His heroes were Sunday children: On the death of Peter Seiffert

Merkur His heroes were Sunday children: On the death of Peter Seiffert Markus Thiel • 12 hours • 3 minutes reading time Obituary A unique voice, exemplary in its development and pure gold: Peter Seiffert was grandeur in sound. An obituary for the tenor. "Circe! Circe!" The first calls are for Bacchus, disgustingly high and sung backstage, where most tenors are already at their limit. But here, in the fall of 2015 at the Bavarian State Opera, one got the feeling: This man is just getting started. And: He's having fun. It was one of Peter Seiffert's last Munich opera appearances. He was already in early retirement, and Kirill Petrenko occasionally had to guide the star back on track. Regardless, Seiffert may not have been the most precise or text-wise in his field. But anyone with such a voice, such bright gold, was forgiven everything. Seiffert died on Monday at his home near Salzburg. He was 71 years old, and one can assume that if it weren't for this serious illness, he would still be on stage. Because he found singing a joy, as was evident in every role he played. And because his voice was allowed to develop in exemplary fashion: from the delicately strung Fenton in Otto Nicolai's "The Merry Wives of Windsor," which he sang under Wolfgang Sawallisch at the Bavarian State Opera, to the heavy hero of Tannhäuser. An instinctive singer in the best sense Even though this unique voice stretched and expanded, Peter Seiffert always sounded essentially the same. His heroes were Sunday children made into sound. And later, when it came to darker roles, men who strolled through a pleasure garden—although this can certainly be interpreted as ambiguous. Seiffert lived out his Bacchus character in his private life as well. Born in Düsseldorf, he knew how to enjoy life. With a grandeur, a free-for-all charm that was reflected in his interpretations. Offstage, Seiffert was a playboy and solo entertainer: self-irony, a never-offending sense of humor, and anecdotes bursting with punchlines. At a guest performance by the Bavarian State Opera in Tokyo, Seiffert conversed for minutes in imaginary Japanese, à la Hape Kerkeling, to the surprise and amusement of the locals. This man certainly deserved a TV show. Seiffert, although he knew it himself, was certainly no brooder, no intellectual. No one who weighed his art on a gold scale – and yet he produced precisely that precious metal every evening. He was the typical example of an instinctive singer, perhaps similar to Fritz Wunderlich, who simply did everything right and was convincing. And instinct guided him through his career. From the ensemble of the Deutsche Oper am Rhein to the Deutsche Oper Berlin, until he no longer needed the restrictive permanent position. Stages fought over him. First for the Mozart singer Seiffert, then for the youthful hero (Erik, Max, Florestan), and finally for the vocal heavyweight who had no trouble with Siegmund, Tristan, or Tannhäuser. Last Munich appearance with Mahler One of his lifelong roles was Lohengrin. He sang it for the first time, fresh from his change of repertoire, in Munich, again under Sawallisch and in a revival of August Everding's production, and later, much more mature, at the Bayreuth Festival. A knight whose origins in the abstinent world of the Grail were never fully believed – but his love for Elsa was evident. She played Seiffert's second wife, the soprano Petra-Maria Schnitzer, in Bayreuth. He was previously married to the singer Lucia Popp. The two found each other through the Munich production of "The Merry Wives," but Seiffert had long since recovered from Lucia Popp's early death from cancer in 1993. This exceptional tenor shouldn't be limited to the German repertoire, even though he dominated it for decades. In Munich, Seiffert also risked the title role in Verdi's "Otello" – and mastered the killer role with ease. He also occasionally took on Verdi's Messa da Requiem, embarrassing many colleagues with his heartfelt "Ingemisco" solo. In 2021, he wanted to bid farewell to the stage with Siegmund at the Füssen Festival Hall, of all places, but the coronavirus pandemic prevented this "Walküre." It was only natural that Seiffert was also the ideal interpreter of Gustav Mahler's "Song of the Earth." At his last Munich performance in March 2016, worlds collided in this concert. Here was baritone Christian Gerhaher, who examined every syllable, every interval for meaning. And there was Seiffert, who lived out the Bacchanalian spirit of his pieces through singing. "Now take the wine! Now it's time, comrades!" he hurled at the enthusiastic audience in the National Theater. "Empty your golden cups to the bottom! Dark is life, dark is death!"