Yeah, the Wanderer
I roam around, around, around
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| Dion Dimucci is chief of the gods that live in Valhalla |
And so to the opera. Siegfried is the latest of Opera North's austerity ring cycle and I saw it last night at Leeds Town Hall. And that's not all I saw. Two rows in front of me was a chap in Bermuda shorts (come on, this is Yorkshire in June; what else would one wear to the opera?) proudly displaying a bum crack that a whole site full of builders would have been proud of. Didn't he realise it was being broadcast live on Radio 3?
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| Sadly the budget wouldn't run to the full fat version |
Anyway, what of the opera it self. Smut. Yes, smut. Siegfried, upon reaching adulthood, comes into the possession of a powerful, er, sword, which, when he uses it for the first time, becomes covered in a hot liquid, which in turn drives him on to usurp the reigning alpha-male by breaking his, er, staff and then to deflower a handy virgin who happens to be lying about asleep. Add to that the fact that Siegfried is the son of incestuous twins, that the previous cock of the dunghill is his grandfather and that the virgin is his aunt and I think that we have clear reasons to refer Wagner to social services. I suppose we can be grateful for the small mercy that Brünnhilde's sleeping horse was left unmolested.
Overall verdict: it goes on a bit.
The band were good though.
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