EDINBURGH - Nothing can speak more dramatically of the stunning combined
range of the Festival and the Fringe than the simultaneous productions of
Wagner's "Parsifal" and the Richard Thomas-Stewart Lee "Jerry Springer, the
Opera."

On the other hand, world apart as they may be, the two works have much
in common: both are operas, both require a determined suspension of
disbelief, and both are about fools.  Wagner's, of course, deals with
the Noble One, a hapless, anti-swan Candide of the Grail, while "Springer"
is about an ignoble (although curiously innocent or, at least, out-of-it)
buffoon, surrounded by trailer-park trash, worthy of the most poisoned pens
of Rabelais and Voltaire.

There is also a parallel in the heroes' journey: Parsifal is pursued
and (temporarily) thwarted by Kundry's temptations, Springer is haunted
(unsuccessfully) by his "inner Walkyre." That's what she is called, honest
to goodness.

The Festival co-produced "Parsifal" with Salzburg, in a raw deal for
audiences there because they had to settle for the Berlin Philharmonic.
Edinburgh, on the other hand, gave the magnificent Claudio Abbado (who
first appeared here as a virtual unknown 36 years ago) the Gustav Mahler
Youth Orchestra, an international miracle of teen and twenty-something
musicians, who play as the Berlin musicians do whenever they are pursued
by their own inner Walkyres.

Imagine brilliant young talent, the best of the lot from Poland to Turkey,
hungry to play, devoted, dedicated, passionate about music - and under the
baton of a great conductor, whose recent bout with life-threatening illness
has made him transcend all his past glory.

The hyperbole of the comparison with the Philharmonic is meant seriously.
Except for some fatigue showing at the end of each act in the brass and a
certain roughness in climactic passages, the youth orchestra delivered one
of the most exciting and compelling performances of any "Parsifal" I've
heard in years.

Abbado's assistant, Henrik Schaefer, who prepared the orchestra, is a
violist himself, and he remembered from his own playing days that there
is an "upstairs/downstairs" syndrome, opera orchestras are often not aware
of what's happening - out of view - above them on stage.  How much more
true this must be for young players, coming to their first opera - and
Schaefer was determined to change that.  In addition to "normal" orchestra
preparations, the Gustav Mahler Youth Orchestra spent a great deal of time
watching stage rehearsals, talking about the opera, getting ready to be
part of the "total experience" Wagner had in mind.  There was no separation
tonight: the music came from all directions, with one mind, one heart.

I am sorry the exceptional musicologist Martin Meyer, one of my favorite
writers, didn't have a chance to hear this orchestra, this performance on
Sunday in the Festival Theatre, before contributing his otherwise typically
excellent program notes.  I doubt, if he had the experience, he would have
concluded the essay with "almost everywhere throughout the music, one
senses the feebleness of false pathos. . ." It is possible, it does happen,
but not with Abbado, not with these fabulous young musicians, not tonight
- you may discount redemption-through-a-kiss and Wagner's "faux religion,"
but there is absolutely nothing feeble or false about the sweeping power of
the music when played like this.  Opera at its best is not about singers or
directors, ITMS!  It's the music, stupid.

Speaking of directors, not even a lame physical production could
interfere with luxuriating in the music.  Peter Stein apparently had the
good intention of going against over-busy stagings, but the product ended
up near-comatose, especially in the first act.  Except for making Thomas
Moser (singing well in the title role) annoyingly hover around Amfortas
(Albert Dohmen, with a striking vocal presence, although uncertain high
notes), everything is was as static as you can get.  Things picked up in
the second act, but not for the better, Stein making his singers hop around
and over a flower labyrinth, set designer Gianni Dessi's unfortunate idea.

Dessi did do well with the spare, Chekovian forest and Scottish (?) lake,
with Klingsor (Eike Wilm Schulte, singing well and acting as is he were
playing Osmin) on top of a flight of stairs dissecting the entire stage.
The neon-lit boxes for the chorus were terrible, but Klingsor's satellite
dish was, possible, a clever in-joke about the Kupfer "Parsifal" with its
TV screens for the flower maidens.  The maidens themselves were not much to
write home about, although Maiden/Voice from Above Elena Zhidkova is
promising.

Violeta Urmana's Kundry had an unusually long period of getting warmed
up, but by the end of the great Act 2 duet, she was at her remarkable full
powers.  Hans Tschammer's Gurnemanz was mostly excellent and occasionally
going south with intonation.  I know Gwynne Howell is an institution in the
UK, but his Titurel gave indication that it may be time to move on and turn
the role over to a younger half-dead old king.

Abbado and the unusual participating variety of choruses (Arnold
Schoenberg, Prague Philharmonic and, especially, the Totzer Knabenchoir)
brought a sound into the choral portions of the work I never heard before.
Instead of a homogenous choir, with sopranos substituting for children,
this performance featured the young voices prominently, and while fidgeting
a bit too much, the kids sang marvelously.

No children or anyone under 18 is welcome over at the Fringe presentation
of "Springer," eager would-be audiences filling the sidewalk for blocks.
The crowd is ushered in quickly the Assembly Rooms auditorium, and David
Bedella, the scary Warmup Man, begins his work, getting the cast and the
real audience ready for the main event.

This being an opera, there is no shouting of "Jerry! Jerry!," but rather
the audience goes along with the chorus SINGING it. Rick Bland is Jerry
and he conducts the show very close to a particularly outrageous episode
of the original. Guests showing up turn out to be experienced, good opera
singers, happy to get away from their usual work performing in Stockhausen
productions in Berlin and elsewhere. No ...., who the .... wants to sing
(or hear) Stockhausen?!

One after another, Valda Aviks, AndrewBevis, David Birrell, Beverly
Klein, Lore Lixenberg and the others sing their heart out, in music with
undertones of Bernstein and Sondheim, set to relentlessly, invigoratingly
obscene and tremendously funny text.

Can we talk here? Quite free of attraction (sexual or otherwise) to owls,
hoofed creatures and dandelions, I have a shameful perversion to confess
nevertheless.  Much as I detest the TV show and dislike machine-gun
delivery of "filthy language," I had an absolute blast at "Springer." I
loved the stories (none of which can be described in polite company), the
bits of inner monologue under spotlight, characters pretty much repeating
what they said in "public," the pathetic but somehow likeable character
motivations of demanding attention and love, the variety of music - not
all good, certainly, but with a strong kernel of a musical work that goes
far beyond a spoof or one-line joke.

There is energy and aliveness to the work that make it entertaining,
enjoyable, even attractive, beyond the obviously objectionable nature of it
all.  Before seeing "Springer," I could not understand why its development
over the past year attracted the attention - and even participation - of
Cameron Mackintosh, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Nick Hytner, new director of
the Royal National Theatre, among many others.  Now I know.  "Urinetown,"
watch out; the real thing is coming, and it's going to make your medieval
French peasant tummy jiggle.

Janos Gereben/SF
In Merry Old, to 9/1
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