‘The error in the art-genre of Opera consists herein –

a Means of expression (Music) has been made the objective,

while the End of expression (the Drama) has been made a means.’

–

Richard Wagner

“Opera and Drama” (1851)

 

Words and Tones, A Drama Must Make

Wagner is difficult, though he attempted, through a lifetime of essay-writing, to reach out to his public. His goal was to ensure that his musical efforts were properly received, and in succeeding, improve the cultural level of society. Consider his last tract, “A Communication to My Friends,” wherein he sought to be understood as a person, though insisted on being so only after he was respected as an artist. It is consequently understandable why it has been often stated that introducing “Der Ring des Nibelungen” into schools would go far in enriching student’s lives. Thinking perhaps of the greatness of Act Two of “Die Walküre,” for example, one could learn that a work of art will not come to us unless we are prepared to accept it on its own terms. This requires knowledge of how Wagner’s involvement in contemporary society, as well as his looking backwards to ancient Greek ideals, emphasized our relation to nature (God’s perfection in Man, also), and how he saw that our hopes would be achieved by both human and divine love. Through “Der Ring,” he would bring us from darkness to light: Valhalla would burn and the splendor of the gold beneath the Rhine symbolized a return to uncontaminated nature. Wagner’s life was one of contrasts. It was one of strife, yet one wherein his chief, inexpungible belief was that art should be our salvation. His essential fabric was interwoven with the philosophy of Feuerbach, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche in their doubts about God’s existence, and Man’s hubristic thoughts of replacing Him. Wagner’s operas reveal his spirit for revolution, yet his almost-Buddhistic knightly and artist characters are illuminated through their steadfastness and self-sacrifice.

Wagner’s early life was spent in the theater. When only 13 he translated the first twelve books of Homer’s “Odyssey” and, while still in school, he sketched out a tragedy in the Greek style. He did not study musical composition until, at 15, the chance discovery of Beethoven’s “Egmont Overture” inspired him to write a similar melodic setting (his first opera) for the ‘great tragedy’ he had just finished. It was only then that he realized he needed to master the techniques of music. This was quite a diverse and demanding subject, yet he could not have known that this was the seed out of which “Der Ring des Nibelungen” was to grow. It would bring him to write “Art and Revolution,” calling for a needed reform of more than 250 years of opera performance. His own works would be ones of such great intensity and complexity that they in many ways surpassed the efforts of Monteverdi, Gluck, and Strauss. This was the path that destiny was to set him out upon.

Are these parameters met, deriving from the very same substance, in La Scala’s new “Der Ring des Nibelungen,” having arrived to “Die Walküre?” So far it appears that this is not an all-too-traditional, uninteresting, and uninspired “Der Ring,” as some have suggested. However, it is not revelatory, revolutionary, or a turn in the ‘right direction’ after a disappointing “Das Rheingold“ either. If the attempt here is to show us less, leaving more to myth and its symbols, then it fails to move us. Numerous scenic solutions did not come off well, and for a La Scala production, this was disappointing. Fortunately, Wagner’s creativity will always soar above any misinterpretation, holding steadfast despite distractions, controversies, and even inane representations. This Ring Cycle appears to be simply dramaturgically misguided and, at times, musically lackluster. It extrinsically moves ever-forwards in a dutiful effort to confront Wagner’s intentions, never leading us to the deeper wellsprings of its beauties.

High Drama Unfolding 

Richard Wagner criticized the traditional opera of his times. The oft-cited quote that opened this article, from his “Opera and Drama” (1851), reveals his revolutionary vision for the artform. Quite simply, he placed ‘Classical Theater’ above anything that could be seen as ‘Romantic Music.’ All of this came from his steadfast belief that his music dramas could save us from the world, both through the suppression of our desires and love for others. This is the key to evaluating any performance of Wagner today.

The prelude to “Die Walküre” encapsulates much of Wagner’s life: his own experiences as a fugitive running from creditors and politicians, and also running towards benefactors who could support his art. In itself, these three-to-four minutes are far more than the depiction of a raging storm. It not only brings the drama down to the earthly dwelling of humans, but also suggests the clashes between them and the gods. As in fable, which “Der Ring” in some ways is, a punished god will become mortal: and such is the future for Brünnhilde. We are now of the earth, in an ‘obscure’ forest. The drama, symbolized by inclement weather, will assume tragic proportions as it relates to survival and a Wagnerian ‘world-destiny.’ This is the dramatic impetus that drives the music.

Leaving space for valid musical and scenic interpretation in this La Scala Ring Cycle, the suspenseful, restless storm music of the prelude goes against Wagner’s intentions in many ways. The composer’s vitality and surging rhythms might call for only three minutes or so, as the score asks for the notes to be ‘tempestuous, hurried, and very violent.’ Siegmund’s entrance, here in David McVicar’s production, is upon Donner’s thunder music in the bassoons, tubas, and horns, sustained by all the strings ff.  This seems far too early, as Siegmund must then fill in almost two and a half minutes before he decides to rest by the fireplace: ‘Wes Herd das auch sei, hier muss ich rasten / Whosever be this fireplace, it is here that I must rest.’ Once again, an overture has included a pantomime in an attempt to deepen our knowledge of an opera by way of a stage director’s intervention. The great oak tree into which Wotan stuck his sword is discovered to be ailing and supported by large beams: a sad and perhaps all-too-modern depiction of today’s environmental worries. There are two tall, cement, sail-like structures with cut tree trunks protruding from them. The impression upon this reviewer was of silos. Menacing in the distance are high-rising gas-light flames and smoke, creating a Boschian landscape, almost a “Götterdämmerung.” Fire leaps from various cracks in the ground, one of which serves as the hearth that gives warmth to Siegmund.

All the scenery seen thus far, “Das Rheingold” included, seems to seek an alternative ambiance, yet rarely does it create interest. Its symbology it makes it difficult to create the right mood for the right place. The objects have been largely mythic symbols: bronze hands, runes engraved into stone stairways to nowhere, a huge deathly skeleton mask over the gate to the underworld, prehistoric menhir standing stones, and a huge, earthen death mask. The attempt, as stage director-scenographer McVicar tells us in his theatre program interview, was to focus on myth: ‘…a heritage that would speak to us today, even though it is something that is lacking in today’s society.’ All told, it does not accomplish this. A grated portcullis, as used in medieval castles, here protects Hunding’s grounds from invaders. The gate, at times casting long shadows to great effect, takes away much from the primitiveness of Hunding’s dwelling. The shadows it cast are effective, yet seemed borrowed from other operas; the prisons of “Fidelio” and “Don Carlo” came to mind.

Almost all of Wagner’s preludes may be considered psychological investigations of reality. As heard in “Das Rheingold,” the river’s stream of consciousness was emblematic of sleep/waking states, while the increasing swirl of energy and notes brought us deeper into the images of our own realities upon awakening. “Die Walküre” opens violently, frantic chase music portraying a storm. Yet it is a storm within realities, running both to and from itself. The conductor must convey this high state of anxiety and emotion within Siegmund. The nearly four-minutes of music led by Simone Young needed to capture this life and death reality just a little bit more. The accents on the notes were sharp, as should be storm winds whipping into one’s flesh: but all should not become in any way the sound of droning bees. It should instead be flurries of breath from exhaustion. Here, all seems to bounce along, mechanically, jocund and with little variation in impulse. One has the sense that the orchestra is held together more for rhythm than for emotion. Finally, thunder and lightning are heard through screaming strings and timpani rolls. All should represent hostile, angered nature: furious, out of control, menacing. This could be easily associated with the burning landscape presented before us. However, the kettle drumrolls did not seem to be the thunder Wagner asked for: Donner’s theme, the God of Thunder roaring. It was all too even, as if it were a piece by Berlioz. We should have sensed that something has gone wrong in the world, that civility has been betrayed. The savior Siegmund has become the hunted. The agitated strings may represent chaos, their notes accented out of proportion and out of control. Nature is revolting, punishing in the name of justice. Its thunder should be distant at times, imitating echoes of itself, yet menacing, angered, uneven in its force. Wagner, despite his efforts to be otherwise, was an psychological orchestrator.

An Act of Love

The ambiance of Hunding’s woodland home, spread about on La Scala’s vast stage, cannot give this scene the rustic, claustrophobic atmosphere expected of a human dwelling immersed in nature. As the human drama beings, the fugitive Siegmund takes shelter in Sieglinde’s abode, only to discover that he and she are twins, though too late to resist the feelings of romantic love between them. The tribe hunting Siegmund for having saved a girl from an unwanted marriage is led by none other than Sieglinde’s husband, Hunding. With the entrance of Sieglinde and her discovery of an exhausted Siegmund, we get an impression of the director’s vision. Nothing at all will evolve seemingly spontaneously, for better or for worse. We do not even sense the ‘traditional,’ in operatic terms. Hunding enters accompanied by eight others of his tribe, some dressed in furs and complete with shamanistic buffalo-like, sharp-toothed ogre heads. Fascinating to see, but out of place. Their trappings, looking to be some esoteric ceremonial dance dress, are at odds with the suggestion that they have been jumping over tree stumps in the dark while hunting for Siegmund. The dogs are absent, which would have added ferocity. The men are justified in their appearance, but do overstay their welcome. Because they are there, onstage, Hunding must make the rounds, whispering in their ears. The three-way tension between man, wife, and intruder is thus diluted.

The twins, soon to be lovers, are tattooed along their shoulder blades: similar, yet not identical. It almost feels an unnecessary piece of foreshadowing (or spoiler), as these markings are intended to signify that they come from the same tribe, yet neither they nor we catch on until they discover an identical spot in their eyes. Hunding, meanwhile, notices that ‘same serpent’s glance’ when sizing up Siegmund from 12 feet away. Sieglinde’s character is not helped by her non-descript black costume, nor short, blonde punkish hairdo.  Her appearance and prescribed stage movements had little to do with a young woman suffocated by a brutish husband. For almost the entire scene the characters seemed to be moving in isolated spheres. Does this explain why Siegmund, as he laps up, doglike, the drinking water offered by Sieglinde, states ‘My eyes enjoy the blessed pleasure of what I see..’ despite never looking at her? The dark lighting and blackish costumes leave them cold, damp, and their interactions here do not hint at oncoming destiny nor their feelings of budding love. One must admit that Siegmund’s wild animal instincts are on full display; he grabs the pot of water offered in fear, and later asks Sieglinde to taste the offered mead first. Through burgeoning trust, feelings of compassion begin to bring them closer.

The staging of the ‘Winterstürme wichen dem Wonnemond’ was a let down. All-too-realistic and predictable movement failed to heighten our emotions. All too often, McVicar seems to feel the need to manifest inner feelings physically, yet hardly ever moves us through a character’s sentiments by the right physical gesture. Much of the stage action takes away from the drama and is often uncalled for. The tree teepee set up center stage, on a barely-used platform, rotated ever so slowly throughout the entire duet (it will also rotate in Acts Two and Three). Did this represent time marching onwards while the lover’s worldly existences stopped? Is this Wagner’s ideal of romantic love? The Wagnerian stare upon discovering that ‘other one’ so long sought? Love soaring above reality, its “Tristan und Isolde” egoism bathing in the fragrance of mystical night?

When Sieglinde talks of seeing her reflection in a pond, and now seeing it in Siegmund’s face, they proceed to lie down and mimic that moment of discovery, weakening the image we could surely perceive. Before our eyes, she also mixes the ‘sleep potion’ that will make Hunding sleep so they can talk about their lives: and discover that they are twins. It is unnecessary, clumsy, and has less effect upon the spectator who should learn what she has done offstage, where all actions of this sort—deaths and tragic events—take place in Greek tragedy, only to be reported by witnesses and messengers.

There was an interesting touch of McVicar that began during their love duet. Two large circles appear as images on the back wall, slowly drifting together and merging into one. Are these two suns, two essences forming into an embryo? And then, too, there are stage curtains/backdrops with a circle and the design of an open palm (greed, as seen in “Das Rheingold,” and an eye in “Die Walküre”). There is a design to this all, its inter-connections, seemingly random and complicated, merged into a whole. Of course, we may intuit that only Wagner himself has the whole process in hand: word and sound joining amidst hidden symbols of purification, regeneration, mortality, innocence, evil, spirituality, wisdom, and freedom. The curtain falls here, 40 seconds before the end of the act. Usually, if it remains up by a stage director’s decree, the lovers are seen running off, hand in hand. Here they fall to the ground, embracing each other in love, and giving hint to an eventual Siegfried.

Maestro Young stated in a La Scala online interview that “Die Walküre” is usually the most popular of the operas in the Ring Cycle, where the music is at its most lyrical and operatic. If so, and we can believe she was referring to Act One, the short interlude right before Siegmund’s ‘Winterstürme’ aria, as begun with the violins and cellos marked p. then pp, muted (‘mit Dampfer’), felt less ‘cantabile’ through tenderness. It all seems too measured, not breathing in the ‘gentle light of Spring (that) shines forth.’ His first words must truly be pp, as they bear the eloquence and warmth of sung poetry.

The end – The end!

Acts Two and Three bring us almost no diversion from the direction we have been heading. The prelude seems to be what Wagner envisioned: ‘… heavily accented, yet free lyric swing drawing us into the tumult of feeling in order to sense the fearlessness and anguished ecstasy that storm through the ill-fated lovers in their flight.’ Thus, the music here cinematographically links us to the twins.

Among menhir monuments, we find ourselves on the mountaintop of Act Two. Upon the ground we discover the cracked jigsaw surface of an apparent white globe, wrapped in chains. We see an added touch by McVicar: Wotan sending his ravens, Huginn and Muninn, off to gather useful information—perhaps as to the whereabouts of the ring of power. This bit of circus-act trapeze work, as they are hauled upwards, flapping into the rafters, is not a very effective image. Grane, Brünnhilde‘s faithful battle horse gifted from Wotan (and later bequeathed to Siegfried) gallops in on aluminum stilts with a wire horse head. More than a horse, the acrobat piloting the costume seems to be a puppy dog or playful child, delighting in the attentions of Wotan and Brünnhilde through fondling, as if she had never seen him before. Fricka soon arrives, drawn chariot-less by two exhausted, ram horn-clad actors, who were a distraction as they acted out their unhappiness at being chained and ever-ready to serve.

There seems to be a touch of hidden infantilism throughout this episode. The scenery, especially the standing stones lined up as if cluttering the halls of the Louvre; the animals; the disposition of the globe in a play-room setting—yet nothing really linked itself to the cognitivism of a Jean Piaget investigating a child’s conception of the world. Perhaps the absence of naturalism upon the performing space approached post-theatricalism. This would explain why one felt the stage lighting unrefined and simplistic.

Act Two is in many ways the most profound in the opera as it looks into Man’s epic struggle with his own destiny—with his search for love and happiness. It all comes from the philosopher Schopenhauer, and Wagner’s infatuation with the contents of that philosopher’s book, “The World as Will and Representation (Idea)” (1818). In a most direct way, the kernel of its wisdom comes through four thoughts: Man fears his immortality; will seek power to avoid his end as long as possible; but will need to compromise, even renounce human love and brotherhood; thus willing his end all the same, and by his own hand.

Wotan is his own victim throughout the Ring Cycle. The tragic elements of his weaknesses and downfall begin here. This remains, until now, the best staged and conducted Act of this production. Perhaps it is because Wagner touches upon the soul of epic classical theatre. The exposition and conflicts are so well created. The movements of Fricka, Wotan, and Brünnhilde are in synthesis with text as never before. It is moving to witness their physically touching one another as their inner emotion manifests our own. Wotan caresses his wife Fricka’s cheeks, asking, ‘Who can oppose the power of love?’ as he refers to the incest of Siegmund and Sieglinde. Fricka almost succumbs, but then resists, following her principles as the goddess of marriage. In the battle of wits between husband and wife, Wotan cannot defend his former youthful contriving and lust for power. Great theater makes evident the impossibilities and traps that we also ourselves must be freed from. Brünnhilde’s arrival was perfectly paced, musically and onstage. First, she senses something is wrong after her parent’s conversation, but does not realize that Wotan will ask her not to protect Siegmund in his battle with Hunding. The chained globe is approached by Wotan, then by Brünnhilde, as they begin to sense that their world as gods will come to an end. Wotan’s long, half-whispered 20-minute monologue needs no staging nor musical comment outside of what Wagner has done. It is archaic in its majesty. This is one of the greatest self-confessions of all theatre, and here Wagner outdoes himself as dramatist and composer all in one. There are few lines more memorable than Wotan’s as he tells his daughter, ‘What I tell no-one verbally, remains unspoken forever. I only talk to myself when I talk to you.’ And then, a lesson in life, ‘A free man has to create himself.’

The Ride to Redemption

The third act of “Die Walküre” is a cascade of melody and emotions. Though the popular ‘Ride of The Valkyries’ is awaited anxiously, we may come to realize that the technical skills of Wagner the musician should be of greater interest. The violins-violas-cellos tell us in sixteenth notes ff and ‘legato’ that we are among the spheres, winged, obsessed with duty. In counting the number of Valkyrie, it must be chilling, emotional. This almost psychedelic flight is marked ‘Lebhart’ (lively), but we  must get the sense of their being spirited and involved. Though cold, indifferent pawns in Wotan’s army, they are winged soldiers immersed in the aftermath of battles, carrying brave slain soldiers to the Halls of Valhalla. Young’s ‘tempi’ are a bit too brisk and mellow. The trumpets and horns must blare out their battle cry. The rhythms should be pushed and pulled, and always ff. The neighing of exhausted horses must strike the strings in an astringent manner.

As to the staging, much is complicated by a fact little heeded: the rising of the theater curtain. Wagner pulls it up a minute after the music starts, then will wait 20 seconds before the first Valkyrie, Gerhilde, cries out ‘Hoyotoho!’ Thus, the ‘ride-in-progress’ of a long minute and a half must depict this phantasmagorical experience. We have seen in other productions construction cranes used; funambulist contortions; beauty parlors for Valkyries fearing their ageing and mortality; or even Pina Bausch-like dancers with long hair for manes, stamping their feet for long minutes, and all before the music starts. And we have seen these interpretations booed. Here we have the horses, consisting of acrobats on spring stilts with wire horse ears and loose reins, bouncing up and down, imitating horses to little effect and lingering onstage in a manner that many felt was disturbing. The laughing Valkyries, in long non-riding skirts and blouses with Art Deco metallic armor-cum-jewelry, grasped at the reins, controlling their bloodied horses. They later bunched together, akin to a rugby scrum, looking into the distance to follow Brünnhilde escaping with the pregnant Sieglinde. It is ironic to read Wagner’s words jotted down at the Bayreuth premiere of 1876: ‘The stage action should avoid any suggestion of routine; on the other hand, freedom and spontaneity should not lead to unmotivated running hither and thither.’ Sadly, the effect here was neither thrilling, heroic, rousing, nor redeeming.

The ‘Magic Fire’ scene rounds out the Act. Oddly, even mysteriously, it seems that no-one has been able to identify who the almost death mask-looking face, center stage for all Act Three, is. Some thought it was Wagner’s death mask; others stated it was Erda, being of rock, thus Earth; while others saw in it the expression of Buddha. Wotan calls upon Loge, the god of fire, to form a circle of flames around his daughter Brünnhilde, now all-too-human. She, by her own request, must sleep until one fearless enough can pass through the flames. Meanwhile the mask has mechanically opened up, revealing within it one of the giant hands seen in the Rhine-maiden’s scene that opened “Das Rheingold.” Together with the accompanying ‘Magic Fire’ music, almost too moving to describe, was an almost religious-like pantomime. Four scene-servants (the Kuroko borrowed from the Kabuki and Noh Theatres) place a mask on Brünnhilde’s face as she is lain out upon the palm of the hand, her acrobat-horse Grane dejectedly moves to sit upon the rock, ready for a long wait before riding again. The servants dress Wotan in the Wanderer outfit he will don in “Siegfried.” Not a bad idea, yet here made gratuitous while simultaneously cluttering center-stage, obscuring Brünnhilde. Wotan’s slow exit walk, beginning his world journey, consequently has little effect. This great scene should move us with the music of the Valkyrie’s slumber and the solemn image of a sleeping Valkyrie evoking pity and majesty.

‘Gesamtkunstwerk’ Singing Actors

The assembled cast were excellent cast assembled is the result, in all probability, of Maestro Thielemann’s (forfeit) choices. One noted immediately their homogeneity in interacting, making the reality upon the stage all the more credible. In a Wagnerian sense, they must sacrifice their energies to the whole. More than following their staging assignments and taking musical cues from the pit, their involvement with one another was remarkable. This also shows their maturity in these roles.

Michael Volle’s Wotan was a complete interpretation, perhaps owing to his experience as a Lieder singer. The nuances of creating images in the audience’s minds eye through inflection, introspection, and timing certainly help create a complete Wagner character. The range of his voice seems to lie within the tessitura of the more dramatic roles of Verdi and Strauss. The stentorian role is tailor-made for him, physically and emotionally. His rendition of that 20-munute monologue was spellbinding. He sustained the rage and frustrations of his tragic predicament throughout the opera.

As his daughter Brünnhilde, Camilla Nylund was extremely moving in this psychologically difficult role. The voice carries the weight of Wagner’s declamatory style, and she also was dutiful in remaining in character when dealing with diverse characters. This she did as Isolde in Bayreuth’s new production last year.  Here, the scene with Wotan at the end of the opera, when she faces her human weaknesses as a goddess no longer, was most moving.

Klaus Florian Vogt’s Siegmund was deeply moving and sung with the great sensibility he always brings to a role, especially those Wagnerian. Perhaps for some he is no heldentenor from the golden age of Bayreuth’s 1930s and 1940s historic recordings, but last year he sang Parsifal and Tristan at Bayreuth on successive nights. Also, one who has heard his interpretation in “Die tote Stadt” could only be moved by his tenderness in the role of a deluded artist loner. Here it is also perfect for Siegmund, running the gamut of notes and emotions. As his twin sister and lover, Elza von der Heever sang Sieglinde with much fervor, musically underlining the hidden frustrations of her claustrophobic existence. The voice, a powerful one, was for some not totally right for the role. This is not a criticism, but an opinion that the character appeared too strong in sentiment. Sadly, her punk hairdo, insignificant black dress, and the staging did not help create the hoped-for Sieglinde. She was sensational, however, in her declaration of redemption through love, which will, in “Götterdämmerung,” close the Ring Cycle with Wagner’s hopes for society.

Mezzo-soprano Okka von der Damerau as Fricka was, in some ways, the most stable of all range-wise, having sung Erda and also Brünnhilde. Her acting was charismatic, just right for the goddess of marriage who nobly defends her values. The bass Günther Groissböck was an imposing Hunding, his weighty, well-placed voice often sneering, bringing out the primitive harshness of his character: an insensible tribal leader who has no sense of gentleness towards his wife. His insecurities and need to establish his power were well drawn.

The eight Valkyries seemed to have fun with their roles, to our pleasure (or not). As a group, they were united, and all with vivid, vibrant voices: Caroline Wenborne as Gerhilde, Kathleen O’Mara as Helmvige, Olga Bezsmertna as Ortlinde, Stephanie Houtzeel as Waltraute,  Eva Vogel as Rossweise, Virginie Verrez as Siegrune, Eglė Wyss as Grimgerde, Freya Apffelstaedt as Schwertleite.

The scenery was done by the director, David McVicar, along with Hannah Postlethwaite. The models of the scenery were interesting, yet much proved to be unappealing onstage. There were indeed symbols, rune engravings, hands for greed, masks of various types to live through antique symbols borrowed from hyperrealism. It is debatable whether Emma Kingsbury’s costumes here were better than those of “Das Rheingold,” and were seemingly, in part, inspired by Shakespeare. These were essentially lifeless, non-character adaptive, and gathered together in a unison of long, baggy skirts. David Finn’s lighting, S. Katy Tucker’s videos, Gareth Mole’s choreography, and David Greeves’ martial arts contributions were all just average. It is the opinion of this reviewer, however, that this was ultimately the fault of the director.

In summation, it is the miracle of simple operatic productions that show more, offering us the freedom to take their messages from the music and text alone, and to discover what it all means to us on our own terms. If the entire production feels unsatisfying, the failure will lie chiefly in the production’s distinct reinterpretation of the fundamental ideals of opera and drama held so closely to Wagner’s heart. McVicar’s staging, when it allows the singing-actors to get on with telling the Nibelungen legend to us, has its dignity and shows the director’s prowess. When it fails to visually capture the myth and portray it in way that would remain in our memory, then Wagner’s world-theatre creation becomes something else. The musical aspects required the conductor Young to, at times, leave her own stamp upon the sound and rhythms. One senses that her “Der Ring” is somewhat closer to Schumann, who did indeed inspire Wagner. Hats off for all her accomplishments. May the future hold a deeper reading of those timeless dramas to be told through her music.

The La Scala Orchestra could only play this score with love, as one can imagine that this Ring Cycle is a challenge. The brass section, Wagner tubas and all, were especially vibrant for this opera, though certainly lightweight when compared to their German counterparts. But there is a treat in store for them. The orchestra in “Die Walküre” takes on the unique part of the antique Greek chorus and must confront the theatrical action as a collective voice, illuminating us, the spectators, in our own engagements.