If music is the art of time, Wagner’s opera is the art of a great deal of time—and gaining access to it at its shrine demands an extraordinary investment of time.

For many years, a single ticket to the Bayreuth Festival was among the most coveted prizes for serious Wagnerians. It was rumored that applicants might wait up to a decade before securing one. At one point, I decided to put that to the test.

Sometime in 2005, not long after I graduated from college and while working a moderately paid job, I summoned the courage to send a carefully worded letter by first-class mail to the Bayreuth Festival’s box office, formally launching my application for a seat. Early the following year, an envelope arrived containing a polite rejection and a suggestion to “keep trying.” I dutifully read the entire programme, printed on a tri-folded A4 sheet, and ticked every obstructed-view seat listed on the reverse.

I repeated this mechanical ritual for over a decade. Paper forms eventually gave way to digital versions, and festival leadership passed from one family member to another. In 2015, my wish was finally granted: the cheapest seats I’d requested were offered to me. Yet a miscalculation—quitting my job in 2013—meant I could no longer afford an intercontinental flight from Shanghai, where I’m based. I passed the tickets on to a friend at face value. After years of inactivity, the Customer No. 308332 that had been assigned to me was permanently deleted on 1 September 2023. I took it in stride. No hard feelings.

Just as Bayreuth was fading from view, news came in December 2024 that the Bayreuth Festival would launch a three-year residency in Shanghai. Beginning in 2025, three operas from Bayreuth productions would be introduced to Shanghai through a collaboration between the Festival, the Shanghai Grand Theatre, and the Shanghai Opera House. My Bayreuth pilgrimage was rekindled—though not without skepticism.

It was announced that Xu Zhong, director of the Shanghai Opera House, would conduct both chorus and orchestra in all three operas, beginning with the first instalment: “Tristan und Isolde”—an opera notorious for its difficulty, particularly for the orchestra, the tenor, and the soprano leads. Could Xu Zhong hold his own against Wagnerian baton giants like Christian Thielemann? Could the Shanghai Opera House Orchestra—and the acoustically modest Shanghai Grand Theatre—come anywhere close to replicating the dark magic conjured by Bayreuth’s elite musicians, in the Festspielhaus designed by none other than Wagner himself?

Torn between curiosity and skepticism, I made my long-overdue pilgrimage to the Shanghai Grand Theatre on 5 July for “Tristan und Isolde,” in a production by Roland Schwab that premiered in Bayreuth in 2022 but was discontinued after its short two-year run.

Schwab’s production inherits the post war aesthetic established by Wieland Wagner for New Bayreuth —reconstructing the opera’s narrative through a minimalist visual style enhanced by sophisticated lighting. The lighting design throughout the production was simply masterful: illumination was used not merely for visibility but to serve the atmosphere and underscore the psychological storms and emotional transitions within the music. The dynamic manipulation of light strips—through shape, intensity, and flicker—breathed movement into otherwise static sets.

Whether it was Isolde’s lingering reluctance or Tristan’s anxious anticipation, the nuanced blend of apprehension and hope was deeply amplified by the three concentric rings of light encircling the stage, flashing and revolving in harmony with the music’s emotional cues. At the end of Act two, when Tristan is stabbed, a column of light slowly descends from above, a striking visual metaphor for being pierced by a thousand arrows. Combined with the dramatic swell of music, the moment induced a kind of sensory climax—both auditory and visual. Much of this owed to the outstanding performance of tenor Corby Welch, who sang Tristan on that night.

A circular screen hung above the stage and another was embedded in the floor; sometimes they mirrored one another, sometimes projected contrasting images. These screens were enclosed by the circular stage, which offered ample space for staging. Visuals of clear skies, drifting clouds, flowing water, whirlpools, and starry nights intertwined the real and the abstract, enriching the setting and enhancing the narrative. However, the angle of view was limited—likely only the very centre stalls could take in the full visual experience. The three curving panels surrounding the stage resembled oversized acoustic reflectors. For the singers, they served as “power rings,” concentrating and bouncing their voices toward the audience like a parabolic solar stove. In Act one, Nina Warren, singing Isolde, stood centre stage with her back to the house and still sent waves of powerful sound that struck one’s face and ears with palpable force.

This was a stage design steeped in German Bauhaus minimalism and industrial design efficacy, deconstructing the opera’s temporal and geographic anchors. The lighting design—worthy of Bayreuth’s reputation—served the music and storytelling flawlessly, in both static tableaux and multimedia expressions.

I was especially moved by the set design. Though the story unfolds almost entirely aboard a ship or in a castle, there were no visible ships or masts on stage, and the sailors were hidden in the pit. The vast stage emptiness and the sparse number of singers contributed to an ethereal, mysterious tone, leaving much to the audience’s imagination. The director divided the stage into two tiers, like a Nintendo Dual Screen game console. The lower level was the domain of Tristan and Isolde, where the main plot played out; the upper tier featured silhouettes of supporting characters. This dual-screen design clarified the primary and secondary storylines while also creating striking dramatic effects. For example, in Act three, the Shepherd’s music was performed by a cor anglais player standing alone on the upper tier, reaching into a dark and distant emotional realm—his flawless playing mirrored the orchestra’s impeccable form that night.

Yet the stage design left the most vocally taxing parts to the two leads under the most physically awkward conditions. Tristan and Isolde spent most of the opera lying down, twisting into various poses as they sang—a sight which, from the third balcony, may have resembled two rhinos wallowing in mud. Most extreme was Tristan, who sang more than half of his part while seated, reclined, on his side, or flat on his back—none of which are taught as optimal singing postures. But for the sake of the narrative, Tristan must lie in bed—whether the bed of love, torture, or death.

This brings us to Corby Welch, who sang Tristan on July 5. His voice reminded me of top-tier Wagnerians like Stuart Skelton or Ben Heppner. From start to finish, his singing displayed both dynamic volume and technical reserves—seemingly bottomless. In the long Act two love duet with Isolde (“O sink hernieder, Nacht der Liebe”), he sang with effortless ease, projecting a rare metallic sheen with stability and lyrical warmth. His vocal confidence anchored the scene. By contrast, Nina Warren struggled at times. While her voice had penetration, it lacked tonal richness and occasionally veered into a plasticky timbre.

Still, I hesitate to complain too much about Warren—after all, she stepped in heroically at one yard line and sang what is arguably the most daunting soprano role in all of operatic classics. Wagner wrote two nearly unmatched soprano parts: Isolde and Brünnhilde (from The Ring cycle). In terms of overall demands, Isolde may surpass even Brünnhilde.

There are four main reasons why Isolde is so difficult for a soprano. First, sheer duration. Tristan und Isolde spans over five hours, and the leading lady sings through all three acts. Right before the curtain falls, she must deliver the 10+ minute “Liebestod”—a finale requiring intense focus and spiritual elevation. It’s like running a marathon and then being asked to swim 800 metres: the ultimate test of vocal endurance.

Second, the emotional range. The opera contains both the heroic energy of The Ring and passages of tender intimacy, demanding both dramatic and lyric soprano qualities. The role spans two octaves and requires seamless transitions across emotional and vocal registers. In this regard, Isolde reigns supreme among Wagner’s heroines—perhaps even more demanding than Brünnhilde.

Third, competition with the orchestra. Wagnerian orchestras are massive, with up to 100 musicians creating a tsunami of sound. The soprano must not only project over this but do so with clarity and a brilliant, metallic tone—without amplification. Only then can her voice reach the back rows of the auditorium.

Fourth, language. Wagner wrote around 15,000 words of libretto for Tristan and Isolde—roughly the length of a Hemingway novella. Isolde sings about 7,000 words; Tristan over 8,000. For non-native German speakers, memorizing this dense, archaic text is a monumental task. Moreover, Wagner’s vocal lines rarely follow natural melodic contours; they are often declamatory, driven by the orchestra’s flow. Without a prompter, it’s easy to lose track.

Given all this, Warren’s performance—while at times vocally strained—was commendably committed and visually compelling. Having debuted as Isolde only in 2022, she possesses tremendous vocal power and potential. Should she continue down the Wagnerian path, she may yet achieve distinction. Nina Stemme—internationally recognized as the definitive Wagnerian soprano—performed her 126th and final “Tristan und Isolde” on 1 June 2025 in Philadelphia, marking a 22-year journey with the role. Clearly, Wagner is a lifelong artistic pursuit for many top singers.

Through Bayreuth’s production of “Tristan und Isolde” in Shanghai, several singers from the Shanghai Opera House got their first taste of the work—and performed admirably. Their voices were rich and expressive, and they held steady throughout. Sharing the stage with world-class artists will surely give them insight into the style and linguistic precision Wagner demands, and the remaining two years of this collaboration could help hone their craft to Bayreuth standards.

But it was the orchestra in the pit that stole the show. The orchestra and chorus were nothing short of sublime. The low strings were rich and sonorous, brass secure, woodwinds clear, and the other strings dense and cohesive. Barring a few overzealous moments from Kurwenal at the start, the singers and orchestra were perfectly synchronized—interlocked like pomegranate seeds. Even in the rapid passages, the violins were unified and clean, and tonal shifts mirrored emotional shifts with uncanny precision. The ensemble must have undergone rigorous training to achieve this level of mastery. If this becomes the norm, Shanghai audiences will have another jewel to rival any in the country.