Wagner? I don't even know her.

You take every kind of horrible complex that the pomposity of opera has given the layman, you mix it up, and multiply by 1000. The result is what it means to see opera at Bayreuth. Traveling to Bayreuth, some 4 and ½ hours away, I thought that I should remain somewhat casual for the performance, as the typical dress for an opera in Germany is everything from without jacket to tuxedo. Walking up the main drive to the hill upon which the Festspielhaus sits, I could see from some distance the gowns of every color and variation. Little did I know that my brown suit and elegant, dark purple button-down would be seen by the exorbitantly rich filling the Festival grounds as completely unacceptable. Well, excuuuuuuse me, people, I didn't get the memo that men were only to wear black and dark gray. This is everything that I hate about opera: the exhibitionist clothing, the conceit, the holier-than-thou, ivory tower, self-righteous condescension. It's all part and parcel to opera at least to some extent. But, at Bayreuth, it seems to be in some kind of testosterone overdrive.

Actually, there is an interesting mix at Bayreuth performances. There are the blue bloods and their kin. But, there are a very generous number of a subspecies that is specific to this Festival: the Wagner enthusiasts. These are the egg-heads who just can't wait until the next time that Lohengrin is broadcast on TV so they can sit and watch the whole thing, never leaving their seat, criticizing un-needed cuts made so that the opera can fit within the designated 5-hour time block, practically orgasming at some high moment in the music. We actually came up with a good name for these people, which seem to almost infest Bayreuth each year. They are the Wag-nerds.

Actually, a lot of it is completely beyond belief. My friend A. sang one of the main roles in the opera. I waited for her after the performance by the stage door and, sure enough, there were the Wag-nerds, waiting there for photos and autographs of all of their favorite Wagner stars. It's just kind of funny, because most of these people have names that no one, even most in the opera field, have ever heard of. Wagner is a specialty. Once you become big in it, you are stars but only to this kind of strange dichotomy of intellectuals and the affluent. A. actually had to go to a local bookstore the next day and just sign autographs at a scheduled time. They were all there lined up waiting for her. Unreal.

Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg was long. Real long. It started at 4PM and ended at 11PM. Yes, there were two 1-hour breaks in between, but even so, it was quite a long evening. This was the famous production that the great granddaughter of Richard Wagner directed. It is her first opera at Bayreuth as she takes over the Festival. It sucked.

Yes, it sucked. From 3-foot dildos and lots of naked people, to dancers with giant paper maché busts on their heads. It was Eurotrash on speed. It was tasteless, senseless, and deserved every "boo" that it received. Ah, yes, the boos. After the production, the audience clapped incessantly for the cast as it formed a long line, holding hands for a bow. The curtain closed and then opened again, this time with Katharina in the line. "Boo" yelled from every corner. I'd never seen anything like it. Not in Germany. These people were going crazy, just screaming at the top of their lungs. It was like the old days when riots and revolutions were always started after some nationalistic opera. It was kind of weird. You know how I said that it used to freak me out when Germans get really excited at a performance and start clapping in unison? Well, I think the idea of a bunch of Germans boo-ing full force at one of Hitler's favorite destinations with direct links to all things Nazi is even freakier. I was like "run away."

The highlight of the trip to Bayreuth, though, took place the next day—the dinner at the Wagners. I have one word: surreal. Ok, two words: really surreal. No, I need more: really, fucking surreal beyond belief. How many is that? The Wagners live right next to the opera house in some kind of manor house, filled with strange art and, of course, lots of paintings of the Great Master himself. It's a pretty big house and pretty lavish, but not a palace or anything. We were greeted at the door by Gudrun Wagner, the wife of Wagner's grandson (and Liszt's great-grandson.) A. explained that her husband was in America and that I was a friend. Gudrun took one look at me in my Janker and said "Ah, your friend. Your Bavarian friend!" obviously thinking that I was some kind of compatriot. I am not sure, actually, that the guests really understood the irony I intended with my traditional jacket, but, whatever…

Wolfgang received us, practically deaf and apparently practically immobile in the next room. Katharina was there, too. She is a weird one, Mr. Grinch. She is only 29, but has this voice that could just be deeper than mine. She seems to be the very strange product of a family with a profile a little too high and coffers a little too full. She actually went into the process by which she conceptualized Meistersinger with the full intent to get boo-ed. The night before, as she came out for her individual bow, this desire was on full display as she relished, apparently, the screaming at her. Very weird.

The dinner was one of the most beautifully extravagant layouts I have ever seen. It was gooooood. Very good. I should have snapped a picture! It was straight out of the movies, with variation upon variation of fish, roast duck, sushi, a chocolate fountain, etc., etc. Our company was good, and we had lots of laughs. I was a little embarrassed, actually, when the very personable Bavarian sitting across from me referred to me as a "Baden-Wurtemberger" about half way through the meal. When I corrected him and said that I am American, there was a complete uproar at the table; he didn't want to believe that I wasn't a Swabian, for some reason.

All in all, it was another surreal Bayreuth experience, complete with Gudrun getting completely sloshed, careening from place to place. Really the family is the strange mixture of intellectual, over-privileged and white trash. Hard to explain. In spite of grand-dad's overt anti-Semitism, there was a prominent book on the Wagners' bookshelves called "Judaism." Now, was that strategically placed, or what?

I learned a lot, actually, by going to Bayreuth this year. I know that I will definitely not sing there unless it is long into my career when I have become ripened through experience. The public there is testy and maliciously unforgiving. It is understandable, though, since many of them have had to wait 8 years for a single ticket (600,000 people apply for a ticket each year and there are only 60,000 seats available.) It's just its own world, you know. But not exactly the kind of world that I would gladly be a part of. Not now, at least, as if anyone is asking…