by usia review

A broadcast at the Grand Auditorium of the Gulbenkian Foundation offered a compelling, if mediated, encounter with Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde.

From the outset, the work’s defining gesture emerges in the cellos: the famous chord — F–B–D#–G# — which resists resolution and finds only a kind of repose more than four hours later. Like the lovers’ desire, it remains suspended, ambiguous, and perpetually unfulfilled, already hinting at the dissolution of tonality that would shape the future of Western music.

The evening’s central triumph was Michael Spyres in the title role. A true Heldentenor, he brought a rare baritonal warmth and stamina to Tristan, sustaining the role’s immense demands with remarkable control. His third act, in particular, achieved a searing intensity, balancing vocal power with psychological depth. Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducted with clarity and structural assurance, maintaining momentum while allowing the score’s tensions to breathe.

As Isolde, Lise Davidsen confirmed her vocal authority, her instrument gleaming with security and amplitude. Yet, while vocally impressive, her portrayal occasionally lacked the dramatic density and emotional urgency the role demands.

The production itself proved more divisive. Opting for a deliberately “stratospheric” aesthetic, the staging distanced itself from tradition in favor of a bold, concept-driven visual language. At times striking and provocative, it also veered into fragmentation and incoherence. The director appeared more invested in imposing an interpretative framework than in serving the drama’s emotional core. While certain images carried undeniable impact, others diluted the work’s inherent intensity, leaving a sense of conceptual overreach.

Inevitably, the screen experience imposes its own limitations. The camera dictates perspective, and the sound loses depth and resonance. The auditorium’s speakers cannot fully reproduce the physical scale and sonic richness of Wagnerian voices, diminishing the visceral impact that is essential to this repertoire.

Yet these broadcasts retain their value. They cannot replace the live operatic experience, but they offer, even at a distance, a reminder of its power — and of the almost mystical demands it places on performers and audiences alike.

The opening chord — F–B–D#–G# — remains unresolved until the very end. Suspended, ambiguous, it stands as a musical metaphor for desire itself: never fulfilled, only deferred.

Kurwenal, Tristan’s faithful companion, in three moments:

Act I: On board the ship, he defends Tristan and mocks Isolde and Brangäne.
Act II: He stands guard while Tristan and Isolde surrender to their love duet.
Act III: He tends to the dying Tristan at Kareol and fights Melot.

A Metropolitan Opera production at Gulbenkian in live broadcast

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António Lourenço

António Lourenço is an opera and cinema enthusiast whose life has been deeply intertwined with the performing arts, both as a musician and as a devoted observer of the world’s great cultural stages.

He received his lyrical training as a singer at the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos in Lisbon, where he performed as a tenor with the São Carlos Choir. For more than two decades, he also sang with the Lisboa Cantat Symphonic Choir, dedicating himself especially to the great masterpieces of sacred choral music. Alongside his choral work, he performed solo recitals of Italian opera arias and pursued studies in sight-singing and piano.