On 13th August 1876, the first Bayreuth Festival was inaugurated with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, followed by Das Rheingold. Die Walküre was performed on 14th August, Siegfried on the 16th and with the premiere of Götterdämmerung on 17th August, the world had seen its first full Ring cycle. Attended by Kaiser Wilhelm, Friedrich Nietzsche and the Who’s Who of the music world – Bruckner, Grieg, Liszt, Tchaikovsky – it was a real occasion. 150 years later, Bayreuth has lost none of its myth and is still a cultural phenomenon and an annual pilgrimage for thousands of Wagnerites. We asked our very own reviewers to share their fondest memories: crocodiles, Waltraud Meier, bookshops, Angela Merkel and the best place to cool down with a beer.
David Karlin: In 2014, early in my opera-reviewing career, it felt like a rare privilege to see a Ring cycle in Bayreuth. However, it’s fair to say that I wasn’t the only reviewer baffled by the flood of apparently unrelated ideas in Frank Castorf’s production of Siegfried. The defining moment was when two plastic crocodiles started roaming the stage, snapping voraciously at anything in their path. One of them actually ate the Woodbird.
My bafflement was somewhat reduced when a kind next-door neighbour explained to me that Castorf was an old-school East German and that the staging was littered with references to East Berlin in the DDR days – and not just the instantly recognisable landmarks of the Fernsehturm and the Alexanderplatz clock. The crocodiles, he explained, were an in-joke about the wartime episode when Berlin Zoo was bombed and the animals were found roaming the streets. The reality, I’ve since read, is poignantly sadder: the crocodiles didn’t eat anyone and simply froze to death.
Bayreuth directors know their audience, and particularly the German contingent. If most international guests were as baffled as me, I’m willing to bet that most of the Germans were not.
Michael Vieth: In 1976 – 50 years ago, in other words – I was in the middle of my physics degree. Musically, I was just getting to grips with Bruckner’s symphonies, so the temptation was strong to venture to a Wagner performance in Bayreuth. No, not live – in my student digs, in front of my portable radio, with the Reclam libretto on my lap. My first Parsifal!
I saw – or rather, listened to – it through to the end. And three years later, I managed to snag a last-minute ticket for Götz Friedrich’s Lohengrin: on the final night, Siegfried Jerusalem stepped in for the eagerly awaited Peter Hofmann. In 1983, at Friedrich’s Parsifal, I was apparently unlucky that an unknown Waltraud Meier sang Kundry instead of Gwyneth Jones. Later, fans in the back row would wave placards reading “Würzburg greets Waltraud”!
For my 40th birthday, Parsifal again, this time directed by Wolfgang Wagner. With friends outside on what was then a car park lawn: when they opened the boot, a Glyndebourne-like atmosphere emerged amidst the fine picnic baskets as a birthday surprise.
1998: my first Ring, by Kirchner and Levine, who, whilst out for a stroll through town, stopped at the same Italian ice-cream parlour ahead of me to get his refreshment. Even without his legendary towel, I recognised Jimmy straight away. And his conducting of the Ring: musically top-notch!
The most moving production? Perhaps Kosky’s Meistersinger in 2021, a visual feast on stage, with Michael Volle and the Masters making every word intelligible even without surtitles. Chapeau!
Pierre Liscia-Beaurenaut: Beyond its thick red-stone walls, its brass fanfares and its garden gnomes, the Bayreuth Festival stands out for the striking tension that arises between the austerity of the venue and the extravagance of its productions. Fifty years on from Patrice Chéreau, the Festival dares to do anything, at any time. This is often exasperating, but occasionally hits the mark. Take, for instance, that deeply moving scene of Wotan’s Farewell during the 2024 festival. After a mixed performance, Brünnhilde refuses her father’s embrace as he abandons her to her fate, leaving him writhing in agony at the front of the stage. An image of rare intensity and unparalleled beauty. Perhaps this is where the Festival’s strength lies: behind the grand scale and extravagance, there is this ability to capture, for a few stolen moments, the heart of each of us, in an intense moment of unity with ourselves.
Isabella Steppan: What should you expect when you visit Bayreuth in the height of summer? That’s right: hot weather and the resulting near-heatstroke during the performance, as well as the chance to enjoy the summer intermission in the expansive grounds surrounding the Festspielhaus. Dressed in a light outfit, armed with a fan and all manner of cooling accessories, I set off in July 2023 for the premiere of Parsifal… only to find on arrival that, contrary to the initial weather forecast, a cold front – with a balmy maximum temperature of 15°C – had spontaneously taken over the Green Hill. So instead of leisurely strolling, the interval programme consisted of frozen fingers, and I would have gladly swapped my glass of champagne for a cup of mulled wine.
Despite the cold, and in a moment of mental derangement, I accidentally ordered (and shiveringly ate) a frozen yoghurt, which I attribute to the fact that Elīna Garanča and Andreas Schager sang such a gripping and sparkling second act that space, time and the weather were entirely lost to me for a moment.
Ako Imamura: I have been fortunate enough to attend the Bayreuth Festival every year since 2010. After all these years, there is still nothing like the excitement of the moment right before the first note is heard in the darkened theatre. As the music, seemingly coming out of nowhere and everywhere, envelopes you, the anticipation soon turns to the sheer joy of experiencing hours of Wagner’s music in the company of fellow Wagnerians.
My favourite memories of the Festival go back to my very first visit in 1999, when I travelled with the members of the Wagner Society of New York to attend four non-Ring operas, Tannhäuser conducted by Thielemann, Die Meistersinger with Barenboim (it was his last summer in Bayreuth), Lohengrin and Holländer. When I walked up to the Green Hill on the first day, seeing its carefully manicured lawns and flowers, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Daily lectures in English in the morning and post-opera gatherings at Bürgerreuth up on the hill were perfect introductions to the Bayreuth experience for the novice. The group had a personal and intimate audience with Wolfgang Wagner, who was friendly and generous with his time.
Many years and operas later, Bayreuth remains the most magical and cherished place, and I hope to continue my annual pilgrimage as long as possible. The unpredictable weather, often hot but at times chilly and rainy, the challenge of sitting still in an uncomfortable chair, lack of variety of refreshments (especially if one does not eat meat) are all a very small price to pay. Bayreuth may not be for everyone, but it has become a vital and essential part of my existence.
David Larkin: Thinking about the 2015 Festival, a few things come immediately to mind: fanfares, emergency exit signs and Angela Merkel. The last-named was in attendance for the new production of Tristan und Isolde which opened the festival. I wished that more politicians shared her interest in the arts! While Katharina Wagner’s production left me underwhelmed, Christian Thielemann’s pacing and sculpting of the orchestral forces was enthralling. Also praiseworthy was Kirill Petrenko’s conducting in the Ring cycle, although Frank Castorf’s production team was roundly booed at the close despite some striking set designs (the communist Mount Rushmore in Siegfried, for instance).
One nice Bayreuth touch was being summoned back after the lengthy intervals by brass fanfares performed from the balcony, each appropriately cued to the music we were to hear. Modern safety practices sadly attenuated the intended effect at the start of Das Rheingold when the house lights are extinguished: the total darkness is punctured these days by the green glow of emergency exit signs. Only one all-consuming conflagration is permitted in each Ring cycle, seemingly. As a Wagner scholar, I treasure the memories of this visit: it’s something everyone with an interest in opera should try to experience at least once in a lifetime.
Alexandra Richter: While countless Wagner enthusiasts make the pilgrimage to the Green Hill every year, there is another place I consider a sacred site: Rainer Schlicht’s second-hand bookshop at 22a Richard-Wagner-Straße. Just a stone’s throw from Villa Wahnfried, this is the place where you meet the most fascinating people, primarily fellow devotees of the Wagnermania. Spread across several floors and hidden away in countless shelves and banana crates are treasures just waiting to be discovered. Sheet music, books, records, autographs, art prints, festival programmes and so much more.
Rainer Schlicht is pretty much always open and has just about everything on offer, for both small and large budgets, to make the hearts of Wagner and art lovers beat faster. It attracts a clientele of true connoisseurs, making a mere visit to an opera on the Green Hill seem almost incidental at times. Hours of insightful conversation, genuine expertise and the odd bit of gossip are thrown in for good measure. This antiquarian bookshop shows that Bayreuth has so much more to offer during the festival season than just the opera performances themselves, and that you should always arrive with an empty suitcase to fill with reading material to tide you over the eleven months until the next festival summer.
Nadja Dobesch-Warlick: At the Bayreuth Festival, the world’s musical elite can frequently be seen against the backdrop of thrilling productions, but even away from the stage, the Green Hill is an experience in itself: one suddenly finds oneself standing in front of Angela Merkel and, moments later in the bookshop, right next to Waltraud Meier. You have an hour’s interval after each act and still manage to polish off the huge portion of grilled sausages with potato salad just in time not to miss the fanfare players on the balcony of the Festspielhaus (by which point the interval is over anyway – perhaps next time you should pre-order some gourmet Wahnfood after all?). You see young, stylish people from all over the world and are glad that the elderly couple, who had simply gone home for dinner, are back in their seats on time after the interval, while others, amid cries of apologies, ask 25 people to get up from their seats in the long rows.
And yet you wouldn’t want the Festspielhaus any other way. When the final applause turns into stamping until the floor of the grandstand-like auditorium vibrates, you know for sure: these are the boards that mean the world to us Wagner fans.
Zoltán Szabó: I have been twice at the Bayreuth Festival, both times writing reviews, but with a massive 34-year gap in between them. Thinking back, I am astonished how many impressions remained much the same. On the positive side: the almost breathable Wagner culture everywhere in the small town of Bayreuth – and I do not mean the kitsch-shops selling ridiculous paraphernalia at nearly as ridiculous prices! There is a genuine awe in the air, on the streets, in the bookshops and, indeed, on the Grüne Hügel, regarding the man and the composer and the German cultural icon.
Even more important is the consistently incredible quality of music making in the pit and on the stage and the feeling of camaraderie, the sense of “all for one and one for all” (I know, that’s Dumas). But… on the negative side, at least approaching the topic from conservative Australia: the utter and all-too-often not music-related excesses of Regietheater. Yes, Barrie Kosky’s Meistersinger was a profound artistic experience, as thoughtful as moving, but others were hard not only to admire but even to relate to (and here, I avoid mentioning names), so often void of understanding the score and the ethos and failing to pass a higher meaning to our generation and era.
Thomas Schacher: Finding accommodation in Bayreuth during the Festival can turn into quite an adventure. The situation was particularly dire last year, when I was accredited for a revival of the 2023 production of Parsifal. The hotel rooms still available were simply out of the question on a Bachtrack budget. So I looked on Airbnb, but even there, the choice was limited. Eventually, I found a room with a widow in Seulbitz. Seulbitz – never heard of it, have you? Neither had I before. The former village is now part of Bayreuth, but lies well outside the town and has almost entirely retained its rural character. On my arrival, my lovely landlady picked me up by car. For the daily journeys into town, there was at least a bus that ran once an hour.
The return journey late in the evening, however, proved to be problematic. After the performance of Parsifal – during which my AR glasses didn’t work – I first had to cool my frustration with two large Bayreuther Helle at the Oskar tavern. Unfortunately, the last bus to Seulbitz had already left by then. For night owls, however, the transport company had organised a shared taxi, which you had to book by phone. I was sceptical as to whether this would actually work and was already dreading the hour-long walk that lay ahead of me out into the Upper Franconian countryside. Yet, at the agreed time, the taxi was indeed waiting at Hohenzollernplatz and drove me unerringly almost right up to my landlady’s front door.
