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[音乐] PBS 正在连播瓦格纳的著名系列乐剧<尼伯龙根的指环>

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发表于 2012-9-12 19:29:36 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
本帖最后由 Chang_Le 于 2012-9-12 07:30 PM 编辑

PBS 正在连播瓦格纳的著名系列乐剧<尼伯龙根的指环>,纽约大都会歌剧院 2010 年演出版,是新制作。乐队指挥列文。

9/11  9:00 PM <莱茵河的黄金>
9/12  9:00 PM <女武神>
9/13  9:00 PM <齐格佛里德>
9/14  9:00 PM <众神之黄昏>

虽然是系列,但每部戏有一定独立性,没看昨天的,可以照样欣赏后几部。

瓦格纳是歌剧改革的大师,他自己命名“乐剧” (MUSIC DRAMA)  , 而<尼伯龙根的指环>是其乐剧的重头戏,很耐听,很耐看。剧本和歌词都是瓦格纳自己写的。故事是根据欧洲神话传说改编。我觉得,看乐剧,剧情不那么太重要,主要是欣赏伴随剧情的歌唱和音乐。所以剧情我就不转贴了,如果感兴趣,很容易查到。

有好戏,大家看!
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发表于 2012-9-12 20:37:24 | 显示全部楼层
http://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/ep ... -program-note/1404/

GP at the Met: Wagner’s Ring Cycle
Das Rheingold: Program Note

In all of Western culture there is nothing quite like Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen (“The Ring of the Nibelung”). Based on Wagner’s own retelling of stories from ancient German and Icelandic mythology, it consists of four separate but intimately related operas—some of them among the longest ever written—usually performed over the space of a week.

Das Rheingold is the first chapter in this epic tale, and it is—quite unfairly— sometimes not given the respect accorded other parts of the Ring. For one thing, it is by far the shortest. At two and a half hours it is one of Wagner’s shortest operas, about the same length as Der Fliegende Holländer. The composer himself inadvertently contributed to this slighting of Rheingold by calling it a “preliminary evening” to the rest of the Ring.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

After finishing Lohengrin in 1848, Wagner wrote the libretto—or, as he liked to say, poem—to a new opera, Siegfried’s Death (known today as Götterdämmerung). Realizing that he needed to explain how the events of that opera had come to be, he added Young Siegfried (the opera we now know as Siegfried) in 1851. The following year, feeling further explanation was needed, he finished the libretto of Die Walküre.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera
“In order to give everything completely, these three dramas must be preceded by a grand introductory play: The Rape of the Rheingold,” Wagner wrote to Franz Liszt. “The object is the complete representation of everything in regard to this rape: the origin of the Nibelung treasure, the possession of this treasure by Wotan, and the curse of Alberich… [By writing this separate drama] I gain sufficient space to intensify the wealth of relationship, while in the previous mode of treatment I was compelled to cut down and enfeeble this.”

While Wagner was creating the libretto to his stupendous new work, he was also writing books and pamphlets—on theatrical reform, on opera and drama, and the artwork of the future. As his ideas on the nature of opera changed, so did the nature of his libretti. Götterdämmerung has marvelous monologues, a thrilling love duet, a sensational vengeance trio—all of which can be excerpted and performed on their own (as can some of the orchestral passages). By the time Wagner had arrived at Das Rheingold in 1852, he had come to the conclusion that the drama should not be interrupted by musical set pieces but ought to unfold seamlessly.

The vocal writing therefore had to be different from the way singers had been treated in operas before. At the same time, the orchestra would become as much an integral part of conveying the drama as the soloists onstage. “The music shall sound in such a fashion that people shall hear what they cannot see,” Wagner wrote to Liszt. In fact, sketches show that as Wagner was in the preliminary stages of composition he was not only thinking of the words, but of the stage directions as well, writing music that reflected the movement of the scene.

In order to realize his new conception of music drama, Wagner developed the system of leitmotifs—short segments of melody, rhythm, or harmony that are associated with a character, a dramatic event, an object, or an emotion. Beginning with Rheingold, Wagner’s music springs almost entirely from these building blocks, which he molds or combines to reflect shifts in the drama on stage. But his leitmotifs are much more than mere musical “sign posts.” They can let the audience know what a character is thinking or why an event is taking place. Musical motifs relating to specific characters or situations were nothing new in opera at the time, but the degree to which Wagner employed this idea had no precedent. “I am spinning my cocoon like a silkworm,” he wrote to Liszt as he was working on Rheingold, “but I spin it out of myself.” (Though the libretti to the Ring operas were written in reverse order, the music was composed from the beginning of the cycle to the end.)


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

One of the most difficult tasks Wagner faced was how to begin Das Rheingold. What kind of music could possibly launch not just this opera, but the entire Ring cycle? He later related the events that inspired the creation of the prelude (as always with Wagner, his reminiscences are to be taken with a grain of salt). He had gone for a long walk, then returned to take a nap. Falling into a state of half-sleep, he suddenly felt as if he were sinking into a flood of water: “The rush and roar soon took musical shape within my brain as the chord of E-flat major, surging incessantly in broken chords: these declared themselves as melodic figurations of increasing motion, yet the pure triad of E-flat major never changed… I awoke from my half-sleep in terror, feeling as though the waves were now rushing high above my head. I at once recognized that the orchestral prelude to the Rheingold, which for a long time I must have carried about within me, yet had never been able to fix definitely, had at last come into being in me: and I quickly understood the very essence of my own nature: the stream of life was not to flow to me from without, but from within.”

There is nothing in all of opera like this miraculous beginning: a low E flat softly played by the doubles basses, then, four measures later, a B flat added by the bassoons. Another 12 measure later a single French horn (“very sweetly” says the score) intones the notes of the E-flat major triad up the scale for over two octaves, followed by a second horn, then another, until all eight horns are playing waves of arpeggios, all on the three notes of the E-flat major triad. Then the cellos and eventually the entire orchestra join in. It’s a musical depiction of the creation of life, growing from a single cell. At the climax, the Rhinemaidens suddenly break into song—representing joyous, unspoiled nature itself.

In addition to writing music unlike anything heard before, with the Ring Wagner was making demands on the physical stage that went beyond what seemed even possible at the time: the opening scene of the Rhinemaidens swimming around as if in mid-air; the shift from the depths of the Rhine to the airy mountaintops of the gods, with Valhalla seen in the distance; the descent to Nibelheim and the journey back; Donner, the god of thunder, summoning the swirling mists, then dissipating them on cue with his hammer, conjuring up a rainbow bridge over which the gods would walk to their new home…


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Wagner eventually overcame all the musical, scenic, and dramatic challenges he had created. The fact that he not only managed to do so, but that the whole of the Ring cycle seems to flow effortlessly from Das Rheingold, raises its stature from a mere prologue to a theatrical masterpiece all on its own.

Wagner did not wish for any part of the Ring to be staged until the cycle could be presented as a whole. He realized this would require a “great festival, to be arranged perhaps especially for the purpose of this performance,” as he had already mentioned to Liszt before a note of the music had been written. But against Wagner’s wishes, Das Rheingold had its premiere in Munich on September 22, 1869, on the express orders of the composer’s ardent admirer and patron, King Ludwig II. Another seven years would pass before Wagner was able to present the Ring in its entirety, in the theater at Bayreuth that was built specifically for it (and that still serves as the home of the annual Wagner festival).

Das Rheingold was first heard at the Met on January 4, 1889. The program carried a note stating that, “For this opera the scenery has been ordered from Germany and the costumes and armor are from the designs of Prof. Doepier, who made the original drawings for Richard Wagner.” The one-act opera was presented with an intermission between the second and third scenes. “This is the practice of the Imperial Opera House in Vienna, and though open to objection on artistic grounds will doubtless prove a welcome relief,î noted one New York newspaper the day before the premiere. In fact, Wagner himself had raised no objections to a break when Rheingold was given in Berlin in 1881. The Met presented the work both with and without intermission well into the 20th century. In Robert Lepage’s production, the drama unfolds in one uninterrupted act, as the composer conceived it. —Paul Thomason

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

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发表于 2012-9-12 20:45:05 | 显示全部楼层
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http://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/ep ... -program-note/1434/

GP at the Met: Wagner’s Ring Cycle
Die Walküre: Program Note

“My Walküre turns out terribly beautiful,” Richard Wagner wrote to his friend, the composer Franz Liszt, on June 16, 1852. “I hope to submit to you the whole poem of the tetralogy before the end of the summer. The music will be easily and quickly done, for it is only the execution of something practically ready.”

For neither the first nor the last time in Wagner’s life, things did not work out quite as he had planned. By the end of that year he had, indeed, finished the libretto (or “poem,” as he called it) for his four-part cycle Der Ring des Nibelungen (“The Ring of the Nibelung”), based on stories from ancient Germanic and Norse myths. But the music for Walküre was not finished until December 1854, and it was another year and a half before he finished the orchestration.

The Ring begins with Das Rheingold, a one-act work Wagner called a “Preliminary Evening.” Die Walküre (“First Day of the Festival Play”) is next, followed by Siegfried, then Götterdämmerung. It all started in 1848 when Wagner wrote 11 pages he published as The Nibelung Myth: as Sketch for a Drama. But it was almost 30 years before the first performance of the completed work was given in a theater Wagner had constructed specifically for that purpose in Bayreuth, Germany. His intention was for the Ring to be performed as a whole, rather than broken up into its individual operas. It’s a monumental work in both scope and impact, and it is not going too far to say many people who attend a cycle feel their lives have been changed forever by the experience.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Most modern performances of the Ring are spread over a week, as Wagner wished, but since the composer’s own time, theaters have also been presenting the separate parts on their own. Walküre quickly became the most enduringly popular, for a number of reasons. For one thing, after the gods, goddesses, dwarves, and giants of Rheingold, Walküre introduces human beings into the story of the Ring. It begins with two very sympathetic people, Siegmund and Sieglinde, and the first act is devoted to them falling in love. “The score of the first act of Walküre will soon be ready; it is wonderfully beautiful. I have done nothing like it or approaching it before,” Wagner told Liszt. He was right. The music of Die Walküre builds significantly on Das Rheingold, where he had begun using leitmotifs to construct the music. These short segments of melody, rhythm, or harmony could be associated with a character or a dramatic event, even an emotion or an object. In Walküre, Wagner used them to help suspend time itself while the drama took place, wordlessly, inside the characters. Thanks to Wagner’s brilliant writing for orchestra—something he had to develop even above what he had done in Rheingold—the audience actually experiences for themselves the inner lives of the characters on stage.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Just moments into Act I of Die Walküre, Sieglinde offers Siegmund some water. The stage directions say: “Siegmund (drinks and hands her back the horn. As he signals his thanks with his head, his glance fastens on her features with growing interest.)” To underline these stage directions, Wagner silences the orchestra entirely, except for a single cello. For nine measures this lone cello plays some of the sweetest, most yearning music imaginable, before being joined by the rest of the cellos and two basses for another eight measures. Listeners need not know what labels commentators have attached to the music to experience for themselves the longing in Siegmund’s soul, the love that is even then starting to blossom.

The plot of Die Walküre can be summarized in a few dozen words; the outer events are relatively simple. But the inner journey of the characters is uncommonly rich and complex. It’s the difference between flying from New York to California and driving there: You fly because you want to get to your destination as quickly as possible. But if you drive, the journey itself becomes the point.

In Walküre, Wagner’s music has a new power that compels us to let him be our guide on the quest he is undertaking. That’s how he allows us to experience for ourselves the growing love between Siegmund and Sieglinde, to feel the rightness, the naturalness of it. The powerful nature of their love is well established long before they (and we) discover they are brother and sister, so our emotions accept their love, even if our mind—assuming we can wrench it away from Wagner’s music—might have a few questions.

In addition to Siegmund and Sieglinde, we meet Brünnhilde, one of the central characters in the Ring. She enters the story in Act II, singing one of the most famous (and one of the shortest) “numbers” in the entire cycle, the battle cry “Hojotoho!” Wagner was extraordinarily careful in noting exactly how this should be sung. The first two syllables (“Ho-jo”) are a single phrase, followed by a sixteenth note (“to”), then the last syllable (“ho”) to be held for five beats, followed by a single beat rest. This gives the music a quick, bouncy quality that is emphasized later when Wagner asks the soprano to sing the final “ho” on two notes, separated by an octave leap but connected smoothly, ending on high Bs and then high Cs. He also asks her to trill—nonstop—for almost two measures before launching up to a high B and holding it for two measures. If a soprano can sing this incredibly difficult “Hojotoho!” as Wagner intended, the audience cannot help but be charmed by the impetuous, cheeky, rambunctious teenage girl sassing her father, Wotan—to his delight and ours. Her character, and her relationship with Wotan, are firmly established within a couple of minutes.

It is also one of the few genuinely joyful moments in Walküre, an opera rather short on happiness. While in the thick of composing, Wagner lamented to his friend, the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, “I find the subject of Die Walküre too painful by far: there’s really not one of the world’s sorrows that the work does not express, and in the most painful form; playing artistic games with that pain is taking its revenge on me: it has made me really ill several times already, so that I have had to stop completely.”


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Another reason for the popularity of Walküre is that we are likely to find ourselves mirrored in it—if not in the new love enjoyed by Sieglinde and Siegmund in Act I, then by the dilemma facing Wotan in Act II, as he realizes that all of his careful planning is for naught and that, despite his best efforts, his life has taken a terrible turn, leaving him no way out. The scene in which Wotan wrestles with this crisis caused Wagner no end of trouble, and he agonized over whether or not people would grasp what Wotan is going through. “For the development of the great tetralogy, this is the most important scene of all,” he insisted.

Wotan’s anguish continues, with a new focus, in the final act. Its ending is one of the most extraordinary in all of opera, with a sense of loss, grief, abandonment, and yet overwhelming love as Wotan is forced to let go of the most precious thing in the world to him, Brünnhilde. It seems like a bitter defeat: his cherished son Siegmund is dead. His favorite child, Brünnhilde, is banished forever. His plans—to create a hero who would be able to win back the ring and return it to the Rhinemaidens and thus save the gods—have crumbled to nothingness. He has nowhere to turn.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

And yet it is because of these apparent failures that Siegfried (in the next opera) turns out to be the very hero the gods need. This glimmer of hope, in the middle of such overwhelming sorrow, is surely another reason why Die Walküre is such a beloved opera.

Bavaria’s King Ludwig II was not willing to wait until Wagner had completed the entire Ring before experiencing Die Walküre in the theater. Against Wagner’s wishes, the opera was given for the first time on June 26, 1870, in Munich, nine months after the premiere of Das Rheingold. Wagner refused to be involved in any way, and he asked his friends not to attend. The famous violinist Joseph Joachim was there. So were Brahms and Saint-Saëns. Despite his friendship with Wagner, Liszt went and sobbed through part of the opera. Even newspapers usually critical of Wagner pronounced Die Walküre an extraordinary work of art.

The fact that opera houses continue to devote considerable time and resources to presenting Die Walküre in new ways proves that Liszt did not exaggerate in his assessment when he wrote to Wagner, “Your Walküre [score] has arrived, and I should like to reply to you by your Lohengrin chorus, sung by 1,000 voices, and repeated a thousandfold: ‘A wonder! A wonder!’” —Paul Thomason

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

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发表于 2012-9-12 20:53:27 | 显示全部楼层
http://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/ep ... -program-note/1442/

GP at the Met: Wagner’s Ring Cycle
Siegfried: Program Note
In May of 1857, Richard Wagner wrote to his friend Julie Ritter:

“Although I completed only the first act of Siegfried this winter, it has turned out better than I could ever have expected. It was completely new ground for me. Now that this act has turned out as it has, I am convinced that young Siegfried will be my most popular work, spreading quickly and successfully, and drawing all the other dramas after it… But it seems increasingly probable that the first performance of the whole thing will not take place before 1860.”

As things turned out, the first performance of the “whole thing”—Wagner’s four-part cycle, Der Ring des Nibelungen—did not take place until 1876. The orchestration of Siegfried was not completed until February of 1871, after one of the most troubling gestations in the history of music.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

It all started in the autumn of 1848, when Wagner wrote “The Nibelung Myth: As Sketch for a Drama,” a short plot outline based on his own reweaving of ancient Germanic and Norse myths. His tale of the rise and fall of the gods, the creation of the hero Siegfried (“the most perfect human being”), and Siegfried’s union with Brünnhilde eventually grew from one opera to four. By 1857 Wagner had completed the libretto to the entire work and composed the music to the first two operas, Das Rheingold and Die Walküre.

But only a month after his letter to Julie Ritter, Wagner informed another friend, the composer Franz Liszt:

“I have finally decided to abandon my obstinate attempts to complete my Nibelungs. I have led my young Siegfried into the beautiful forest of solitude; there I have left him beneath a linden tree and have said farewell to him with tears of heartfelt sorrow:—he is better there than anywhere else.”

Wagner—as usual—was in desperate need of money, and the publisher who had agreed to buy the score to Siegfried and the last opera of the cycle, Götterdämmerung, had withdrawn the offer. Wagner explained to Liszt:

“And so, I am now resolved upon a course of self-help. I have conceived a plan to complete Tristan und Isolde without further delay; its modest dimensions will facilitate a performance of it, and I shall produce it in Strasbourg a year from today… I am thinking of having this work translated into Italian and offering it to the theater in Rio de Janeiro… I shall dedicate it to the emperor of Brazil…and I think there should be enough pickings from all this to enable me to be left in peace for a while.”


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

It was a mad plan and, like many of Wagner’s attempts to make money, came to nothing. Wagner had not yet finished the prose sketch for Tristan, to say nothing of the actual libretto, or the music. His original idea “of leaving Siegfried alone in the forest for a year, in order to give myself some relief in writing a Tristan und Isolde” (as he told Ritter in July of 1857) eventually stretched to 12 years. During that time he not only finished Tristan, but revised his opera Tannhäuser for Paris and wrote Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg as well. Bavaria’s new king, Ludwig II, took the throne in 1864 and became Wagner’s patron. Wagner also began an affair with Liszt’s daughter Cosima while she was still married to the conductor Hans von Bülow. Wagner and Cosima eventually married, but not before setting off a major scandal in Munich that threatened his standing with the king.

More than once during this chaotic 12-year hiatus, Wagner turned back to Siegfried, but it was not until February of 1869 that he “put the finishing strokes to the second act,” as he informed King Ludwig. By September he had completed the music to Act III, but to avoid having a performance of the work given in Munich (as had happened very much against his will to the first two operas in the Ring) he delayed finishing the orchestration until February of 1871, making excuse after excuse to the king.

There are numerous logical “outer” reasons that kept Wagner from doing any significant work on Siegfried for 12 years, but more than likely the true reason for the postponement lay within Wagner himself. Deep in his psyche he undoubtedly realized that he needed to gain a more complete mastery of his compositional style before writing the music for the great confrontation between Siegfried and Wotan or Siegfried’s awakening of Brünnhilde.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Siegfried is the comic opera of the Ring, but it is also the great turning point of the entire cycle, where Wotan, whose concerns dominated the first two operas, gives way to Siegfried and Brünnhilde. As Wagner wrote to his good friend August Röckel:

“Following his farewell to Brünnhilde [at the end of Die Walküre], Wotan is in truth no more than a departed spirit: true to his supreme resolve, he must now allow events to take their own course [the italics are Wagner’s], leave things as they are, and nowhere interfere in any decisive way; that is why he has now become the “Wanderer”: observe him closely! He resembles us to a tee; he is the sum total of present-day intelligence, whereas Siegfried is the man of the future whom we desire and long for but who cannot be made by us, since he must create himself on the basis of our own annihilation.”

Of all the major characters in the Ring, Siegfried is probably the one who has been most misunderstood. Comedienne Anna Russell’s description (“He’s very young, and he’s very handsome, and he’s very strong, and he’s very brave, and he’s very stupid—he’s a regular Li’l Abner type”) is the one many operagoers have heard, but it is not accurate. Siegfried is not a badly socialized adult; he is a teenager—boisterous one minute, brooding and introspective the next. Emotionally he’s more on par with Cherubino in Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro or Octavian in Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier than with Wagner’s Tristan or Siegmund. His only influence, other than nature itself (which he reveres) has been Mime, an evil, manipulative dwarf who plans to use Siegfried to kill Fafner and regain the Nibelung treasure. “Even speech I’d scarcely have mastered, had I not wrung it out of [you],” Siegfried tells him, which tells us just how caring Mime has been.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Like most mythic heroes, Siegfried does not know his true parents, has never experienced their nurturing love, and has been forced to trust his own, inner instinct for survival. This instinct has made him hungry for knowledge, distrustful of Mime, and it is this instinct that leads him to file down the fragments of his father’s sword to re-forge it into his own, rather than trying to patch them together with solder as Mime has tried to do. “I’ve grown as old as cave and wood but never saw the like!” Mime mutters as he watches Siegfried at work. Psychologically it’s a masterstroke on Wagner’s part to show Siegfried forging his own manhood (of which the sword is a symbol) rather than simply accepting someone else’s sword (identity) and using it as his own, as his father, Siegmund, did in Die Walküre. Siegmund simply accepted Wotan’s sword, so when he tried to use it in opposition to Wotan’s wishes, it broke. But when Siegfried uses it against the Wanderer in Act III, he is successful because the sword is no longer borrowed from Wotan—Siegfried has made it his own. He has become his own man, a hero. And that is why he can easily pass through the magical fire surrounding the sleeping Brünnhilde, awaken her, and claim her as his mate.

It is through Wagner’s astonishing music that we can truly intuit the complex truth of his characters. While working on Siegfried Wagner wrote to Liszt:

“Only in the course of composing the music does the essential meaning of my poem [the libretto] dawn on me: secrets are continually being revealed to me that had previously been hidden from me. In this way everything becomes much more passionate and more urgent.”

For Siegfried’s exuberant Act I entrance and laughter Wagner wrote scampering eighth notes that eventually climb to a high C. But only a few minutes later Siegfried’s music is tender as he speaks of the birds in the forest, and it becomes filled with longing when he thinks of his mother’s death. At the moment Mime finally shows Siegfried the pieces of his father’s sword, Wagner tells us unmistakably what a significant moment this is: the very sound of the orchestra instantly becomes brighter. A listener does not need to intellectually know that the trumpet plays the musical motif associated with the sword and the strings counter with the motif representing Siegfried’s youthful strength in order to emotionally experience the great burst of energy and enthusiasm that explodes from the orchestra at that moment. It’s the perfect depiction of Siegfried suddenly understanding, deep inside, that this is what he needs to take the next step in life.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

The music of the first two acts is dominated by the dark sound of the lower instruments in the orchestra. Act I takes place in Mime’s cave deep in the woods. Act II is set next to Fafner’s cave in another part of the forest. Until we meet the Forest Bird toward the end of Act II, all the singers are male. This means that Wagner’s musical palate has been largely the equivalent of a late Rembrandt self-portrait—predominantly dark, but filled with subtle hues. So when Siegfried defeats the Wanderer and climbs the mountain to find Brünnhilde, the change in Wagner’s music is nothing less than astonishing. It’s the equivalent of stepping outside and taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air after being in a cramped room. The sound of the orchestra changes as the woodwinds, violins, and harps (Wagner asked for six of them) become more prominent. The higher Siegfried climbs, the higher and more transparent the music becomes, until he finally reaches the summit and only the first violins are playing, their music going still higher up the scale. “He looks around for a long time in astonishment,” the stage directions say, and just as the violins approach a sustained C above high C, four trombones—very softly—sound the three chords that make up the fate motif, the same three chords that accompanied Wotan’s standing in the very spot where his grandson now stands. At the end of Walküre, Wotan stopped to look back with infinite regret at the sleeping Brünnhilde. Now Siegfried stands in wonder, filled with awe and eagerness to continue his heroic journey. —Paul Thomason

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

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发表于 2012-9-13 02:32:43 | 显示全部楼层
谢长乐和小马哥的介绍~
争取明天听一下最后一个吧~
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发表于 2012-9-13 02:46:42 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 panda 于 2012-9-13 03:47 AM 编辑

女武神「瓦爾基麗」(古諾爾斯語:Valkyrja)(原音其實較接近德語發音的「華爾秋蕾」(Walküre)),在古諾斯語是「瓦爾基麗婭」Valkyrja,在英語則是「瓦爾基麗」Valkyrie。是北歐神話裡登場的狄絲(Dísir)女神(半神)。

「瓦爾基麗」(valkyrie)這個字的原意是「貪食屍體者」,到後來慢慢演變成「挑選戰死者的女性」,另外還有後人賦予所謂「出現在英雄面前的夢中情人」的形象

http://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%A5%B3%E6%AD%A6%E7%A5%9E
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 楼主| 发表于 2012-9-13 19:28:13 | 显示全部楼层
谢谢几位的回应!特别是小马哥贴出的节目介绍!这样欣赏起来就更有依据了。

我这两天熬夜,白天有点疲倦。今明两天准备同时用录像带录下来,没看完的以后再慢慢欣赏。
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发表于 2012-9-14 12:49:28 | 显示全部楼层
多谢常乐兄和小马哥的推荐。昨晚看了一会儿,觉得真不错。本想看完的,但昨天早晨起得比较早,所以看着看着就撑不住了。今晚争取把它看完。

音乐没觉得怎么好听,倒是觉得它的情节挺有意思的。最喜欢的是它的舞台设计,花花绿绿的很好看。“外行看热闹”说的就是我这样的吧。  
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 楼主| 发表于 2012-9-14 19:24:15 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 Chang_Le 于 2012-9-14 07:25 PM 编辑

回复 AprilFool 的帖子

阿福别客气。我昨晚也没看完,今天“大结局”了,争取看完。

舞台设计是很好,有新意,又很好地为剧情服务。剧情也确实很有意思。我听瓦格纳的乐剧,开始也是这样,觉得剧中的歌唱部分不如乐队演奏的序曲等好听,后来逐渐接触多了,也慢慢越来越喜欢了。当然这里要是详细追究,那门道就多了,他的乐剧改革不是几篇文章能说清楚的。我是不求甚解,就是爱好,也是看热闹吧。
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发表于 2012-9-14 21:31:55 | 显示全部楼层
http://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/ep ... -program-note/1450/

GP at the Met: Wagner’s Ring Cycle
Götterdämmerung: Program Note

“The most astounding fact in all Wagner’s career was probably the writing of the text of Siegfried’s Death in 1848,” says Ernest Newman in Wagner as Man and Artist. “We can only stand amazed at the audacity of the conception, the imaginative power the work displays, the artistic growth it reveals since Lohengrin was written, and the total breach it indicates with the whole of the operatic art of his time. But Siegfried’s Death was impossible in the musical idiom of Lohengrin; and Wagner must have known this intuitively.”

Even so, it is unlikely that in November of 1848 Wagner understood that his new opera would not be completed for decades, or that it would—under the title Götterdämmerung—be the culmination of one of the greatest masterpieces in all of Western civilization, Der Ring des Nibelungen. Earlier that year Wagner had finished orchestrating Lohengrin. He was becoming increasingly active in the political turmoil sweeping Dresden (as well as much of Europe). He also made sketches for operas based on the lives of Friedrich Barbarossa and Jesus of Nazareth. That summer he had written the essay “The Wibelungen: World-history from the Saga,” and later he would write “The Nibelung Myth: As Sketch for a Drama.” But there is no indication that at this time Wagner was actively planning on mining the Nibelung saga for more than Siegfried’s Death.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

In May of 1849 the uprisings in Dresden were put down. Wanted by the police for his political activity, Wagner fled, eventually settling in Switzerland. He produced a number of prose works over the next few years, including the important Opera and Drama, written during the winter of 1850–51, and planned an opera called Wieland the Smith. In 1850 he also revisited his libretto for Siegfried’s Death, making some musical sketches.

The more Wagner thought about it, the more he realized that for the story of the hero’s end to be truly understood by the audience, they needed to know more about what had gone before. So in 1851 he wrote the libretto to Young Siegfried, which was then followed (in reverse order) by Die Walküre and Das Rheingold, spelling out in greater detail why the events of Siegfried’s Death occurred. It was not until October of 1869—after composing the music for the first three works in the Ring, as well as Tristan und Isolde and Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg—that Wagner again took up the task of creating the music of the drama now known as Götterdämmerung. The name change reflected a significant shift in the opera itself, from the death of its hero to the downfall of the gods themselves.

In the earliest version of the story, Brünnhilde took the body of Siegfried to Valhalla, where his death redeemed the gods. Before igniting Siegfried’s funeral pyre, she announced, “Hear then, ye mighty Gods; your wrong-doing is annulled; thank him, the hero who took your guilt upon him… One only shall rule, All-Father, Glorious One, Thou [Wotan]. This man [Siegfried] I bring you as pledge of thy eternal might: good welcome give him, as is his desert!”


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

There has been much speculation about why Wagner changed the ending of the Ring from this optimistic one, in which Wotan and the gods continued to rule, to the ending we know today, in which the gods perish. Sometimes this shift is attributed to Wagner’s discovery of Schopenhauer’s The World as Will and Representation, but that did not occur until the end of 1854, at which point Wagner had completed the text for the Ring. Wagner’s optimism about a new social order for Europe began crumbling as the revolts of 1848 and 1849 were crushed, and by the time he began making a prose sketch for Young Siegfried in May of 1851, he noted: “Guilt of the Gods, and their necessary downfall. Siegfried’s mission. Self-annihilation of the Gods.”

Wagner’s Dresden friend August Röckel, who had only read the libretto of the Ring, asked the composer a question that has puzzled audiences at Götterdämmerung from the beginning: “Why, seeing that the gold is returned to the Rhine, is it necessary for the gods to perish?”

“I believe that, at a good performance, even the most naïve spectator will be left in no doubt on this point,” Wagner replied. “It must be said, however, that the gods’ downfall is not the result of points in a contract… No, the necessity of this downfall arises from our innermost feelings. Thus it was important to justify this sense of necessity emotionally… I have once again realized how much of the work’s meaning (given the nature of my poetic intent) is only made clear by the music. I can now no longer bear to look at the poem [the libretto] without music.” Or, as he put it in a letter to Franz Liszt, “The thing shall sound [the italics are Wagner’s] in such a fashion that people shall hear what they cannot see.”


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

Thomas Mann brilliantly summed up the relationship between Wagner’s words and music in the speech he gave on the 50th anniversary of the composer’s death: “The texts around which it [the music] is woven, which it thereby makes into drama, are not literature—but the music is. It seems to shoot up like a geyser from the pre-civilized bedrock depths of myth (and not only ‘seems’; it really does); but in fact—and at the same time—it is carefully considered, calculated, supremely intelligent, full of shrewdness and cunning, and as literary in its conception as the texts are musical in theirs.”

Which is why Wagner knew he could not compose the music of Götterdämmerung until he had achieved absolute mastery of his compositional technique, which, he explained to Röckel, had “become a close-knit unity: there is scarcely a bar in the orchestra that does not develop out of the preceding unit.” As he composed the Ring, Wagner greatly expanded his use of leitmotifs—bits of melody, harmony, rhythm, even tonality—far beyond merely representing a character or an object. They became infinitely malleable, and Wagner put them together in ways that became not only increasingly subtle, but also superbly expressive, adding layers of drama and emotion to the events taking place on stage. Even if listeners have no knowledge of the leitmotifs, Wagner’s music is still enormously potent and can be a life-changing experience.

“Music drama should be about the insides of the characters,” Wagner said. “The object of music drama is the presentation of archetypal situations as experienced by the participants [Wagner’s italics], and to this dramatic end music is a means, albeit a uniquely expressive one.”

At first glance, after the uninterrupted flow of drama in the three preceding parts of the Ring, the libretto of Götterdämmerung might seem a throwback. It has recognizable, easily excerptable arias, a marvelous love duet, a thrilling swearing- of-blood-brotherhood duet, a chilling vengeance trio, and rousing choruses. But when Wagner finally began to compose the music for Götterdämmerung he did not rewrite the libretto, other than to make some changes in the wording of the final scene. He knew the libretto worked exactly as it should, providing him with precisely the words and dramatic situations he needed to write some of the greatest orchestral music ever conceived. And it is through the music that Wagner can make dramatic points much more vividly than could be made through words.


Photo: Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

One of the most shattering parts of Götterdämmerung is Siegfried’s Funeral Music. Even played in the concert hall, shorn of the rest of the opera, it makes a tremendous effect. In its proper place during a performance of the full drama, it is overwhelming. A bit of insight into why this is so comes from the diary of Wagner’s second wife, Cosima. The entry for September 29, 1871 reads:

“‘I have composed a Greek chorus,’ R[ichard] exclaims to me in the morning, ‘but a chorus which will be sung, so to speak, by the orchestra; after Siegfried’s death, while the scene is being changed, the Siegmund theme will be played, as if the chorus were saying: “This was his father”; then the sword motive; and finally his own theme; then the curtain goes up and Gutrune enters, thinking she had heard his horn. How could words ever make the impression that these solemn themes, in their new form, will evoke?’”

Cosima does not mention the concept of a Greek chorus in connection with the Immolation Scene or the great orchestral outpouring that follows Brünnhilde’s words. But it is impossible not to think of these moments as a magnificent musical threnody for everything that has gone before. Such a profound summing up of complex lives, situations, and emotions must be expressed by the orchestra, because mere words could not do them justice or provide the catharsis that allows for a true transformation and a new beginning—all of which Wagner’s music does, perfectly, at the end of Götterdämmerung.

Several years after the Ring had been given at Bayreuth in 1876, Cosima noted in her diary: “In the evening, before supper, [Richard]…glances through the conclusion of Götterdämmerung, and says that never again will he write anything as complicated as that.” For many Wagnerians, he never wrote anything better. —Paul Thomason

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Opera.

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 楼主| 发表于 2012-9-15 19:36:28 | 显示全部楼层
回复 马骝 的帖子

再谢谢马哥哥转贴<众神之黄昏>的节目介绍。

顺便再订正一下前面说的,这次播放的录像虽是同一制作,但具体录像的年代是 2010-2012。乐队指挥前两部是列文,后两部是另一位比较年轻一点的指挥。

电视上介绍,这个制作已经出了DVD,所以如果想再看,以后还有机会。
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