WOTAN, MEET WOTAN

Miss Butterfly (Cio Cio San) was singing as one of Brunnhilde's sisters in Wagner's Die Walkure, the second opera of his 14 hour magnum opus Der Ring Des Nibelungen and I was greatly looking forward to seeing her perform in such an epic work, one that I was thankfully familar with.

At the heart of Die Walkure is the central relationship between Wotan and his daughter Brunnhilde. By act 2 of the opera Wotan has lost almost all of his moral authority as a god after being exposed as an adulterer who has conceived two children with a mortal woman. Things get further complicated when his most cherished Valkyrie daughter, Brunnhilde, intervenes to save the mortal Siegmund from certain death, thus entwining the fate of humans and gods ever closer. As a consequence of her rebellious act, Wotan consigns her to an eternal sleep, encircled by a protective ring of fire that can only be pierced by a hero with a true heart.

I wasn't to know back then that Cio Cio San also had a ring of fire surrounding her. It must have been invisible to my human eyes because it was only after the night of seeing her in Die Walkure that I finally realised Wotan had been sitting next to me all night.

Her father.

It had been arranged that I would watch the entire five hour German opera with her parents so I could get to better know them. As fire features prominently as a motif in the second part of Wagner's quadrilogy, I was to have no idea prior to the event that I was about to experience my very own trial by fire, quite the opposite to Brunnhilde's protective ring of flames.

Though Cio Cio San's father, a real life Brahmin Wotan, was sat next to me throughout the entire five hour German opera, which was initimdating enough, it was in between each act where the real opera began. Both parents interrograted me about my career path and finances whilst simultaneously stuffing me with extra spicy Indian food lovingly prepared by the mother, who was clearly an amazing cook. The more dishes were unveiled from plastic tupperware inside a carry bag, the more I began to think, that like Siegmund, I might not survive the night.  

After absorbing the intensity of Wotan and his momentous struggles with his very own world of gods and humans in each lengthy act, I then had to experience what felt like a slow parental interrogation in the intervals betweeen the opera. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. I was sweating, not just from the spicy food, but from the intense scrutiny I was being put under. There was nowhere to hide, except within the music which was exceptional. Never before have I felt the comfort of a full symphony orchestra as much as that night.

By the time Brunnhilde and Wotan shared their final embrace as father and daughter in Act 3, I felt especially exhilarated knowing the opera was finally drawing to a close primarily because I was looking forward to seeing Cio Cio San who had understandly remained backstage throughout the entire evening when she wasn't onstage singing. I doubt the general public would be able to cope with the cognitive dissonance of seeing a Valkyrie casually enjoying some Kachoris and Samosas in the main foyer area in between the Germanic music drama unfolding in the concert hall.

Having survived my lengthy interrogation by Brahmin Wotan and his wife, Cio Cio San and I made our way back to Leeds on the company's coach which was set to be another four hours on top of the five or six spent at the symphony hall.

Both of us exhausted for different reasons, we found our seats on the coach and relaxed for the first time all day.

Then I noticed we were being held up by one of the cast members who hadn't quite finished his cigarette outside the vehicle.

It was Wotan. Or at least the Polish bass baritone singing Wotan.

Even Wotan had had a day of it, it seemed.

As he finally boarded the coach and took his seat, I noticed he was wearing a Fonzie-like leather jacket.

I had seen everything now.

Three permutations of Wotan in one day: the God as a character onstage, the singer as a God on a travel coach and the father as Wotan in real life.

As for whether I managed to navigate my way through the wall of flames that her father had put up to protect Cio Cio, I'm not so sure I succeeded.

I think it was Harry S. Truman who once said, "If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen."

In this instance I wasn't in a kitchen, but an opera house where my mortal status, like Siegmund, was only too evident.