Richard Wagner
Das Liebesverbot (Bavarian State Opera)

Here we are, finally. Since I started talking to you about opera, I have almost always brought up this gentleman, in one way or another, sometimes throwing in a little jab (let's be honest, he deserves some occasionally): it's inevitable, whether you like it or not, whatever opinion you have about his music, his ideas, the character, anyone dealing with opera cannot avoid confronting Wagner, such was his immense contribution to the development of this art form. Now, however, what I would like to do is talk about Wagner in the most relaxed way possible, avoiding mystical exaltations and that annoying patina of "exceptionalism" that surrounds him, excessively fueled by his highly questionable descendants and direct heirs. So, let's start with a young Wagner, a Wagner very different from how he is usually known, an "apocryphal" Wagner, that doesn't take himself too seriously, human-sized.

Das Liebesverbot is Our Man's second theatrical effort, barely in his twenties at the time; this, the previous Die Feen, and the subsequent Rienzi, der letzte der Tribunen, are his only works not to have entered the standard repertoire nor the "golden canon" of Bayreuth. Now, in a few words, the Bayreuth Festspielhaus is a theater, the construction of which was strongly desired by Wagner himself and heavily financed by his number one fan, King Ludwig II of Bavaria; from 1876 to today, only and exclusively the works of Richard Wagner have been performed in Bayreuth, except for the first three. Why? Exceptionality, indeed, the idea is to propagate the image of an already "titan" Wagner, with no formation period, and the official portrayal inevitably results incomplete. It's not entirely clear whether the responsibility for this unpleasant choice should be attributed to Richard himself or rather to his wife Cosima, the most immediate of the aforementioned questionable heirs, as sources differ, but unfortunately, that's how it is. There is then another evident reason why the early works have been swept under the rug: listening to them, one immediately notices the deep influence of Giacomo Meyerbeer, especially in the case of that titanic grand opera that is Rienzi, but even Liebesverbot itself is much in debt to the style of that great composer, whose relationship with Wagner is a story with decidedly bitter and grotesque edges.

However, let's change register, because this serious-toned introduction does not suit the mood offered by Liebesverbot, inspired by Shakespeare's comedy Measure by Measure and set in Sicily. This particular choice is a tribute by the then young and arduously emerging composer to Vincenzo Bellini (regarding why Wagner enormously esteemed Bellini, just listen to the orchestral prelude that introduces the grand mad scene of Imogene in Il Pirata), but, in essence, there's practically nothing Bellinian here. The Sicilian setting rather recalls Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable, which is a very evident and tangible influence. Nonetheless, Das Liebesverbot, despite being a "youthful" work and definitely the least Wagnerian opera in his repertoire, still bears the unmistakable trademark of the composer. Even then, RW aimed for a sonic flow that was as fluid and unified as possible, suffice it to think that here the "closed" episodes are even less pronounced compared to works like Der Fliegende Hollander, Tannhauser, and Lohengrin, and above all in complete break with the German tradition of Singspiel. And even then, in his music, there was that exuberant character, that swollen orchestration, practically that "noisiness" noted by Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Carnal love and spiritual love, redemption through love: Richard Wagner was slightly (but just slightly, eh!) obsessed with these concepts, and he already presented them in Liebesverbot, but in a much more playful form: for once, it is the first of the two that fully triumphs in the finale and is seen as a positive antidote to the puritanical hypocrisy of the time's society, the same puritanical hypocrisy that he will later graphically represent (and with chilling realism) in the finale of the second act of Tannhauser. Another Wagnerian obsession was the psychological connotation of his characters, even the simple and popular ones in Liebesverbot, he develops well and with the right depth; speaking of characters, note that the hypocritical puritan, the butt of the situation, is the procurator Friedrich, a German, and this is a brilliant demonstration of intelligence and self-irony. So no, the "find the Jewish stereotype in the villain of the moment" game, which has been done more or less unjustifiably on other Wagnerian works, simply doesn't work here.

Okay, but in the end, do you want to tell us what this Liebesverbot is like, how it sounds? Liebesverbot is like a marzipan fruit (incidentally a tradition both Sicilian and German): colorful, fragrant, delicious, perhaps a bit too much for "new age" palates; it is an extremely effective opera, hitting the set targets: entertaining and making a bit of satire. Like many other comedies, it features a generously sized vocal cast, with two basses, two tenors, and three sopranos, one of which is a coloratura (Dorella, the only Wagnerian role for this type of voice); they are all exquisitely lyrical parts, so in Liebesverbot we do not hear the various heldentenor, hoch dramatischer sopranos, and bass-baritones usually at work in his repertoire. Introduced by a spectacular, playful overture of curiously "stop and go" structure (half Rossini and half traditional Wagner), obviously concluded with a happy ending, and featuring especially many beautiful duets, the work's backbone and real strength, brilliant and perfectly structured, often reinforced by very spirited and impactful choral interventions, in a Meyerbeer style; also notable is the monologue of Friedrich preceding the grand finale, a personal reinterpretation of the typical Italian structure with recitative, aria, and cabaletta, or at least a hint of cabaletta in this case; here it doesn't reach the stratospheric levels of a Rossini or a Verdi, but the result is nevertheless appreciable. Now, keep in mind that this gentleman also composed the Ring and Tristan und Isolde, among other things, so it is physically impossible for me to award the highest marks, but anyway, we are talking about truly beautiful stuff and, besides being beautiful, adorable, which often is even better.