Incomplete And Utter History Of Classical Music

THIS WHOLE WAGNER THING, ONLY A LITTLE BIT DEEPER

W

ilhelm Richard Wagner was born in Leipzig in 1813, the product of an affair his mother had with an actor called Ludwig -how ridiculously apt - whom she later married. He had two sisters who were both singers, and was often to be found bunking off his piano practice in favour of trying to sight-read opera scores. If you add in a talent for poetry and a predilection for Beethoven, it's not hard to see how the whole Wagner world took hold.

After an early flop with an orchestral overture, he turned to opera, writing his own words from the start. He became a chorus master when he was twenty, which meant he summered in Lauchstadt, near Leipzig, and wintered in Magdeburg, some 250 kilometres west of Berlin. It was here that he met his wife, Minna, an actress, and they were married in 1836. Wagner's third opera, Das Liebesverbot - The Love Ban - was written for his Magdeburg company, but it ended up more or less bankrupting it. Just two years later, the couple sailed to Paris. Yes, I did say sailed to Paris. Don't ask me why, but they did and it was to prove a memorable journey in more ways than one. The boat took a full eight months to get to Paris - I'm still not quite sure how you sail to Paris - and the stormy voyage would provide Wagner with not only a deeper knowledge of his insides but also inspiration for his future opera, The Flying Dutchman - based on an old sailors' legend. More of that in a moment. Wagner was one of those people who thought the world owed him a living. And that's not just me being glib and reactionary, he honesdy did. Listen: T am not like other people… The world owes me what I need. I can't live on a miserable organist's pittance like your master, Bach!' See? I imagine it was little moments like that that did a lot to endear him to the people of Dresden.

And that more or less brings us incompletely and utterly up to date with Richard the Lionbreath. It's 1843 and he's just hit the big thirty. A quick look around will maybe get you right back up to date. There's been a revolt in Spain - General Espartero has been ousted. Nothing new there, you might say, except that, in this case, he's been ousted in favour of a thirteen-year-old, which must have been a bit galling to say the least. Imagine it now: 'Ah, hello, Queen Elizabeth? Yes, glad I caught you. I hope it's OK with you, just wanted to check: we've decided to rationalize your post as part of a modernization process. And in your place, we're having Charlotte Church. She's sitting for the stamps as we speak. Would you mind if we borrowed a tiara?' Mmm. Not sure it would go down a storm, really.

Anyway, in Spain, the thirteen-year-old is called Isabella, although, before long, she is officially declared 'of age' and people start to call her Queen Isabella II. There's been a revolt in New Zealand, too - the Maoris are none too happy about singing 'God Save the Queen'. Seems fair, really - awful dirge. Elsewhere, Washington to Baltimore have just got Morse - presumably Series I. Also, the first nightclub has opened up in Paris, although it is rather perversely entitled 'The English Ball'. What else can I tell you? Well, in a place called Tromso, Norway, they've really started to get into the brand-new pastime called skiing. In the world of science, JP Joule has determined how much work is needed to produce one unit of heat - the 'mechanical equivalent of heat', as it's known - while next door, in literature, Tennyson has just published Morte A'Arthur. In fact, taking the 'neighbours' lark a bit further, next door but one, in philosophy, the feminist and radical John Stuart Mill has come up with his latest book, simply entitled Logic. But, three doors along, in the music department…