I’ve been lucky to see Waltraud Meier embody Isolde many times, and no matter how insightful or misguided the production, her mastery of the character and the music never faltered. But here, as a triumvirate with Patrice Chereau and conducted by Daniel Barenboim, she offers one of the most affecting, detailed, and penetrating performances I’ve ever seen. Particularly in the “Liebestod,” the alignment is overwhelming. Chereau’s staging is so simple but unforgettable – some kind of hemorrhage or blood vessel seems to have burst, leading to Isolde’s death. A single trickle of blood from her forehead tells you everything you need to know about the urgency of this last moment. Meier lets us all in on what she is experiencing with total transparency: the rush of final impressions, her light-headed grasping at words to express the huge sensations she is drowning in. It’s all so direct, so true.