alone the bed that Figaro is measuring for. While the staging had its welcome characterful touches, only Act II worked completely.

A major event in the Salzburg Festival was a concert performance of Karol Symanowski's opera King Roger, led by Sir Simon Rattle. The opera, a quasi-historical riff on Euripides' Bacchae, is set in medieval Sicily. A mystic shepherd shows up in King Roger's court luring the king's wife Roxana and subjects to join his new religion. The shepherd offers Roger the opportunity to join his religion, but declines. Instead, he has a final religious vision of his own during a sunrise as the final curtain falls. Although the opera includes no explicit homoerotic content, the program annotator argued that it represented the composer's attempt to come to terms with his homosexuality. If so, this therapy exercise was only partially successful. The work is written in an extremely, lush, late romantic idiom featuring exotic harmonies and textures. Staging the 90-minute opera would be a daunting challenge, since each of the 3 short acts has its own elaborately specified scenic requirements. Furthermore, it requires a large orchestra, massive chorus, children's chorus, and ballet dancers for two brief but essential orgiastic dances. King Roger begins with a lush, promising invocation for chorus, but the other climaxes in the work seem curiously short and attenuated - all windup and no delivery. Even Roger's final aria was over just as it started to get interesting. 

Aside from Sir Simon Rattle and the exemplary orchestra and chorus, the big name in the cast was Thomas Hampson as the king. This role is remarkably thankless, consisting of stentorian declamation until the last moments. Hampson seemed overwhelmed by the part and, as he was constantly buried in the score, he did little to convey character other than some impassioned squinting. His new haircut suggests that the baritone has at last entered the 1980s. Elzbieta Szmytka made a much stronger impression as Roxana. After some shakiness in the first act she sang the high-lying melismatic lines in the later acts with a real sheen and a sense of rapture. Ryszard Minkiewicz, the shepherd, sang with a penetrating tenor, much confidence, and little allure. The audience reacted enthusiastically, rewarding the cast with a standing ovation that the local paper reported went on for 20 minutes. A recording of the piece with the same forces is in the works from EMI.

The Salzburg Marionette Theater presented Die Zauberflöte performed to the recording conducted by Ferenc Fricsay on DG. in a small rococo-style auditorium with seats for several hundred. From the rear, the experience is akin to watching a large screen TV. A sizable portion of the audience consisted of children, so the level of disruption can be considerable. The Günther Schneider-Siemssen production seemed to be a loving recreation of an earlier style of Mozart production down to the offensive caricature for Monostatos and the slightly "wooden" acting style. If you're in Salzburg, give this troupe a try, particularly if you're already comfortable with the idea of opera singers as puppets (Quick Test: Did you like the Robert Wilson Lohengrin?) 

Next year's opera production at the Salzburg Easter Festival will be a Claudio Abbado-led Tristan und Isolde starring Ben Heppner and Deborah Polaski. Save up now, as the best orchestra seats will be $500. Summer offerings will include revivals of Don Carlo and Lulu (with Christine Schäfer) and new productions of Don Giovanni and Busoni's Doktor Faustus, the latter eventually headed for the Metropolitan Opera.

After much searching, we found a pleasant gay bar at 9 Giselekai. Go post-performance dressed up in your opera-attending duds if you want to meet other opera queens; change if you don't. Any trip to Salzburg requires sampling the testicular confection Mozartknüdeln. Avoid the ubiquitous factory-made ones from Mirabell; they give testicles a bad name. Instead, seek out the ones from Fürst sweet shop.