Bayreuth Festival 2025
Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (Matthias Davids / Daniele Gatti)
Michael Nagy stole the spotlight as Beckmesser in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, delivering one of the most outstanding interpretations of the role in recent memory. Photo: Enrico Nawrath/Bayreuther Festspiele
Conductor: Daniele Gatti
Director: Matthias Davids
Stage design: Andrew D. Edwards
Costumes: Susanne Hubrich
Choral Conducting: Thomas Eitler-de Lint
Dramaturgy: Christoph Wagner-Trenkwitz
Lighting: Fabrice Kebour
Choreography: Simon Eichenberger
Hans Sachs: Georg Zeppenfeld
Veit Pogner: Jongmin Park
Sixtus Beckmesser: Michael Nagy
Fritz Kothner: Jordan Shanahan
Walther von Stolzing: Michael Spyres
David: Matthias Stier
Eva: Christina Nilsson
Magdalene: Christa Mayer
Ein Nachtwächter: Tobias Kehrer
In the early 1980s, sales of Coca-Cola were flagging. It had lost significant market share to Pepsi, and company bigwigs decided something seismic was needed to arrest the slide: a change to the venerable drink’s secret formula. After taste tests of nearly 200,000 people, New Coke was launched in 1985 to fizzy fanfare and initial success. People liked the new flavour and sales ticked up. But then there was a reaction: protest groups, like the Old Cola Drinkers of America appeared; customers from the southern states where Coca-Cola was based began to talk of the reformulation like the loss of the Civil War; one Mississippi professor stated it was “an intrusion on tradition”. And so less than three months later, Old Coke was brought back. The leader of the Old Cola Drinkers was given the first case of it, but in blind tests it turned out he preferred New Coke.
An amusing story; but replace the word Coke with either the word art or the word Germany, and suddenly it seems less funny. When Hans Sach – the embodiment of the German spirit in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg – sings the celebrated line “Es klang so alt und war doch so neu”, he is expressing wonder and confusion, but ultimately openness, to new German art. Lest one be tempted to think an uncritical embrace of anything new was implied though, it is worth remembering that in his 1865 essay on the nature of Germanness “Was ist Deutsch?”, Wagner just as much prefigures another famous Sachs line – “Verachtet mir die Meister nicht” – in stating his belief that it is a German trait to treat old and new almost dialectically:
“Under the castle’s protection, the burghers’ town expands; but the flourishing town does not tear down the castle: the “free town” pays homage to the prince; the industrial burgher decks the castle of his hereditary lord. The German is conservative… the acquired New has value for him only when it serves to adorn the Old.”
Is Wagner right? I don’t think that Matthias Davids attempts to answer that question as such in his new production of Die Meistersinger for the Bayreuth Festival, nor the broader philosophical one of the make-up of a “German” nature or spirit, if indeed, such a thing exists. But through a colourful patchwork of costume and set depicting German society across the ages, what he does do is make us think about more noumenal symbols and elements of Germany old and new, the dangers that can come from the conflict between them, and how we might respond to that.
After an unstaged overture, the curtain opened to reveal a long flight of stairs leading up to a model of a church. Beside them lay Walther, dressed in a rather garish checked blue jacket and silk shirt, who played with paper aeroplanes he had arranged in a heart shape on the floor while he waited for Eva. The fact that the congregation that descended from the stairs after the opening faux-Bach chorale wore the wigs and modest black clothes of eighteenth-century protestants was the first indication that Germans of different eras and inclinations would be represented in the staging. Eva, of course, was among them, but wore a dress that combined black sides with a pink floral front – hardly alternative, but perhaps indicative of individuality attempting to assert itself against conformity.
Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Bayreuth Festival 2025. Photo: Enrico Nawrath/Bayreuther Festspiele
David, meanwhile, dressed as he was in a mix of lederhosen and modern clothes, seemed to straddle more than one period. So too, in its own way, did the setting for the rest of the act: for as the stage rotated upon the entrance of the apprentices, it revealed the inside of the Festspielhaus itself, or at least, a fairytale version of it. After all, it’s certainly a building that has had different eras, both artistically and otherwise.
It’s also somewhere that is both the location of a German cultural tradition, and a place known for artistic innovation, whether that be the covered orchestra pit or the use of alternate-reality glasses. Of course, another thing Bayreuth is known for is critical audiences, so what better location, really, for the explanation of the rules of music and a singing trial? Indeed, perhaps that was the point here: were we the markers, being asked not to act like Beckmessers towards the production?
Speaking of Beckmesser, his initial appearance in a rather naff yellow jacket and trilby, carrying what looked like a cake in the shape of a hedgehog, was only a small step away from socks with Birkenstocks. Taken as a whole, the other guild members looked rather like a selection of Dr. Who incarnations: one wore a straw boater, another a tricorn hat; Pogner sported a purple frock coat, Kothner black and white trousers. Curiously, Hans Sachs wore a harlequin-print waistcoat. Was this an intentional reference to the commedia dell’arte character? It is hard to see how comparing Sachs to a jester-like servant character makes a great deal of sense, but perhaps at a stretch one could liken the way he gives Beckmesser room to hoist himself with his own petard to a harlequinesque thwarting of the plans of someone of higher social status. Perhaps it was merely part of the director’s efforts to remove any romanticised feeling of gravitas one might have about the masters and their rules, which was most notably done by having them all don the robes and coxcombs of the Schlaraffia society.
The Schlaraffia, founded in the mid-19th century, is a quasi-masonic gentlemen’s club focused on the arts and camaraderie of its members. Indeed, the name Schlaraffia, roughly translating as “carefree enjoyers”, comes from the same roots as Schlaraffenland, a mythical land of laziness and plenty that is the subject and title of a poem by some guy called Hans Sachs. Is that what the director thinks of the masters’ guild, and perhaps, other German Vereine, Burschenschaften and the like? Places where men can play dress-up, indulge in eating and singing, and generally muck about under the guise of being a member of something traditional, exclusive and cultured? Or, given the setting for the act and that the final line in Sachs’ Schlaraffenland is “Drum ist ein Spiegel dies Gedicht, darin du sehest dein Angesicht” (this poem is a mirror in which you see your face), is it another reminder not to take tradition, and ourselves, too seriously when attending the Bayreuth Festival? Very plausibly, I’d say. The rest of the act proceeded more or less as expected, until the model church, still atop the set, fell to the side amid sparks at the conclusion. Holy German Art under threat, clearly, but whether from Walther’s new music or the guild remained an open question.
In terms of character actions on stage, the second act also went largely by the book, although that is not to say that nothing was done with it. Costume continued to tell a story, most notably when Beckmesser arrived in a silvery waistcoat and sunglasses. His new wardrobe – and electric mandolin – very much suggested a man at least attempting to get down with the kids but missing the target, like an evangelical church thinking the way to persuade teenagers to come to mass is to introduce a rock band into proceedings.
More intriguing to me though was the set: a backdrop of mangled, not-quite Fachwerkhäuse, in which bright-coloured triangular and rectangular sections of buildings overlapped and jutted out from one another, as if Nuremberg’s half-timbered houses had been jointly rebuilt by Wassily Kandinsky and Friedensreich Hundertwasser. As an allegory for new Germany disrupting the old, or vice versa, I found it a simple, evocative and thought-provoking concept, especially due to the country’s recent relationship with architecture, in which it seems that newness is so despised in some quarters that it must not merely adorn the old as per Wagner, but masquerade as the old itself. Of course, the vandalism that was Berlin’s replacement of the Palace of the Republic with the Humboldt Forum was readily brought to mind – a genuinely historic German building torn down to make way for something pretending to be one – but I was actually made to think more of Frankfurt’s oxymoronically named New Old Town, the development of which I think is worth going into a little detail about in the context of this production.
The mediaeval old town of Frankfurt, like that of Nuremberg, was left mostly ruined after the war, but unlike in Nuremberg, authorities did not initially attempt to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Rather, redevelopment of the site was headlined by the 1974 opening of the Technical Town Hall, a striking building in the brutalist style that nevertheless paid homage to what had come before with a Fachwerkhaus-inspired lattice façade. By the 21st century however, attitudes had changed. The Technical Town Hall was demolished in 2011 and replaced with the New Old Town, a project that was originally proposed to the city council in 2005 by a radical right-wing author. It is a sanitised, Disneyfied reconstruction of many of the original houses, that is at best, a superficial touristic folly, and at worst, as Stuttgart-based architectural professor Stephan Trüby has argued, a whitewashing of the consequences of German history.
With that in mind, it would seem to me that if the political implications of reconstruction architecture were not the outright intended message of Andrew D. Edwards’ set design (indeed, he states in the programme notes only that a preponderance of squares was intended to represent societal rigidity), they were at least the natural subject for questions raised by it. Were these deformed houses on stage an allusion to real-world cases such as the New Frankfurt Old Town, a development that architectural historian Philipp Oswalt has also pointed out not only recreates old buildings but also the coronation route of the Holy Roman Emperors? Were they a warning that such hankerings after a fictitiously perfect old Germany merely clothe and foment the sort of Wahn that plays out in the riot at the end of Act II? If so, it more than fits with Wagner’s own view in “Was ist Deutsch?” that the German spirit does not depend on the continuation, or indeed quasi-resurrection, of the Holy Roman Empire or its trappings to flourish:
“German poetry, German music, German philosophy, are nowadays esteemed and honoured by every nation in the world: but in his yearning after “German glory” the German, as a rule, can dream of nothing but a sort of resurrection of the Romish Kaiser-Reich, and the thought inspires the most good-tempered German with an unmistakable lust of mastery, a longing for the upper hand over other nations. He forgets how detrimental to the welfare of the German peoples that notion of the Romish State had been already.”
If the tearing of books taken from a yellow phone booth during the Act II riot hinted at the potential darker side to the conflict between old and new Germany playing out before us, then the stage for Act III absolutely insisted – in shocking fashion – that we consider the worst consequences of German nationalism, of that particular type of Wahn; through a pile of shoes and lasts placed in the middle of Sachs’ workshop. The parallel with harrowing pictures of mountains of shoes stolen from murdered Jews during the Holocaust cannot have been an accident, and was a poignant symbol to reflect on during his monologue. The workshop itself was a circular shape that to my eyes made Sachs feel isolated, but which Edwards states in the programme notes was intended to represent safety. Either way, after such an arresting and weighty beginning to the act, the fact that little more was done with the shoes, or indeed anything else, during the four scenes in the workshop was both unexpected and rather baffling. The pile was eventually disturbed by Beckmesser, but given that he merely appeared embarrassed to have done so, I am unsure that any further meaning was intended, despite the imagery being so significant. In any case, up to this point, one might say that the production had led us on a journey of progressively more serious warnings about romanticising “old” Germany. It stands to reason then that the rest of the staging would tell us that if we embrace the new, everything will be okay, right? Yes and no.
The Festwiese, stage design by Andrew D. Edwards. Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, Bayreuth Festival 2025. Photo: Enrico Nawrath/Bayreuther Festspiele
The Festwiese was colourful but tacky. A large inflatable cow hung above proceedings like a dumbed-down metaphor for the countryside, and large yellow light fixtures arranged like rays of sunshine looked like they belonged on the set of a television game show. Not an impossible notion, for as the stage became ever fuller with people representing aspects of modern Germany, pairs of celebrities began to arrive: Angela Merkel, of course; and Thomas Gottschalk. Was this a new episode of “Wetten, dass..?” being held up as representative of modern Germany?Walther von Stolzing bets that he can sing a Meisterlied! As much as that would have been interesting (and fun), it ultimately seemed to be less that, and more that this was again the new as (mis)conceived by the old. First Beckmesser and then Sachs appeared to treat the cow as Holy German Art, the former unplugging its air supply during the warnings of all things wälsch, before the latter plugged it back in as the townsfolk exhorted us to honour our German masters. Walther, meanwhile, appeared ready to follow Sachs’ lead and become a Master, only for Eva to intervene and return the symbol of his membership to her father. Originally brought on behind an absurd “dress” made of flowers, she was by this point the only person on stage dressed in conventional modern clothes. She left together with Walther, while Beckmesser and Sachs remained, dressed identically, bickering like an old married couple over what had transpired. The message appeared to be that whether Wagner was right or wrong about Germans valuing the new only when it adorns the old, such things were neither truly new, nor enough.
On the musical side of things, I found much to admire about Daniele Gatti’s reading of the score. Balance between orchestra and stage was spot on throughout, allowing the action to be led from, but not dominated by, the pit. Equally impressive was the balance between orchestral sections, which let different lines of counterpoint come to the fore naturally and transparently. For the most part, tempi were neither particularly slow nor fast, and a strong sense of momentum was maintained. I say for the most part, as my main reservation with the interpretation was the occasional tendency to wallow in some of the more aria-like sections. The Prize Song, David’s “rules” monologue, and “Am stillen Herd” were all taken at a pace noticeablysteadier than usual in comparison with the surrounding music, a contrast which I feel took us too far down the road of slowing up to indulge in showpieces, and which meant that a sense of progress and musico-narrative energy dipped during these moments. Having said that, in principle I appreciate Gatti’s willingness to be flexible with tempi, and overall, his direction brought a lot out of what I think is probably the most difficult of Wagner’s works to perform well in the Festspielhaus’ unique acoustic. The festival orchestra itself was on fine form, and special shout out goes to the trumpet section, who were mistake-free during those exposed Act III fanfares.
Georg Zeppenfeld was a splendid Hans Sachs. As always, his diction was as good as you’ll hear from any singer in the world, all the more important a quality to have in a house with no surtitles. His voice is not the weightiest you will find in a Sachs, but the tone was as pleasing as ever and, in my opinion, was coupled with as good an acting performance – both vocally and physically – as I have seen from him. Close attention to the delivery of each word was noticeable, not least in a tense Wahn monologue, and indignant closing appeal.
As Walther, Michael Spyres sang with ease and beauty, coping effortlessly with the steady pace at which some of his solo moments were taken. His tone had a brightness to it but did not lack for heroism. Acting wise, I would have liked to have gotten a little more sense of who this Walther was as a personality, but such a quibble may well be as much with the director as with him.
If Zeppenfeld is known for his diction, then Christina Nilsson matched him in the clarity stakes word for word and showcased both vocal sweetness and ringing power in a fine Eva. As her father, Jongmin Park’s voice stood out for its chesty resonance in a performance that grew in sensitivity throughout the evening, while Matthias Stier’s David was vocally solid, with a tone that was bright yet more substantial than what one often hears in the role. As Kothner and Magdalene, Jordan Shanahan and Christa Mayer both took their parts well.
The star of the show on this occasion though was unquestionably Michael Nagy as Beckmesser, whose performance was one of the best I have seen in the role. Chock-full of character and energy, he fussed around the stage during the guild scene like a twitchy John Bercow telling off naughty members of the UK parliament. At various times patronising and haughty, then nervy and vulnerable, he made every line seem conversational, as if it were coming to him in the moment, yet without sacrificing any tone. Little touches, such as the extended rolled R when addressing Walther as “Herr Rrrrrrrr-itter”, were lovely. Well done to him.
To sum up then, I found this a production that, with a fairly light touch, engendered a number of interesting thoughts about Germany and attitudes within it. I say with a fairly light touch, because the staging relied heavily on broad-brushstroke suggestiveness, of costume, and especially, of set design. Relatively little else was done to expand on or elucidate any points being made, and at times – particularly during the first half of Act III – I felt Davids simply did too little, either to follow up on ideas or to keep our attention. But for the majority of the evening, just enough was done both to make me think and to provide a sense of fun, and I would view the production as a qualified success that, with a bit more follow through and detail, could ensure it is always the real deal, and never merely the Real Thing.
Sam Goodyear
Sam Goodyear is an opera fan and Wagner enthusiast, originally from Portsmouth but now living in Germany. He read history at Peterhouse, Cambridge, and has at various times worked as a bookie, translator, trader, journalist, and TV researcher. He currently works in socially responsible investment. While very much an amateur, his interest in music has in the past led to him singing on BBC radio, and playing the trumpet in front of the queen. He attends as much Wagner both at home and abroad as time and money will permit, and he has written on Wagner for Classical Music Magazine.
