I am both honored and pleased to be able to once again present Dr. James A. Drake as our guest author today. A recently retired college president, James A. Drake is a distinguished author of seven books, four of which are biographies of great opera singers of the twentieth century. Although not a musician (he earned a doctorate in philosophy and taught primarily in social-science disciplines before he became a university administrator), Dr. Drake earned the confidence of the legendary soprano Rosa Ponselle, with whom he collaborated on her autobiography for Doubleday and Company. With a foreword by Luciano Pavarotti, the Ponselle-Drake collaboration yielded excellent reviews and was named "Music Book of the Month" by the National Book Clubs of America in 1982. The book was also promoted during a Metropolitan Opera broadcast in the 1982-83 season. By that time, Dr. Drake had been selected by Sara Tucker, widow of the celebrated tenor Richard Tucker, to write an authorized biography of the great singer, who had died in 1975 while at the peak of his career. For the Tucker book, Luciano Pavarotti again contributed a foreword, and the biography was officially released at a special event hosted by maestro James Levine at Lincoln Center. Once again, Dr. Drake's newest work received a "Music Book of the Month" award.
"He was so elegant,'" said Licia Albanese, the
incomparable Italian lyric soprano, of the American tenor James Melton, who
sang the role of Pinkerton to her Cio-Cio-San in Madame Butterfly at the
Metropolitan Opera in January 1946.
"He was so tall and handsome in his white Navy uniform, and his
voice was very, very beautiful," she said. "We also made recordings of the duet
from the first act of Butterfly, and our voices blended wonderfully."
This is the conclusion of that famous duet, which was
released by RCA Victor to coincide with the Melton-Albanese performances at the
Metropolitan Opera:
Almost singularly among twentieth-century American tenors,
James Melton (1904-1961) achieved stardom in every entertainment venue of his
era: on phonograph recordings, network
radio programs, nationwide concert tours, Metropolitan Opera performances,
Hollywood movie appearances, and even his own national television show.
Four examples from the prime of his career will illustrate
the smooth transitions he was able to make from one musical genre to
another. This is Melton’s recording of
"Ah, fuyez, douce image" from Manon, under the baton of Metropolitan
Opera conductor Wilfrid Pelletier:
A second example is his spirited rendition of "The
Donkey Serenade" from Friml's operetta, The Firefly, which Melton
performed during one of his weekly radio broadcasts in 1943:
A third example is his RCA Red Seal recording of Thomas P.
Westendorf's evergreen ballad, "I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen,"
which Melton imbued with a throbbing ruefulness that might have earned him a
pat on the back from John McCormack, his vocal inspiration and boyhood idol:
Another example is Melton's recording of the theme song from
Rodgers and Hammerstein's ground-breaking musical, Oklahoma!, which reflects
his ease with the Broadway musicals of the postwar era:
In today’s parlance, James Melton would be labeled a
"cross-over" singer. But in
the context of his times, when the gap between popular and classical vocal
music was not as chasmic as it would later become, Melton was regarded as a
versatile tenor with a voice equally suited to the operettas of Romberg and
Friml, the sentimental Irish ballads of Chauncey Olcott and Ernest Ball, the
Broadway show tunes of Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, and George Gershwin (with whom
Melton toured in 1934), and the lyric-tenor roles in the operas of Massenet,
Thomas, and Puccini.
In every venue in which he performed, Melton was engaged by
the top networks, record companies, theatrical agents, and corporate sponsors
of that time: he recorded for RCA
Victor's prestigious Red Seal label; he was represented by Evans & Salter,
the most influential theatrical agency of that era; he sang frequently on such
highly-rated radio programs as The Firestone Hour and The Bell Telephone Hour,
among others; he had his own weekly radio show, sponsored by Texaco (the
long-time sponsor of the Metropolitan Opera broadcasts); he sang eighty-three
performances as a leading tenor at the Metropolitan; he appeared in four movies
including the MGM Technicolor extravaganza, Ziegfeld Follies; and in the 1950s
he hosted his own weekly television program, sponsored by the Ford Motor
Company.
Melton's television show, "Ford Festival,"
reflected the tenor's lifelong passion for automobiles, especially antique
autos, which he collected, restored, and exhibited--so much so that like Jay
Leno today, Melton became known almost as much as for his antique-auto
collection (he amassed more than 100 vintage cars) as he was for his musical
career.
Yet despite the magnitude of his celebrity and the
popularity he enjoyed throughout his career--and unlike such contemporaries as
Richard Crooks and Jan Peerce on the opera stage, or later, Mario Lanza in
movies and on recordings--James Melton is scarcely remembered today. The reasons for this can be traced not only
to changing musical trends, especially during the 1950s, but also to Melton
himself. "He became his own worst
enemy," said Gustave Haenschen, a radio and recording executive who helped
shape Melton's early career and who remained one of his close friends.
"Artistically," Haenschen went on to say, "he
was a gifted singer with a very distinctive tenor voice. As a person, he was very outgoing, a real
charmer, and a very generous man. But
everything came too easily for Jim, and he didn't have the patience or the
self-discipline to handle it. Alcohol
was his downfall. He ended up destroying
everything he had worked for, and in the process he destroyed himself." The downward spiral of James Melton's later career, which was
well known in theatrical circles but was largely kept from the public, has been
chronicled recently in a candid but respectful personal memoir, James
Melton: The Tenor of his Times, written by
his daughter, Margo Melton Nutt, whom Melton and wife adopted in 1946. "For the first half of his career,"
she writes, "my father's talent, charm, and luck carried him ever
higher. Later, as the music business
changed and his career was on the wane, in his desperation he created enemies
instead of opportunities."
Although the sordid circumstances of Melton's death (in
April 1961, at age 57, from pneumonia and malnutrition caused by chronic
alcohol abuse) can only be described as pitiful, his rise to fame had been
extraordinarily rapid. Born in rural
Georgia, Melton spent his formative years in a small settlement near Ocala,
Florida. The son of a sawmill owner, and
one of seven children, he became known locally for his mechanical aptitude (he
repaired tractors and other farm equipment while also keeping his father's
sawmill running), his musical interests (he sang in his school choir and later
taught himself to play the saxophone), and especially his athletic
prowess: at 6' 3" and 180 lbs., and
fiercely competitive by nature, he was a formidable high-school football player. Melton was only sixteen when he graduated from high
school. He enrolled at the University of
Florida a few months later, and was accepted into the ROTC band as a
saxophonist. Off-campus, he played in
small bands for fraternity and sorority dances and other paying
engagements. Near the end of his
freshman year, he transferred to the University of Georgia, and then to
Vanderbilt University in Nashville, where the market for his saxophone-playing
was more lucrative.
At seventeen, Melton had a chance encounter with the popular
songwriter Chauncey Olcott, who overheard Melton vocalizing and asked him to
sing some of his songs. Suitably
impressed, Olcott recommended Melton to Gaetano de Luca, a regional voice teacher
with impressive testaments from successful singers who had studied with
him. (Later, Melton would study in Italy
with Enrico Rosati, the teacher of Beniamino Gigli and Giacomo Lauri-Volpi.) By age twenty-four, Melton had formulated a detailed career
plan that ultimately came to fruition.
"I plan to continue on radio and recordings," he wrote to his
fiancée, "[while] in the meantime studying for bigger and better things
which are sure to come. After another
year, or two, or three, I shall have enough money to begin a different phase of
singing, and with the perfection of my voice ... I will have no trouble at all
being engaged by the Metropolitan Opera."
"From there to the concert stage," he assured his
fiancee, "for a tenor of my own type, which is the rarest voice on earth,
is but a step. I should make a mark in
the world of music of which everyone concerned will be proud."
After intensive study with Gaetano de Luca, Melton relocated
to New York City, where he secured an audition with theater magnates J. J. and
Lee Shubert at the Winter Garden theater.
The Shuberts, who had launched Al Jolson's phenomenal career, offered
the young Melton a contract, but he declined it because some of its clauses
hinted at long-term obligations. Next,
he sought an audition with Samuel L. Rothafel, whose 6,200-seat movie palace,
the Roxy Theater, featured "live" entertainment before each motion
picture was screened. Rothafel finally consented to meet with Melton after the
brazen young tenor sang almost nonstop, in full voice, in the lobby of the
Rothafel's private office. Hearing the
promise in Melton's singing, and probably being impressed by the young man's
persistence, Rothafel offered him a contract for $1,000 per week--a substantial
sum for a beginner on Broadway at the time.
Soon afterward, Broadway's reigning impresario, Florenz
Ziegfeld, offered Melton a role in the upcoming edition of the Ziegfeld
Follies. But Rothafel urged Melton to
decline Ziegfeld's offer by pointing out that the annual Follies extravaganzas
had made stars of Nora Bayes, Fanny Brice, Ina Claire, and Marilyn Miller,
among others, but had only produced one noteworthy career for a tenor--namely,
John Steel, who had introduced Irving Berlin's "A Pretty Girl Is Like a
Melody" in the Follies of 1919. Acting upon Samuel Rothafel's advice, Melton tactfully
declined the Follies contract. Then he
received a completely unanticipated offer from The Revelers, an innovative male
quartet whose intricate, up-tempo arrangements (mostly by pianist-conductor
Frank Black, the musical and business partner of Gustave Haenschen) had made
the quartet extraordinarily popular on radio and recordings. Melton became the lead tenor of the quartet
when Franklyn Baur, who had joined the group in 1924, left The Revelers to
pursue a career in opera (which, unfortunately for Baur, never materialized). In March 1927, shortly before he left the group,
Baur and The Revelers were featured in a Warner Brothers Vitaphone film:
Melton, whose voice was slightly larger and more distinctive
in timbre than Franklyn Baur's, not only enhanced the popularity of The
Revelers, but also earned himself an increasing number of opportunities to sing solos during the
quartet's appearances. In turn, these
solo performances led to a recording contract for the Columbia Company's
then-new Viva-Tonal label, for which the young Melton made the majority of his
early recordings. This Viva-Tonal disc
dates from his first recording session for Columbia in 1927:
These Columbia Viva-Tonal recordings, along with other discs
that Melton made for Brunswick and other labels in the late 1920s, paved the
way to his long and lucrative career on network radio. From there, as Melton had predicted to his
then-fiancée (his wife, by this time), the Metropolitan Opera came within his
reach.
During the early years of his career, Melton, like his
contemporary Richard Crooks, had been compared to the legendary John McCormack,
who was still actively concertizing, making recordings, and appearing on radio
programs during the 1930s. Crooks had
managed to escape the comparison after his highly acclaimed Metropolitan Opera
debut in 1933 ("Crooks Triumphs in Opera Debut, Endless Curtain
Calls" was the headline of the New York Times review the next day), but
Melton never eluded the long shadow that McCormack cast throughout his forty-year
career. Initially, at least, Melton seemed to relish the comparison,
and alternately tried to compete with McCormack on radio while also vying for
his personal attention and approval--a strategy doomed from the start,
according to Milton Cross, radio's "Voice of the Metropolitan Opera"
for four decades.
"I got to know John McCormack rather well from the
radio programs I did with him," Cross said in a 1974 oral-history
interview. "He was always cordial
but very formal, rather aloof, and 'all business,' as they say--not the genial
Irishman that the public imaged him to be.
Although he was the most famous tenor of his time except Caruso,
McCormack was always suspicious of any upcoming singers who were singing what
he regarded as 'his' songs. I can
remember a number of times at rehearsals, when he would take me aside and quiz
me about other singers who were on the radio.
"'Now tell me, Mr. Cross,' he once said to me, 'who is
this Bing Crosby, and what do you know of him?'
I answered that I knew Bing personally, and that he was a fine
fellow. 'And what is his voice?,'
McCormack wanted to know. 'Well, he's a
light baritone,' I said, 'and he's a crooner like your friend Mr. [Rudy] Vallee.' I knew that McCormack liked Rudy Vallee
because Rudy had him on his radio show and treated him like a king--and Rudy,
of course, never sang any songs that were associated with John McCormack.
“'This boy Crosby is doing my songs on his program,'
McCormack said to to me very sternly.
'Last week he sang my 'Adeste Fidelis,' and I don't think I like that
very much!' I tried to remind him that
this was the holiday season, but that didn't seem to make any difference to
McCormack. After that conversation, I
got in touch with Bing and told him about it--and then Bing invited McCormack
to be on his radio program, and made a big fuss over him. From then on, Bing and McCormack became good
friends.
"Around that same time, McCormack took me aside again
and said, almost in the same words, 'Now tell me, Mr. Cross, who is this James
Melton, and what do you know of him?' I
said that I didn't know Melton very well, not like I knew Bing, but that
[Melton] was a light tenor who had been with The Revelers, and was now a
soloist on the radio. "'Are you aware,' McCormack said brusquely, 'that this
boy Melton had the nerve to sing my 'Macushla' on the radio this week? Does that boy think he can just steal my
music and take money from my own pockets?
I'll not allow it!'"
To readers who may be unfamiliar with John McCormack and the
mesmerizing effect he had upon audiences, this excerpt from the film Song o' My
Heart, in which McCormack starred in 1930, captures his unique voice and
artistry--especially his ability to sustain long, floating high tones--in the
ballad "I Hear You Calling Me," which McCormack rightly claimed as
"his" song:
At the time McCormack appeared in Song o' My Heart, his
career in the U.S. had already spanned two decades, and his enormously popular
recordings were staples in most American homes. His 1911 Victor Red Seal disc of
"Macushla," the ballad which he claimed Melton "stole" from
him, remains one of the iconic recordings of the pre-World War One era:
The alleged thievery of "Macushla" by the young
Melton became a national news item when a New York City newspaper published a
story about it. "Most listeners
didn't know it, but there was quite a battle on the air recently," the
news story claimed. "The
contestants, one in New York and the other in the Hollywood Bowl, were James
Melton, top tenor of The Revelers, and John McCormack ... and we mean the John
McCormack."
"It was bloodless but interesting. Melton knew he had to precede McCormack on
the air by an hour. He knew, too, that
his program would attract an audience almost as large as McCormack's. Melton went on the air and stepped out of the
quartet to do a solo. He selected the
song McCormack made famous, 'Macushla,' and did a beautiful job. When the great Irish singer's broadcast came
along later, 'Macushla" was conspicuous by its absence from his
program."
Melton, who was embarrassed by the news story but was still
hoping to gain McCormack's approval, invited the great tenor to a special
dinner in his honor at Melton's Manhattan home.
Preparing for the event, Melton's wife made sure that every detail
accorded with McCormack's tastes--not only the food, champagne, dessert, and
cognac, but even the brand of cigars that McCormack favored. Melton, intending to sing for McCormack after the sumptuous
meal, invited a piano accompanist to the dinner. McCormack, no doubt sizing up the situation
as the evening progressed, was genial and engaging throughout the dinner--but
as he was puffing on an after-dinner cigar, he sauntered to Melton's piano, sat
down, and sang a half-dozen of his signature ballads to his own
accompaniment. Immediately afterward, he
rose from the keyboard, thanked Melton and his wife for a delightful
evening--and abruptly left.
However hurtful the dismissiveness of McCormack may have been
to Melton at the time, the fact remained that he had already been typecast as
an "Irish tenor" and a potential heir to the McCormack legacy. What Melton lacked, however, was not only the
refinement of technique but also the interpretative nuance and subtlety of John
McCormack. By comparison, these
qualities are entirely absent in Melton's own recording of "I Hear You
Calling Me," which he made for RCA in 1949:
For all his well-earned acclaim as a popular-music radio and
recording artist, it is Melton's operatic career, and more specifically his
eight seasons with the Metropolitan Opera Company, that beckon our attention
here. In 1940, Lawrence Evans, Melton's
theatrical agent, sent a letter to Edward Johnson, the general manager of the
Metropolitan Opera. "I believe
[Melton's] repertoire is known to you," Evans wrote, "but for the
sake of clarity I list it herewith:
Manon, Mignon, Lucia, Butterly, Traviata, Lakme (in preparation), Martha
(in English).... As you know, Mr. Melton is singing these leading roles in
other cities opposite artists from the Metropolitan, and it would be shame if
he did not have the same chance here."
Through the intercession of a number of well-established
artists who were his personal friends, Melton was introduced to Fausto Cleva,
then an assistant conductor and choral director with the Metropolitan
Opera. Melton was also introduced to
Angelo Canarutto, who worked as a coach for the Chicago Opera and the Metropolitan. In turn, Canarutto prepared Melton in two
roles, Pinkerton and Alfredo, for an eventual debut with a regional opera
company. That debut took place with the
Cincinnati Summer Opera Company in July 1938, with Melton singing the role of
Lieutenant B. F. Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly.
The debut was an unqualified success.
"Melton Captures Opera Lovers' Hearts," said the
New York Times when, in the summer of
1939, he returned to Cincinnati to sing Traviata and Mignon. Next, in the autumn of 1939, amid radio
appearances and recording sessions, he appeared as a guest artist with the
National Opera Company in New York City, the Chicago City Opera, and the
Philadelphia La Scala Opera.
On December 7, 1942, one year to the day after the attack on
Pearl Harbor, Melton made his Metropolitan Opera debut. The headline of the New York Times review
proclaimed, "Melton a Success in His Opera Debut / The Georgia-Born Lyric
Tenor Scores as Tamino at Metropolitan." "James Melton's name and voice," wroteTimes critic
Howard Taubman, "have been known to the American public for a good many
years as a result of his work in radio, concerts, records and the movies. If that public needs any further endorsement
of his attainments, Mr. Melton proved it when he made his debut in the role of
Tamino in The Magic Flute and proved beyond question that he belongs in the
company. "The only question was:
Why had it taken the company so long to add this gifted American tenor
to its roster? Mr. Melton acted and sang
with the poise that a singer gains only from years of appearing in public
... Mr. Melton's is a true lyric tenor
voice. It is not like some other lyric
tenors that are too frail for the vast spaces of the Opera House; it is sturdy
enough to be heard in the uppermost tier of the Metropolitan. Mr. Melton sang intelligently, and with
sensitive regard for the Mozart style.
He brought dignity and elegance to the part of Tamino. He should grace other roles."
Fortunately, Melton recorded a number of French and Italian
arias for RCA Victor during his eight-year tenure with the Metropolitan. Additionally, and perhaps more importantly,
several of the Met's Saturday matinee broadcasts in which Melton sang were
recorded, either partially or in their entirety, and excerpts from these
historic performances are now available online for our scrutiny.
As our departure point, we will begin with the duet that
closes Act One of Donizetti's Lucia ("Sulla tomba ... Verranno a te sull'
aure"), which Melton sang with Lily Pons in the title role during a
Metropolitan broadcast on January 8, 1944:
Until the final note of the duet--when Pons momentarily
sagged below pitch, hastily corrected it, and then held the climactic note
considerably longer than Melton--the pairing of the young, tall American tenor
and the petite, world-renowned French coloratura in an opera that Pons
essentially owned at the Met, was a success with the audience as well as the
critics.
From that same 1944 broadcast, this is Melton's performance
of "Tombe degli avi miei" and "Fra poco a me ricovero":
By contrast, another of Melton's off-the-air performances,
this one from his Texaco radio program in 1946, betrays either a lapse of
judgment or an excess of hubris on his part as he attempts to sing
"Celeste Aida," which he had performed in the Warner Brothers film
Stars Over Broadway:
Although Melton had written confidently to his wife that
"'Celeste Aida' will establish the legitimacy of my singing," his
performance instead discloses some of his vocal, linguistic, and dramatic
limitations. His singing of the aria,
which is marred by persistent intonation problems and barely intelligible
Italian pronunciation, contains no semblance of the aria's dramatic
requirements, and may be charitably labeled as an unidiomatic performance.
In a repertoire more congenial to the range and size of his
voice, however, Melton could come closer to the requirements of a role. This is his RCA Red Seal recording of
Pinkerton's aria, "Addio fiorito asil":
By contrast, as Melton's studio performance of the
"Siciliana" from Cavalleria rusticana attests, he lacked the vocal
resources for the role of Turiddu, although he recorded the aria with the RCA
Victor Symphony Orchestra under Wilfrid Pelletier's direction:
The familiar "M'appari" from Flotow's Martha was
an attempt by Melton to invite favorable comparisons to the other
Depression-era tenors who, after Caruso, had appropriated the aria on
recordings, especially Beniamino Gigli, Tito Schipa, and Giovanni
Martinelli. In his radio performance of
the aria, Melton acquitted himself well enough to earn a favorable review from
the critics:
At the Metropolitan Opera, Melton's limited foothold in the
lyric repertoire, which had seemed initially secure after his successful debut,
was loosened by a sequence of events over which he had no personal
control. First, and most devastatingly,
was the sudden death of Angelo Canarutto, who had given Melton the preparation
and confidence he needed when he undertook the transition from popular music to
Italian and French opera. (Almost
simultaneously, Canarutto had done the same for Richard Tucker, who was then a
full-time cantor in Brooklyn.) On August
29, 1944, as he was preparing to board a cruise ship in Portland, Oregon,
Canarutto suffered a fatal aneurysm.
Next came the Metropolitan Opera debuts of two younger
tenors, one an American and the other Italian, who would soon displace Melton
in the lyric repertoire. The first of
the two, Richard Tucker, made a highly acclaimed debut as Enzo in La Gioconda
on January 25, 1945. In Tucker, the
critic Irving Kolodin later wrote, "the Metropolitan acquired its most
beautiful tenor voice since Gigli's."
Three seasons later, in 1948, another newcomer, Giuseppe Di
Stefano, made his debut as the Duke in Rigoletto. "His musical merits have mostly to do
with style," said Virgil Thomson in his
Herald-Tribune review. "He
is interesting on a stage in a way not wholly explicable by the mere fact that he
is young and, as tenors go, personable.
He can carry a show now musically and personally... He has charm and
theatrical sense, as well as musical instinct.
Given technical perfection, he could be a fine artist."
During his debut season, Di Stefano earned particular
acclaim for his Des Grieux in Manon, a role which Melton had first sung at the
Met in January 1948, with Eleanor Steber in the title role. At the time, both Melton and Steber received
tepid reviews from the major critics ("The result ... was favorable,"
said Thomson, "from the simple fact that it was not in any sense a failure"),
whereas Di Stefano, when he assumed the role two months later, "looked the
part of the 'handsome young aristocrat' of Abbé Prevost's imagination and acted
the role ably, investing his impersonation with refinement and fervor."
A third factor in Melton's declining popularity (and, again,
one over which he had no control) was the American public's changing taste in
popular music after World War Two. The
postwar years brought to the fore (or, in some instances, reinforced) the radio
and recording careers of such immensely popular young singers as Frank Sinatra,
Tony Martin, Perry Como, Frankie Laine, and Tony Bennett. Melton came to know these "new" singers and
numbered them among his personal friends.
Melton, in fact, had invited Sinatra to perform on his Texaco radio
program:
While he could hold his own in a mock opera duet with the
young Sinatra in the 1940s, Melton was at a loss to skyrocketing popularity of
Mario Lanza during the 1950s:
Melton, adrift in the wake of Lanza's phenomenal popularity
and doing his best to keep his loyal but diminishing fan base, returned to the
music of Broadway for his subsequent recordings. The resulting discs were not recorded by
mainstream companies, however, but by smaller ones to which Melton turned when
RCA gave him little or nothing to
record. These smaller labels gave Melton some of his last
commercially-viable recordings. This is
his 1952 rendition of "Beyond the Sea," which had been popularized in
Europe as "La mer" by Charles Trenet, the French cabaret singer. Unlike the latter's recording (which
eventually found its way into the soundtrack of Steve Martin's 1991 film, L.A.
Story), Melton's recorded version lacks any discernible individuality:
One of Melton's last commercial recordings, which he made
for the low-budget Mayfair label in 1958, confirms that even at the dusk of his
career (and near the end of his life, unfortunately), his voice had still
retained much of its earlier color:
In sum, and to raise the all-important question, what are we
to make of the operatic career of James Melton?
Approximately four years after he had been quietly dropped from the
Metropolitan roster during the transition in management from Edward Johnson to
Rudolf Bing (who replied, when I asked him about Melton during an interview,
"I don't recall him but I believe he was one of Mr. Johnson's
tenors"), Irving Kolodin expressed his opinion in The Story of the
Metropolitan Opera 1883-1950, published in 1953.
"Considering
James Melton's beginnings in radio as a member of the vocal ensemble called The
Revelers," Kolodin wrote, "the tenacity of purpose that brought him
to a Metropolitan debut as Tamino in The Magic Flute must be admired, if not
too much in the performance itself. He
later sang a small-scaled Alfredo in La Traviata and a rather lame Ottavio in
Don Giovanni with a voice of agreeable quality but gravely limited size. On all occasions, the breezy self-assurance
that caused [Sir Thomas] Beecham to allude to him, when he could not recall his
name, as 'the gentleman jockey' tended to make his characterizations a little
bumptious."
To another well-respected critic, however, Kolodin's
assessment seemed "much too harsh" in retrospect. Max de Schauensee, the Philadelphia music
critic who heard Melton's operatic career in its entirety, disagreed with
Kolodin's acidic judgment.
"But," De Schaunsee added, "James Melton will always be
difficult to pinpoint as an opera singer.
He surely was one, nevertheless, and he sang leading tenor roles at the
Metropolitan Opera for eight years. To
borrow a line from the Gershwins, who could ask for anything more?"
James A. Drake
What a pleasure once again to read of the acclaimed Dott Drake on Great Opera Singers!
ReplyDeleteIt seems that notwithstanding the sad undertone of unfulfilled promise shown by Melton, he was plainly, in his own domain, a great one, for the acknowledgment of such colleagues as Licia Albanese can bear no other meaning.
Kind thanks once again to the Dott Drake and the Prof St Austell.
Caro amico! Che piacere! Grazie mille per il bel commento,molto apprezzato! It is always a pleasure to hear from you, and you are quite right that the acknowledgement of Melton's star quality by great singers such as Albanese tells the story! Thank you again; we are all fortunate to have so distinguished an author as Dr. Drake illuminate this matter, and we also all look forward to soon hearing again from you, another very distinguished critic! The New Year is off to a very good start! CIA,
ReplyDeleteEdmund.
What a nice way to welcome in the New Year with an article that is clear, easy to follow, well written, full of information, and one that contains good selections of Melton's singing abilities. My first thought was that he sounded a bit like McCormack. Then I was surprised to hear him singing "Oklahoma" much the way that Gordon MacRae did--pleasant but not "overdone," as many opera singers would have sung it. Sad to hear about his ultimate demise. It reminds us again of how many great talents were destroyed by excess, alcohol, etc.
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year, Mr. Hobbes! Always a pleasure to hear from you, such a loyal long-time reader! Yours is a great comment, and hits the high spots of this wonderful article perfectly! Yes, a masterpiece of writing that flows like a stream, and as you say, is full of information. Thanks again, always a pleasure!
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year to you, Edmund, and thanks for this article by Dr. Drake. I agree absolutely with Mr. Hobbes, who pointed out how easy it is to read, while at the same telling a fascinating, if rather sad story. Thanks to you both!
ReplyDeleteMartha
And Happy New Year to you Martha! I always know we are up and running when you and Mr. Hobbes write in. No blogger has ever been blessed by a better regular group of readers, and boy do I appreciate it! Thanks for your comment, and here's wishing you a wonderful 2014!
ReplyDeleteThis is a really great article! It is so nice to read about Melton again. I always admired him. That was a genuinely beautiful voice, and I still prefer it to some of the bellowing that took over when Bing came on board. A lot was lost when the elegant light lyric tenors were driven out. As for pop singers with big voice like Lanza.....well, the less said the better as far as I'm concerned. Thanks for a GREAT article!
ReplyDeleteG. di Angelo
May I thank you, first, for your fine compliment about my article. Without drawing any attention away from its subject, the great American tenor James Melton, I would like to note that Melton and Lanza shared the same voice teacher in Italy (Enrico Rosati, Gigli's and Lauri-Volpi's principal teacher), and also that Licia Albanese consistently maintained that Mario Lanza, in terms of the quality of his voice and the security of his technique, had all of of the prerequisites for an operatic career as a lyric tenor. (Additionally, Milton Cross, who heard Lanza at the Hollywood Bowl, held the popular tenor in the same regard in which Albanese held Lanza.) But the essential point of your comment, namely, the diminishing attention paid to light lyric-tenor singing at the Metropolitan Opera during the Bing years, might be viewed differently today if the great Fritz Wunderlich, whom Bing had engaged in 1965, had lived to make his debut as Don Ottavio on October 8, 1966. Tragically, he died in an accident a mere three weeks before his highly-anticipated debut.
DeleteThank you, Mr. di Angelo. I greatly appreciate your comment. I imagine others might have different opinions about Lanza, but hey!...it's your opinion, and that's what matters. I'm prepared to admit there were some serious weak spots there, especially musically speaking! Thanks again for writing in, and welcome to Great Opera Singers. You're always welcome here.
ReplyDeleteI am simply delighted to come across this wonderful post about my father, James Melton. Especially delighted as this is the eve of his 110th birthday, January 2nd.
ReplyDeleteThank you Dr. Drake and Mr. St. Austell!
Margo Melton Nutt
Margo.Nutt@Dartmouth.edu
Dear Ms. Nutt, In addition to thanking you for your much-appreciated compliment about the article, may I also recommend to our readers your personal blog:
Deletehttp://jamesmeltonmusicalcareerantiquecars.blogspot.com
Thank you so very much for writing, Mrs. Nutt! I am honored that you read and enjoyed Dr. Drake's superb article on your father's career. You have of course yourself rendered great service to his memory with your own excellent book "The Tenor of His Times." I am happy to have helped provide a cyber-platform for the further perpetuation of your father's memory. He was a very fine singer, no doubt about it! Again, my thanks, Edmund StAustell
ReplyDeleteThank you, Mr. Modesti. I suspect there are a fair number of people out there with similar memories. Dr. Drake has performed a real service here, bringing back to memory a singer who was very popular indeed in his day! Your comment is appreciated!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dr. Drake, for a genuinely masterful and comprehensive picture of the career of James Melton. Your use of recordings other than Melton’s to draw comparisons was very enlightening and entertaining. (I followed your lead in pulling up Alan Jones’ rendition of “Donkey Serenade” – a song I’m sure Jones felt he “owned.”) Your exploration of some of the cultural and personal factors that led, both to Melton’s early success and eventual professional decline, ring very true. Regarding his eight seasons at the Met, I wonder if, in another time, his opera career could have been that of a respectable journeyman; that is, not electrifying or vividly memorable, but “getting the job done” on a dependable basis. (I think of the tenors Barry Morrell, recently shown on a post by Edmund, and Frank Lopardo, for example.) But, perhaps ironically, Melton was too talented and ambitious to settle for that.
ReplyDeleteLike so many of Edmund’s contributions as well as your own, the placing of an opera singer’s fame in a cultural context continues to fascinate me. I think you show that attempts to portray Melton as a dilettante or “gentleman jockey” are off the mark. He really did make it big in records, radio, television, concerts, Hollywood, and at the Met. He seems to me an example of the dangers of an unbridled pursuit of the “American Dream” where effort, self-confidence and optimism yield early success, a success that, over time, changes to a delight in fame itself. Melton seems to me a genuine American type for whom the dangers of fame (hubris as you suggest, or simply the appeal of glamour) are the seeds of eventual disaster. Based on what you have written, Dr. Drake, I wonder if Melton’s ambition and diligence combined with his gifts and determination to find a way to the “top” in all these fields. But once there he could not, in the face of changing times and inner demons, navigate a path to stay there. I think the nature of fame itself carries with it an almost inevitable downward spiral that is often precipitous and cruel. What works to get us to the top are the very qualities (especially if we are uncritical of them) that bring us down. Still, it is interesting to me that, after reading what you have given us, I am left with an appreciation for Melton as a quite wonderful, if flawed, human being and artist; one deserving of appreciation and understanding, even pity. In contrast, I find myself in genuine awe of the artistry of John McCormack, but repelled by his ruthless careerism and the man himself.
The evidence for your comment that "once there [Melton] could not, in the face of changing times and inner demons, navigate a path to stay there," lies in the number of venues in which he quickly rose to the top and then, after a relatively brief time, moved into another entertainment medium.
DeleteThe impression I gleaned from Gustave Haenschen, was that Melton was almost terminally restless--a trait that was ill-served by his obsessive-compulsive inclinations. Haenschen said that Melton seemed the happiest when the two of them were working together on the vintage cars that Melton avidly collected and restored.
Thanks to Dr. Drake for the re-discovery. The most interesting article. If a singer like Melton appeared in the modern Bolshoi, our opera lovers would have been happy. There are no tenors of his caliber in the theater now. He couldn’t compete to McCormack, but his recordings are impressive, and his timbre was beautiful.( By the way, this recording of ‘Macushla’ represents McCormack's voice better than many of his operatic recordings. His skills and timbre were extraordinary). Definitely Melton was a great lyric tenor. Perhaps if it was not for his drinking, he would have been known well now, like other singers, who were not in the ‘major league’ . For example, Orfenov, Bolshakov, Khromchenko were second to Lemeshev, Kozlovsky and Nellep in the Bolshoi, however, they are well known now, they had big careers on the radio, left a lot of recordings and they didn’t drink. Of course, it’s not easy to be an artist, whose fame is not so big – everyone wants to become a great star, and non-star career perhaps requires more discipline.
ReplyDeleten.a.
Thank you JING, great comment! Very much appreciated!
ReplyDeleteThank you NATALIE! The view from Moscow is always interesting and most informative. We all admire and appreciate the Russian singers we know, and yearn to know more!! (What's the weather in Moscow at the moment? I'm buried in snow in Indiana!
Edmund
"What's the weather in Moscow at the moment? "
ReplyDeleteIt's warm in Moscow now. Yesterday the temperature was +2, today is -2:)
n.a.
I feel that we shouldn't think too badly of James Melton's descent into alcoholism. As they say the higher one climbs, the harder one falls. Even if he did have the self-discipline and the patience to weather a decline in his career, it must have been horrible for Melton to watch his career slipping away from him not long after he made it to the top. This truly reminds me of what happened to Buster Keaton. Unlike Keaton, it's a pity that Melton wasn't able to live long enough to get back the fame he once had.
ReplyDeleteThere's 1 thing I don't quite understand about the article. I read that Melton only turned to the Met because the rise of American baritone pop singers like Bing Crosby etc. forced him to turn to the Met as a means of salvaging his flagging career. This article seems to say the opposite, that the Met was all along his ultimate goal.
Honestly, after listening to Melton's operatic work, I can see why he was described as a tenor whom the Met can count on instead of a tenor that can draw an audience. His renditions of Edgardo's, Lionel's and Pinkerton's arias were good, but there are tenors whose voices are more beautiful than his or who can imbue more passion and emotion into their singing. I'm not saying he can't sing emotionally and passionately but I feel that his biggest problem was he lacked vocal color. Did he undergo sufficient vocal training? Such a tenor shouldn't have come this much short if he had enough instruction. He was ill-advised to perform Turiddu's and Radames' arias. I feel Dr. Drake was too harsh on him. Those 2 roles were simply not suitable for him at all. You can't blame him for exposing all his weaknesses with these performances.
To be honest, I prefer Melton's to McCormack's performances of the Irish ballad. I can make out more of Melton's words than McCormack's. I'd rather have a crooning tenor than a purring one.
When I listen to the Donkey Serenade and the Oklahoma song, I can't help thinking that perhaps what Melton was best suited for are operetta and Broadway.
If Melton had lived long enough to see the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals take the US by storm, I feel things would have turned out quite differently for him. He might be an opera tenor but he really knew how to dish out a good musical number. He didn't sing the musical number as though it was an aria like several opera singers are inclined to do. It's a pity we don't have such singers anymore.
Judging by the Donkey Serenade, I feel Melton not only had the voice for operetta, he also had a gift for comedy. He's so much better than Lanza who makes the Donkey Serenade sound like a serenade rather than a serenade in jest. It's a pity he wasn't in Europe. Both singers had charm but I feel Lanza was more successful because the pop music of the time suited his talents better. He had a more evocative voice. If Melton had been born earlier or gone to Europe, things would have been quite different. He had more humor and wit, which would have suited those early American operettas and vaudeville numbers more.
A great article on a sadly under-appreciated tenor who deserves to be better remembered. I look forward to seeing another of Dr. Drake's articles on a male American opera singer.
Darren, Your insightful, astute observations and assessments are always welcome here, and I will try to respond to those that I may be equipped to address knowledgeably. "I'm not saying [Melton] can't sing emotionally and passionately," you commented, "but I feel that his biggest problem was he lacked vocal color." Yet during the prime of his career, he was regularly commended for the full-bodied timbre of his voice, which seemed slightly larger and seeingly more passionate and "Italianate" than Crooks's voice was.
Delete"There's 1 thing I don't quite understand about the article," you went on to say "I read that Melton only turned to the Met because the rise of American baritone pop singers like Bing Crosby etc. forced him to turn to the Met as a means of salvaging his flagging career. This article seems to say the opposite, that the Met was all along his ultimate goal."
In fact, none of the Crosby-Columbo-Vallee "crooner" phenomenon of the years 1927-1937 (to which I must add Gene Austin, whom Vallee said launched the crooner phenomenon) had any discernible effects on Melton's ultimate aspirations. Actually, Melton resolved early in his lessons with Gaetano de Luca to pursue an operatic caeer to the exclusion of the operetta and popular-music repertoire he wanted to leave behind.
You also commented, "When I listen to the 'Donkey Serenade' and the 'Oklahoma!' song, I can't help thinking that perhaps what Melton was best suited for are operetta and Broadway."
"Judging by the 'Donkey Serenade,'", you added, "I feel Melton not only had the voice for operetta, he also had a gift for comedy. He's so much better than Lanza who makes the 'Donkey Serenade' sound like a serenade rather than a serenade in jest. It's a pity he wasn't in Europe. Both singers had charm but I feel Lanza was more successful because the pop music of the time suited his talents better. He had a more evocative voice. If Melton had been born earlier or gone to Europe, things would have been quite different. He had more humor and wit, which would have suited those early American operettas and vaudeville numbers more."
I find myself in full agreement with you about the rightful venue for the sum total of James Melton's abilities as a tenor, actor, Broadway musical performer, and a creator of memorable characters. I will go so far as to venture that Richard Crooks would have similarly been immortalized in operetta: his Victor "Gems" excerpts from The Student Prince (especially his singing of the Serenade) and from The Desert Song (I would invite any comparison to Crooks' stunning singing of "One Flower Grows Alone in Your Garden") are where his voice really lay, at least to my ears.
In that same vein, I think that Melton would have been a phenomenal operetta tenor. His voice had the drive, the carrying quality, and the ease of production to have sung the operettas of Herbert, Friml, and Romberg in particular. And as you say, had he lived to return to Broadway at the height of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Melton's refined voice, physical size and handsome features would have put him at the head of the class that included John Raitt, Alfred Drake and Arthur Kent, Drake's older brother.
Thank you for a very interesting comment, Darren. You raise important issues, which I'm sure Dr. Drake will address when he checks in again. In the meantime, many thanks, and please permit me to wish you a Happy New Year, and to congratulate you on your own fine article on Arthur Endreze, which many of our readers have by now have read. Edmund
ReplyDeleteI found this content engaging and informative. Thank you for the hard work you put into researching this article. Thanks dear Edmund! GOD BLESS!
ReplyDelete