Richard Wagner wrote operas. They are long. They’re about mythical characters, doomed lovers, and even the freaking holy grail. Grandiosity was Wagner’s thing, and he was grandiose about it. When you first hear his music, you probably think: What is this? Then you might ask: Where are the tunes? They bob up sometimes, but more often it’s bits of music coming and going, endlessly. The ones that return again and again signify a thing or character or theme. Those are called leitmotifs. The music doesn’t feel linear, either. It doesn’t make a tight argument, doff its powdered wig, and hop off. It fills rather than moves. At first it can seem boring, even decadent. But then something gets hold of you. The old sorcerer pulls you in. The colors swirl. The music rises like a flood. You’re left wondering what could have possibly come before it, and what, if anything, could come after it.
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