Preface

Written: January 1, 2013

Chapter 1: Happy New Year’s Day!
And—far more important to me—Happy Wagner Bicentennial Birth Year!

Now, this probably isn’t a momentous occasion for most people—neither Wagner’s bicentennial nor this blog. I’d guess that, in the United States, the vast majority of people know very little about Wagner and virtually nothing about his music—aside from a few cartoonish snippets. (Cue: Kill the wabbit!)

In short, most people couldn’t care less. He’s not their cup of tea, they assume—wrongly, in many cases. Then there are the more aggressive types: those who actively loathe Wagner and would rather see him flushed down the cultural cesspool, usually without knowing much about him or his music. I find that… irritating.

I love Wagner’s music. He is, without question, the musical love of my life—and that realization struck me like a thunderbolt. But I’m not in the “love the music, hate the man” camp. I actually like Wagner the man, warts and all.

How can I say that about someone often described as a monster?

Well, that’s one of the reasons I’m writing this blog. There’s no quick answer that does the question justice—at least none that have ever come to my mind.

I’ve been intending to write about Wagner since 2001. Originally, I imagined it as a book—before blogging was even a thing. But a blog makes more sense anyway. I can include links to music, performances, essays, and other material. My original plan was to start writing upon my retirement in 2007 and finish in 2013 to coincide with Wagner’s 200th birthday.

But life—and, to be honest, laziness—got in the way.  So I decided: I’ll just put out what I can in 2013, and that’ll be that.

My intent in this blog is not to censor myself—much. Christopher Hitchens, paraphrasing Nadine Gordimer, once wrote: “A serious person should try to write posthumously… One should compose as if the usual constraints—of fashion, commerce, self-censorship, public and especially intellectual opinion—did not operate.” That’s my aim.

Even if it’s embarrassing when I talk about sex and Wagner.  Even if I feel ambivalent about revealing—or maybe even reveling in—felonious behavior.  For the record: I’m not a scholar. (Yes, I worked at a university—but as a maintenance person. I plunged scholars’ toilets.)

I don’t read music. I can’t tell a sharp from a flat. I don’t play an instrument. I can’t sing. And I grew up hating classical music. In other words: I’m exactly the kind of person Wagner was writing for. (I’ll come back to that in a future post.)

Because this blog has no academic pretensions, I’ll be speaking plainly. I don’t plan to mince words. There will be the occasional—okay, maybe regular—vulgarity. Because frankly, so much surrounding Wagner can only be called bullshit. No other word fits.

That said, don’t mistake informality for unreliability. I care deeply about truth and fairness. If you’re going to make a controversial claim, you damn well better back it up. If you can’t—or won’t—then you shouldn’t say it.  I’m not from Missouri, but I should be.

If you ever believe I’ve failed to support something properly, let me know—I’ll track it down like a pig after truffles. Or retract it if I can’t.  I’ll use real footnotes. And links. Sometimes links as footnotes.

So let my little personal celebration—and long, winding reflection—on Wagner begin.