Among the Feathers, or: Who's the Bird Catcher Here?

Michael Nagl: So , when I open my eyes in the morning on a performance day, I’m me—that is, Michael Nagl. But a Michael Nagl who knows he’ll be singing that evening. That means I plan my day well and conserve my energy so that I can focus all my strength on the performance that evening. So I know all day long that I’ll be on stage in a role that evening, and I live accordingly. But I don’t really get into the part until very late—in the case of the *Magic Flute* production in Vienna: at the first note of the overture. That’s when I sit down in the chandelier and ride up into the fly space. When that happens, I know: It’s showtime! And even then: I am you, but I always remain myself as well.

At first, I just kind of grew into it. When I was a child, we used to put on family concerts again and again at our house in Leopoldau. We’d perform whatever we’d just learned: My sister played the recorder, my brother played the guitar—and I just sang. Once, the director of the Vienna Mozart Boys’ Choir was there and convinced me to join his choir. For me, that was great: We’d get together to make music, but I could still live at home, and there was always a strong sense of community within the choir. We sang a lot of Mozart, gave performances, and sometimes even dressed up as little Mozarts. And at some point, it became clear to me: What I’m doing here just feels right to me. Later, I went on to study voice in Vienna, and that’s how I ended up as a professional singer. Incidentally, my professional debut was also in *The Magic Flute*, at the Stadttheater Baden!

For me, the appeal of transforming into another person lies in exploring new facets of myself and immersing myself in a fantasy world that I would never experience in everyday life. At the same time, a role allows you to step out of one’s own personality for a moment and discover aspects of oneself that have no place in real life. For example, extreme naivety, openness, reserve, or even a certain meanness. This playful exploration of human traits is what makes portraying a character so exciting.

The role leaves me the moment the final applause begins. For me, the story we tell on stage also ends with the last note of the music. I deliberately take my bow as Michael Nagl and not as Papageno; after all, we singers are artists who portray a role but do not live it permanently.

It’s always good to maintain a certain distance from the role. Especially at a repertory theater like here in Vienna or at my home theater in Stuttgart, you ultimately have several roles in mind at the same time. Constantly reinventing yourself from scratch and switching between different personalities would probably drive one mad in the long run. That said: At first, it’s naturally easier to play someone who’s similar to you. You get into the character more quickly and can fall back on familiar facial expressions and body language. As you gain more experience, however, you continue to develop your craft —and in doing so, also learns to portray even very different characters in a believable and nuanced way.

*Sarastro* was part of a scaled-down version of *The Magic Flute* during the COVID-19 pandemic, and I thought to myself: Before I play Papageno, I’d like to know what it feels like to be Sarastro. That worked out well, by the way! But then you came along—and I quickly realized that it’s just more fun with you. Papageno suits my nature much better, if only because of the joy of playing. Maybe someday I’ll turn back to Sarastro when I’m older and a little more settled. But right now, I definitely prefer you.

That is one of the things that makes Mozart’s operas so wonderful. Many of his characters are almost ageless. Don Giovanni, for example, can be young, but he can also be older. The same goes for Figaro. Even Tamino. And, you’re right, Papageno too.

… Conductor, narrator, priest. I know. And then there are many other roles from his operas.

At first, this was mainly because the university likes to rely on Mozart operas. The orchestra is manageable, the parts often accompany singers well into their professional careers —and Mozart is also exceptionally good for the voice. Incidentally, my first Mozart role was Don Alfonso in *Così fan tutte*, back then in a university production. That was followed by Antonio in *Le nozze di Figaro* and, later, Masetto. And once a Leporello or a Figaro came along, it was like getting a taste for it. Above all, I have an immense amount of fun doing it. Mozart’s operas never lose their appeal—on the contrary: the more often you perform them, the more you discover in them.

Naive. Cheerful. Tragic.

Despite all your cheerfulness, you also have your lonely and desperate moments. You’re not just funny, naive, and cheerful. A comedic character, in particular, needs not only seriousness in their performance but also a serious side. After all, a good comedy thrives on the interplay of light and dark. If one of these levels is missing, the characters quickly become one-dimensional and shallow. After all, being human involves both.

I believe that, regardless of age, personality, or opera experience, everyone somehow sees a bit of themselves in Papageno. Perhaps because he’s the one closest to the audience. When he’s up to no good, can’t keep his mouth shut, just wants a glass of wine, faints from fear, or is terrified of the snake —all of that is human and immediately relatable. Most of us have already experienced much of it ourselves. And as for the most likeable character: That may well be true. But then the Queen of the Night appears, sings her arias—and steals the show. Mozart has already balanced that out perfectly.

At first, I had a lot of respect for you. I could already sense this: “Hmm, how do I approach you?” But that goes away with time; you just find your way and settle into the role.

No, I don't really think so. That would mean underestimating your character. You’re actually quite multi-faceted, as I’ve come to realize over the course of our collaboration. It’s only at first glance that you seem easy to figure out. But as we both know: What people choose to read into you depends not only on the two of us, but always on the directorial team’s interpretation as well.

So, neither of us has any feathers. And as for catching birds: I’m probably a lot less talented at that than you are. I imagine that, above all, you’d need to be a good climber for that—and that isn’t exactly one of my greatest strengths. What I do, however, definitely recognize in myself is your sociable and open nature. When you meet someone for the first time, you try to approach them with an open heart and just be nice. For example, I like the way you first meet Pamina: helpful, positive. In any case, I hope that others will also recognize a little bit of Papageno in me during similar moments.

Well, maybe sometimes I'm the kind of person who likes to take a detour.

I'd say I'm right in the middle between the two of you.

Ever since I’ve known *The Magic Flute*, I’ve always looked forward most—and this has absolutely nothing to do with Papageno—to the very short interlude in the *Tamino-Papageno-Three-Ladies Quintet, immediately after “Where might one find the castle?” That is, before “Three Little Boys, Young, Beautiful, Charming, and Wise” is sung. It moves me anew every single time. Even though it’s actually a very unassuming, simple passage.

These few measures are actually quite simple and yet magical. Another example: I’m currently singing *The Marriage of Figaro* in Amsterdam. And at the end, after the Count has asked for forgiveness, this tender “Ah, tut­ti con­ten­ti sa­re­mo co­sì” rings out—that is: “Ah, so we’ll all be happy”—then I think every time: “Mamma mia, what a blessing that I get to experience this and bring it to life on stage!” Mozart uses such simple means—and yet they have such a fascinating effect! I’m always moved by the thought that on an opera night, people come together, who have experienced completely different things during the day, and are then brought together through the music. With an energy that you hardly find anywhere else. It doesn’t matter whether you know anything about opera or not: What the music expresses in such moments is something everyone understands immediately—without any barriers, quite naturally.