The Legendary Giacomo Lauri Volpi, Featured In Some Of His Rare Recordings

There is no question that Giacomo Lauri Volpi (1892-1979) was one of the greatest tenors of all time. Trained in the classic bel canto technique, he quickly became one of its greatest exemplars, possessing a voice of extraordinary range and clarity. In a career extending over 40 years, he was everywhere known and applauded, and became a legend in his own lifetime. His biography is so well known, and so easy to consult, that I wish, in this special edition of Great Opera Singers, to dwell on Lauri Volpi as seen in four of his rarest recordings, provided by Dr. Gian Paolo Nardoianni, to whom I am most grateful. These recordings, most of them in live performance, speak volumes.

I had the singular good fortune, several weeks ago, to make the acquaintance of Dr. Nardoianni, who was a personal acquaintance of Lauri Volpi and who possesses an uncommonly good musical library of the great tenor's recordings. This is quite important, because Lauri Volpi in fact did not like to record. Like Giuseppe Giacomini, he was more a creature of the theater, where his extraordinary voice could be heard in all its glory. Any Lauri Volpi recording, therefore, is valuable, and if they are rare, they are even more so.

Because Dr. Nardoianni knew Lauri Volpi personally, his observations on the tenor's life and work are privileged, and I am pleased to be able to reproduce them as a prelude. Characterizing in general the personality of Lauri Volpi, Dr. Nardoianni wrote that:

"Lauri Volpi was a highly cultivated, deeply religious man. He studied law at the University of Rome and took part in World War One, fighting bravely. He shunned publicity in every form and—unfortunately for us—hated making records. He was fundamentally a timid man, but had to be aggressive in order to survive in the cynical operatic environment. On stage, but only when pushed, he could be diffident, touchy, even unruly. In his private life he was sensitive, refined, courteous and chivalrous. His generosity towards the needy was legendary and he had a very happy married life."

Let us go now to the first recording to be featured, and this is a unique live recording made in Barcelona in 1972:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGXy6fYwe7U



An absolutely thrilling performance! The audience is simply beside itself. It is very hard, verging on impossible, to believe that the great tenor was only a few months short of his 80th birthday when this was recorded! Dr. Nardoianni added this historical comment:

"Lauri Volpi and Maria Jeritza premiered Turandot at the Met on 16th November 1926. On the opening night, Lauri-Volpi noticed that the public remained unresponsive to the aria "Nessun Dorma," such as Puccini had written it; that is, without the "corona" on the final high B. So, after getting Serafin's approval, the night of the second performance, Lauri-Volpi, for the first time in the history of Turandot, topped off the aria with a sustained high B which [made] the audience delirious. He can rightly be called the creator of the "Nessun Dorma" such as it is sung today."

Now, here is a real rarity that I did not know existed, and yet it is a beautiful bit of singing that shows Lauri Volpi as a young man in full control of his extraordinary gifts:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYICYzPDRi0



On this recording, Dr. Nardoianni added:

"Sparkling top notes produced with stunning ease and exquisite "piani." Lauri-Volpi's singing was always wonderfully nuanced." I absolutely concur!
It was in Milan, in 1954, that the following recording was made, and Lauri Volpi, now 62 years of age, sings with all the clarity, beauty of sound, stylistic excellence, and immaculate pronunciation that characterized his singing from the beginning to the end of his career. The words are so clear that it sometimes seems that it would not even be necessary to understand Italian in order to understand him! Here is "Donna non vidi mai," from Puccini's Manon Lescaut.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaEu5rtk1fo



An absolutely beautiful rendition of a very well known aria. This is singing that cannot be faulted in any way; a true master at work!

Finally, another rarity: Lauri Volpi sings Werther's "O nature, pleine du grace!" Dr. Nardoianni has a fascinating piece of historical information on Lauri Volpi and this particular opera:

After Lauri-Volpi had sung Werther [ in French] in 1935 at the Opéra Comique in Paris, Massenet's daughter was so enthusiastic about [his] conception of the character that she presented him with a portrait of her father Jules, on which she had written that Lauri-Volpi was an admirable Werther. Lauri-Volpi was a man of great learning and his Werther was in perfect keeping with Goethe's character. In this [example, we see his Werther as] a lusty young man brimming with life, who feels exhilarated, almost intoxicated by the beauty of the nature which surrounds him. He sings with radiant voice his hymn of love to Nature as if Nature were his beloved mother and, at the same time, his lover. In Lauri-Volpi's singing, there is almost a Panic feeling which makes his rendition of this aria truly unique:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qxISimKqgY



And on that lovely note, we bring our special issue to its conclusion. I do hope you have enjoyed this presentation of rare recordings of the nonpareil Giacomo Larui Volpi, a monumental artist whose greatness will only become more remarkable and more commented upon with the passage of time. Most importantly, I here express my most sincere gratitude to Dr. Gian Paolo Nardoianni for the treasures he has made available to us. I am happy to say that all these recordings, and several more, can be heard on my channel, where I invite you to drop by and hear even more of these historical testaments to one of the greatest tenors of all time.

DAME JOAN SUTHERLAND, 1926-2010: IN MEMORIAM

Dame Joan Sutherland died on October 10, just a week ago, bringing to a close one of the most spectacular operatic careers of the 20th century. There is no doubt that she was one of the greatest sopranos of the twentieth century, and probably of all time, with a voice and a technique that set her apart from the beginning, and made everyone take notice that true greatness had dawned in the world of grand opera. Her contribution to the renaissance of bel canto, from the late 1950's to the 1980's, simply cannot be over-estimated.

Dame Joan was born in Sydney, in 1926. She began studying voice at 18, and made her concert debut in Sydney in 1947. The talent was obvious from the beginning, and after winning an important competition she went to London to study at the Royal College of Music, and was engaged shortly thereafter by Covent Garden to sing small parts.

She made her debut in a leading role in 1952, when she sang Amelia in The Masked Ball. The power of her voice must have been apparent to all, even at that stage in her career, for her to have landed a debut role like Amelia! Curiously, perhaps because of the size of her voice, she was at first interested in Wagner, and greatly admired Kirsten Flagstad. Big roles followed Masked Ball, along with much lighter roles such as Gilda and Pamina. Dame Joan was fortunate to have come along at a time when specialization was not what it is today, and young singers—assuming the ability was there--had an opportunity to vary their repertoire considerably.

Sutherland married Australian conductor and pianist Richard Bonyage in 1954, and it was largely he who convinced her to concentrate on the bel canto roles that would bring her great fame. She had, from the outset, a spectacular technique that made it possible for her to sing very high notes. Eb above high C was never a problem for her, and she could on occasion sing even higher. Coupled with this extreme range was a great flexibility and a flawless trill. These characteristically coloratura attributes, joined to a naturally powerful voice, made her one of the most exceptionally endowed sopranos of all time. In 1959, she sang Lucia at the Royal Opera House in a production conducted by Tullio Serafin and staged by Franco Zeffirelli. The rest, as they say, is history. 1960 and 1961 were important years for Sutherland, as she made debuts in Paris, New York and Milan at that time. From then on, her fame was universal and her extraordinary career established. Lucia had already become something of a signature role for her, and it attracted attention everywhere.

There is no reason to belabor a biography so readily consulted and so well known. Let us, rather, look at the art of this extraordinary woman. The following video is from her first telecast, either 1959 or 60, some 50 years ago. It appears to be a kinescope recording, and the video quality is poor. There is also an annoying time counter plastered across her face part of the time, and the video slips momentarily at the end, causing an audio growl, but, mercifully, the audio quality in general is good, and it is a rare opportunity to see the great lady at the time she burst forth onto the operatic scene world-wide:



Isn't that astonishing! Those rapid cadenzas have every single note articulated accurately and clearly! No glide here! The trill is perfect and the Eb at the end has the same quality as the rest of the voice. There is generally a purity and consistency to the voice, which is like a column of sound, solid from top to bottom, a characteristic most commonly found in Germanic singers, Wagnerians in particular. The more characteristic ebb and flow of the Latin singing style is replaced here by something else, which still works perfectly well in the bel canto repertoire, perhaps contrary to expectation. It is, I would venture, an instance of the total triumph of traditional technique that makes this possible. Vocally speaking, it simply does not get any better than this.

While Lucia, because of the opportunity it affords to display this superb technique, was perhaps Dame Joan's signature role, it certainly was not her only big part. She in fact sang a fairly wide range of roles, albeit largely within the bel canto repertoire. I personally think it was a brilliant move on Bonyage's part to urge her into what was at that time a neglected area, simply because it gave her the chance to foreground her astonishing voice and technique, and also because it helped re-establish the bel canto repertoire, a great repository of beautiful music.

Here is a live recording of Sempre Libera from 1965. It is amazing. There is some background noise and what sounds like a prompter, but it is very light and easy to ignore. She comes through loud and clear, to say the least!



Again, we notice the extreme consistency. Another Eb, seemingly effortlessly produced, carrying a prodigious amount of weight for a note so high! This was one of the many astonishing things about Sutherland's voice—the absolute consistency of the upper register, which actually seems, tonally, of a piece with every other register. I know of no other soprano where this is so obviously the case. Simply amazing!

I suppose that now is as good a time as any to mention the one "flaw" in Sutherland's production that was most commonly mentioned, and that is what some critics called a "mushy" pronunciation that sometimes made it unclear exactly what language she was singing in. Call it "operatic scat," but whatever the reason, it was pretty obvious. I can only say that for me it made no difference. The works in which she shone were well over 100 years old, and the libretti are hardly unknown! Does it really matter? Let us be honest—by the time of the mid-twentieth century the plots and stories are so well known that most listen now only to the music and essential vocalism. This was not the case back in the teens and twenties, when singers such as Battistini or Chaliapin could augment their vocal prowess with their acting ability—in which attention to words was crucial. We are in a different world now.

Finally, here is another role in which the great soprano was brilliant—Elvira in I Puritani. Here is the charming "Son Vergin Vezzosa." (Do notice, please, the trill at 23-25, near the beginning of the piece.)


Absolutely brilliant, is it not? Did you notice the trill very near the beginning of the aria? Possibly the greatest trill ever recorded. I can only think of one other soprano who can compete with this rendition, and that would be the divine Galli-Curci, who brought perhaps more girlish charm and ease of execution to the aria, but much less voice (which was, to be fair, the lot of every coloratura soprano who was not Joan Sutherland!)

There is no need to go on. I know I am running to superlatives, but how is it possible to discuss this goddess among sopranos and not do so? Rest in well deserved peace, Dame Joan. We shall not soon see your equal!

Titta Ruffo: "The Voice of a Lion"

Titta Ruffo (1877-1953—his actual birth name was Ruffo Titta) was born in Pisa. He had some vocal training, but he was essentially self-taught, something that would become a problem for him later in his career. His debut was in 1898 at the Teatro Constanzi in Rome as the Herald in Wagner's Lohengrin. Like so many other Italian singers, he made a slow climb up through the smaller houses, until an international reputation was finally achieved. His American debut was in Philadelphia in 1912, and he went on to sing both in Chicago—where he sang extensively—and at the Met, where he first sang in 1922, as Figaro.

Ruffo's repertoire was large: Rigoletto, (perhaps his signature role) Di Luna, Amonasro, Germont, Iago, Don Giovanni, and others. In many ways, Ruffo heralded the beginning of the robust and highly dramatic versimo baritone, contrasting sharply with his contemporary Mattia Battistini, of whom we wrote earlier (q.v. Sept. 12. 2010). Ruffo was sometimes compared unfavorably to the elegant, bel canto trained Basttistini, whose refinements were much appreciated at the time, in the same way that the early Caruso was sometimes compared unfavorably to the more elegant tenors that preceded him, such as Alessandro Bonci. However, verismo was in fact "la tónica del momento," and both Caruso and Ruffo would go on to world-wide acclaim and even spectacular success. They were more nearly rivals than friends, and they seldom sang together. They both had star status and were wary of each other. They did, however, at least record one duet together, and it is quite spectacular. It is particularly interesting because it shows how powerful Ruffo's voice was. Few could compete with Caruso, whose voice was notoriously big. (In fact, singing "a tutta forza" was pretty much his sole mode. He tended heavily to the monochromatic.) As you will see in "Si, pel ciel," the big duet from Otello, The Lion holds his own perfectly well:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMySAq_tiVs&feature=related

Two mighty voices, to be sure! The bite and intensity of Ruffo's voice is quite remarkable. It must be said that, self-taught or not, he handled his voice with great intelligence, and made it do what he wanted. The measured vibrato in the upper register is a good indication of the exact control he had over the voice. He also holds it down on the bottom and in the middle, which is intelligent, because a voice of that size could exhaust itself quickly if he did not tone it down in the middle, and lie in wait, as it were, for the big notes, which are, especially in verismo opera, "the sound that pays the rent." All this, while perhaps typical, was not exclusive. Given a chance, and solo exposure, there were more shades in the voice than we hear in this explosive duet with Caruso. A more tender a reflective side of Ruffo is apparent in the famous aria from La Traviata, "Di Provenza il mar, il suol..."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7cm_IhImRM&feature=related

This really aligns Ruffo and his sensibility with what Italian opera was largely to become in the first half of the 20th century: verismo at its core, but with plenty of room for expressivity and just plain beautiful singing, even if largely unadorned. Many refinements from the 19th century were abandoned, to be sure, but much remained that was both exciting and beautiful. To exclusively value one approach to music, which could, in a simplified way, be called "bel canto," to another, equally simplistically named "verismo," is not productive. There is much to value in each.

Finally, here is the great Ruffo in a baritone showpiece that is a sure way to state one's credentials: the prolog to I Pagliacci. I would call your attention especially to the high Ab at the end of the aria, followed by the G natural in the exit line after the aria: two stellar high notes which show just how well placed, powerful and resonant his voice was:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0GMVWAMnPU&feature=related

"The voice of a lion" indeed!

The Great Sergei Lemeshev: The View From Russia

It is a great pleasure for me to present the third in our series of guest writers. Natalie, known to many of you by her Youtube Channel name "younglemeshevist," is especially qualified to write on Sergei Lemeshev. Natalie was among the very first to begin to spread his recordings on Youtube, along with those of Antonina Nezhdanova. All lovers of great singing owe her a debt of gratitude for this effort, as these two superb Soviet artists were unknown to many opera lovers in the United States. She is also to be praised for composing this piece in English—I can only wish that my Russian were as good! Edmund St. Austell

First, I would like to thank Edmund St. Austell for inviting me to write this piece on my favorite tenor.

In Russia, Sergei Yakovlevich Lemeshev (1902-1977) is—along with Feodor Chaliapin— perhaps the most beloved opera singer in recent history. He was born into a very poor peasant family, in a small village, and sang from his early childhood. He was always surrounded by good singers, including his parents and other villagers, as peasant Russia was a “singing country” in those days. His father died when Sergei was 10, and after four years in a parish school he started to learn shoemaking, since there was no other chance for the family to escape from poverty. In 1918 he became acquainted with architect and opera lover Nikolai Kvashnin, who, along with the rest of his family, persuaded Sergei to study voice seriously. Those were the years of the Bolshevik revolution and the Civil war, and Lemeshev was required to become a cadet in the Red Army Cavalry School. However, it was actually the Revolution that helped him make his dream of an operatic career come true, since the Bolsheviks gave the poorest peasants and proletarians a preferential right to free education. Sergei was assigned to study at the Moscow Conservatory where, after surviving a rigorous competition, he was accepted. (This determined his political views, for as he said many times, “the Soviets gave me everything".)

His teachers were tenor N. Raisky (a pupil of G. Nuvelli), N. Kardyan, and L. Zvyagina (a leading contralto of the Bolshoi.) In 1926, Lemeshev made his debut as Lensky in K. Stanislavsky’s Opera Studio, and beginning in 1927, he performed at theaters in Sverdlovsk, Harbin (Manchuria) and Tbilisi. In 1931, he became a leading tenor of the Bolshoi, where he sang for the next 34 years, winning great acclaim. His audience grew, along with his fame, and he soon gained a veritable army of fans, called "lemeshevists. His repertoire included the Duke of Mantua, Lensky, Alfredo, Tsar Berendei (from The Snowmaiden), the Indian Guest (Sadko), Faust, Ziebel, Almaviva, The Simpleton (Boris Godunov ), Rodolfo (La Bohème) The Astrologer (The Golden Cockerel), Nadir, Des Greiux (Manon), Gerald (Lakme), Romeo (Gounod’s (Romeo and Juliette), Fra Diavolo, and Werther.

His vocal and artistic qualities, evident to every listener, are beauty of timbre, musicality, effortlessness of vocal production, expressiveness, and very clear diction, qualities perhaps most commonly found in bel canto singers. These qualities can be seen is his 1940 recording of “Parmi veder le Lagrime" (in Russian). I would call attention to the extraordinarily high note at the end, a Db above high C:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZCzH6EqLHc

An interesting comment on Lemeshev’s singing was made by the Bolshoi tenor A. Orfenov: "He developed a mixed voice of incomparable beauty, which made it possible for him to take the highest notes with such beautiful richness that even specialists could not explain how it was done technically….His high C’s … sounded virile and full…His manner of lowering his larynx a bit on high notes allowed him to perform the parts which we ordinary lyric tenors did not sing, [roles such as] Rodolfo in La Bohème, Levko in May Night, Dubrovsky, Fra Diavolo…”

Lemeshev’s emotionality, acting skills and handsomeness very quickly made him a public idol. Aside from the Duke of Mantua, which was his signature role before the war, he brilliantly performed romantic, melancholy and tragic roles such as Werther, Romeo, and Lensky. Here is his 1938 recording of " Pourquoi me reveiller":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8GadMqw5M9A

Unfortunately, like every Soviet star in the 1930’s, he had problems securing permission to make recordings of complete operas. Several parts in which he was very successful were not recorded at all. His best early recordings of songs and arias, made on shellac, are now available on Youtube. You may consult my channel—"younglemeshevist," or that of petrof4056.

Lensky finally became his most famous role, which he refined throughout his life. His 1955 recording of Eugene Onegin, with the renowned Galina Vishnevskaya , became quite well known in the West. Here is a very good 1937 recording of Lensky’s aria:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0q69JvLqag


The best years of his operatic career were 1931-1942. He was also an outstanding concert singer and a brilliant performer of folk songs. In 1938, he became the first artist to sing all 100 romances by Tchaikovsky in 5 concerts. Folk songs broadcast on the radio made him a truly “national’ singer. Additionally, the film “A Musical Story,” 1941, in which he played the main role, brought him the Stalin prize and caused Lemeshev-mania all over the USSR. It must be said that his personality was a significant part of his success. He is remembered as a very friendly and cheerful person who was also a congenial colleague. He was also quite a lady's man! Six marriages and numerous affairs focused the attention of his fans on his personal life. Their day-and-night stalking and scuffles with fans of other tenors are legendary.

The beginning of the Great Patriotic War (WWII) was crucial for Lemeshev; during one evacuation he caught a very bad cold which resulted in two attacks of pneumonia, complicated by pleurisy and tuberculosis of the right lung. He was treated with artificial pneumothorax, which is to say an induced therapeutic collapse of one lung. Although singing was forbidden, he in fact continued to sing with one lung from 1942 to 1948, when the other lung was also artificially collapsed and re-inflated. During that period he recorded Lakme, The Snowmaiden, “Pearlfishers," and Mozart and Salieri. In addition to health problems, he started to drink heavily after a divorce from his fifth wife, the soprano Irina Maslennikova. By 1953, however, he had overcome his drinking problem and was given the prestigious title "People’s Artist of the USSR." He was also appointed Assistant Manager of the Bolshoi from 1957 to 1959. Toward the end of his career, he mainly gave concerts of Russian classic romances and folk songs, taught in the Moscow conservatory, and performed on the radio. Old fans of his, who stalked him in the 1940's and 50's, are still faithful to him even now, 33 years after his death. They collect his recordings and place flowers on his grave every week.

Mattia Battistini: King of The Bel Canto Baritones

Mattia Battistini (1856-1928) was born in Rome and brought up in Contigliano, a village near Rome. His father was a professor of anatomy at Rome University. Mattia showed great talent for music even as a very young man, and was soon sent to study with Venceslao Persichini, who was also the teacher of Francesco Marconi, Titta Ruffo and Giuseppe de Luca. While still a student, he sang in public, and debuted in Donizetti's La Favorita in 1878, where he enjoyed an immediate success. In the next three years he toured Italy and appeared in La Forza del Destino, Il Trovatore, Rigoletto, Il Guarany, Gli Ugonotti, Dinorah, L'Africaine, I Puritani, Lucia di Lammermoor, Aida, and Ernani. To say that he got off to a quick and brilliant start is classic understatement! He enjoyed success wherever he toured, and in 1883 he made his Covent Garden debut. To the best of my knowledge, he never sang in America, which was still, in the European view, a bit on the provincial side of things, as was Australia. He oriented his career in the direction of Eastern Europe; most particularly Imperial Russia, where he was a great favorite, and a friend of the Tsar's family. He returned to Russia regularly for 23 seasons, and made his first recordings there in 1902. The Russian aristocracy acclaimed him above all other singers. His career spanned 50 years, and he was commonly called "The King of Baritones." His reputation was enormous, and his career extraordinarily successful. *

Battistini did not sound like the baritones of today, who are, virtually without exception, verismo singers, with dark, powerful voices that are often not very flexible and tend to a rather monochromatic intensity of volume, well suited to the Verdi and Puccini roles, but perhaps less so to the kinds of romantic operas that were popular in the 19th century. Battistini can sound like a tenor on occasion, but it is simply the open sound and the lightened volume. Because he was a bel canto trained singer, his voice evidences great flexibility and range, and his pronunciation, like that of the bel canto tenors, is extremely clear. Battistini was an intelligent singer, extremely musical by nature, and he took the dramatic end of opera very seriously. He was by all accounts a superb actor, with innumerable costumes that were historically accurate. His Italian is very refined, and the open and closed e's and o's are everywhere observed, and are capable of creating the effect of cultured gentility (if the role is heroic) or explosive vulgarity, if demanded by the role. So great was the esteem in which he was held that Massenet actually re-wrote Werther so that the title role could be sung by Battistini. Here is Werther's famous aria "Pourquoi me reveiller:" Prepare yourselves: first, for a different sounding baritone voice, and secondarily for a re-written aria that only occasionally sounds like the one we all know:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZmmRTPPTcE&feature=PlayList&p=52895B2BF7544626&index=24


I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto:) This is another world. All the signs of bel canto training are there, right down to the rapid-fire vibrato. One can, however, very quickly get used to it, and that is when the advantages of this kind of singing become apparent—the elegance, the drama, the pronunciation, the style, the musicality. Here is a famous baritone aria that makes for good comparison with today's singing style: Valentine's "Avant de quitter ses lieux:" (Please notice his costumes, for which he was renowned)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBdhbi77DRg&p=52895B2BF7544626&index=17


I find this rendition to be particularly engaging. The singing, from a musical and stylistic point of view, is absolutely perfect, and his voice is most communicative. This is singing of great authenticity and elegance.

Good as his rendition of music from this period is, it becomes even better when we move back to Mozart's time. Here is Don Giovanni's serenade, which is a perfect showcase for Battistini's particular talents.  This recording is from 1902, and is one of his very first:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GK4gKgK8HJQ&feature=PlayList&p=52895B2BF7544626&index=5


Simply delightful! And I always feel obliged to point out that Mozart died in 1791, only 65 years before Battistini was born. This means that at least some of the teachers he would have had at the conservatory would have been born very close to Mozart's day, and would themselves have been trained by people absolutely from that period. It makes sense to think that the styles of Mozart's time were still well known. After all, we are very much aware of the musical comedy styles and practices of Richard Rogers' work from the 1940's.

Traditionally, styles and vogues come, and displace former ones, which can easily be forgotten. Happily, however, photos and phonograph recordings, now representing a considerable history themselves, are here to remind us that today's styles are not eternal, and in the case of opera, historical material shows that musical and vocal styles near or at the time of the opera's composition—which were certainly in the minds of the composers as they wrote—tell us another story.
__________________________________________________________

• I would like to acknowledge the diligent work of Tim, at dantitustimshu, who provided the material that made this essay possible. Tim is one of the most serious musical historians and collectors on Youtube, and I am greatly indebted to him for the biographical references and pictures, and the playlist from which the musical selections were taken. I refer readers to his channel, which is a brilliant collection of historical material. I also alert the interested reader to a classic reference site for biographical material: "Cantabile-Subito: A Site for Collectors of Great Singers of the Past" (www.cantabile-subito.de)

"Antonina Nezhdanova [Антонина Васильевна Нежданова] People's Artist of the Soviet Union

"Antonina Nezhdanova(1873-1950),was born near Odessa,to parents who were school teachers. Both were themselves amateur singers, and her father had formed a local choir in which young Antonina sang, even as a small child. She was a good and diligent student, and after studying at Odessa, attended and graduated from Umberto Masetti's famous class at the Moscow conservatory in 1902. (She was to continue studying with Masetti until his death in 1919.) She was immediately engaged at the Bolshoi, where she remained for nearly 40 years, singing leading roles in Russian and West European operas, most frequently opposite the great tenor Leonid Sobinov. In 1912 she was Gilda at the Monte Carlo Opéra, with Tita Ruffo as Rigoletto and Enrico Caruso as the Duke. Some outstanding roles of her huge repertoire were: Ludmilla in Glinka's Ruslan and Ludmilla, Tatyana, Lakmé, the Snow Maiden, Volkhova, Elsa, and Rosina.

She embraced the Communist era with enthusiasm, having been taught by her parents that it was the duty of middle and upper class Russians to help the less fortunate, and support their legitimate claims to a decent life. So strong was this belief in her that she would often sing in provincial theaters for food, or even for nothing at all. This earned her the great and ever-lasting affection of the Russian people. Beginning in 1922, she became a cultural ambassador for the Soviet government, and appeared in Berlin, Prague, Warsaw, Baltic capitals, and cities in Germany and Poland. In the USSR she was among the most honored singers and teachers. The government bestowed upon her the prestigious titles "People's Artist of the Soviet Union," for her great artistry, and "Hero of Labor" for her life-long efforts on behalf of socialist reform. From 1936 on, she taught at the Stanislavsky Opera Studio, later at the Bolshoi Opera Studio, and finally at the Moscow Conservatory, from 1943 until 1950." *

Nezhdanova is particularly noteworthy for the absolute perfection of her singing technique. It could be called Russian, or it could be called bel canto; I suppose it could be both: there is a premium on ease of attack and fexibility. The “color” of Russian voices, especially high voices, is “whiter” than the dark and ponderous Italian voices that have come to dominate most opera singing today. Some of this owes to the language, and some owes to the bel canto school of singing. As a general rule, as we have discussed in some detail before, bel canto singing tends to produce whiter, open phonation that reveals the more characteristic tones of the speaking voice of the singer. Chaliapin is a particularly striking example of this kind of singing, so much so that some refer to him as a singing actor because of the extremely clear enunciation that is part of bel canto training. Nezhdanova, however, does not go to that extreme. Her singing style was pure bel canto, with an emphasis on lyricism and beauty, reflecting her lifelong study with Masetti. Here is a superb example of the great soprano singing a classic Italian aria, "Una Voce Poco Fa." I call your attention to the extraordinary flexibility of the voice, and the immaculate, almost understated style, which is actually more respectful of the tradition of great singing—and Rossini’s intentions—than the often self-indulgent bombast that can accompany this particular showpiece aria. Her coloratura is perfection itself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aM7Y5mYFQPU

An absolutely astonishing piece of vocalism! It is hard to imagine it done better; both the musicianship and style are admirable.

Also of great musical interest is a recording that Nezhdanova made of Elsa’s aria from Lohengrin, and it demonstrates very well that it did not,nearer Wagner’s time, require a monster soprano voice to sing Wagner, who was in fact very impressed with some Italian composers, especially Rossini and Bellini. He is reported to have spoken very highly of Rossini after a personal meeting with him that completely dispelled for Wagner some of the silly stereotypes of Italian music and composers that were current at the time. He is also said to have expressed a wish that his tenors be trained in Italy. It is also worth noting that the pit at Bayreuth is covered, both to avoid any sight-line interruptions between stage and viewer, and also to help keep the volume of the sound down:

http://www.youtube.com/user/EdmundStAustell#p/u/172/vXDk1PE3bIw

I strongly feel that this is exactly what would have pleased Wagner. It is clear, musically and stylistically excellent, and simply beautiful. The lyricism and plaintive nature of the piece come through in the voice in a way that is often not captured by huge and heroic voices.

Finally, another soprano showpiece, "Sempre Libera", from La Traviata, featuring a high D natural at the end. Extremely high notes were not so common in Nezhdanova's day, especially if the voice carried much weight into the extreme top register:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vq1S34TBYEo

A wonderful soprano indeed, and a great personality! She deserves her accolades and reputation, and it is both just and gratifying that she is finally becoming known to opera lovers in the United States.
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*I wish to express my gratitude both to Natalia at younglemeshevist, a good friend and connoisseur of fine arts with a prodigious knowledge of great Russian art and singing, and to Tim at dantitustimshu, a superb collector and scholar, for information which has informed my biographical sketch of Nezhdanova, and to Tim for the photos of Nezhdanova.

Giuseppe Di Stefano: A Tenor For All Seasons

Giuseppe di Stefano was born in Motta Sant'Anastasia, a village near Catania, Sicily,in 1921. He came from a family of very modest means and was educated at a Jesuit seminary. His operatic debut was in 1946 in Reggio Emilia as Des Grieux in Massenet's Manon. His La Scala debut was the next year, in 1947, in the same role. From his early youth, Di Stefano's voice was remarkable for its great beauty. After the La Scala debut, his rise was unusually rapid. His Met debut followed, in 1948, in Rigoletto. He was to be a Met mainstay for many years. From this moment on, he sprang to international fame, and sang in all the major opera houses and in many festivals. His biography is very easily consulted, owing to his great popularity.

I will say at the outset that I am, and have always been, an ardent Di Stefano fan. I can't promise too much objectivity on this one. We are accustomed to speaking of tenors in many categories: leggiero, lyric, spinto, dramatic, and heroic. Di Stefano, however, was molded in the old-fashioned way. He was essentially a tenor—period—and he sang an extremely wide range of roles, each requiring different vocal abilities, or "kinds" of voices, at least according to current mythologies. This did not concern Di Stefano. His essential training was bel canto, and he adhered absolutely to the advice of Fernando De Lucia: "Per cantare bene, bisogna aprire la bocca!" (This was reported by his most famous student, Georges Thill, in a filmed interview that can be seen on Youtube.) Di Stefano did "aprire la bocca," very wide indeed, and very consistently, and that is how he sang. His pronunciation, as a result, is impeccable. You can understand every single word, in Standard Italian, Neapolitan, or Sicilian. It was very open phonation, and while some criticized him for this, I think it served him beautifully, because it gave him an enormous range, superb control in the extreme upper register (he could diminuendo on a high C natural!) and it made it possible for him to sing roles from Nemorino to Calaf. Here is the very young Di Stefano, little more than a boy, is the popular "Una furtiva lagrima.":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8EqJjDM-nA

A beautiful rendition for a 23 year old! Already the main qualities are in place—the open phonation, the beautiful voice, the superb enunciation, and a remarkable ability to diminuendo down to a lovely mezza-voce that is almost choir-boy-like. It was clear he was headed for the big time!

Let's progress by repertoire and age, and the "tenor for all seasons" ability will become apparent. Here he is in a very demanding role, the Duke of Mantua, which is a serious step up from Nemorino in terms of vocal demands, singing the extremely well known "La Donna è Mobile." Notice the open phonation, and the easy access right up the scale to the final B natural:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhVgUFiCJnQ&feature=related

Wonderful! Did you notice that in addition to the immaculate pronunciation, that there is a distinctive, recognizable personality to his voice? It often happens that when opera singers in a given vocal fach cover their sounds heavily, it is almost impossible to tell one from another. When the phonation is open, however, the individual personality of the speaking voice is revealed. Among basses, the most striking example is Chaliapin, who was a wide-open singer if ever there was one, as tenor Giovanni Martinelli was also.

Like Giacomo Lauri Volpi, Di Stefano (whose vocal production was similar) could sing very high. Here is an extraordinary piece of singing featuring Di Stefano and Callas, his frequent collaborator (theirs was a bit of a mutual admiration society). This short finale to a longer duet features a high Db from both of them, and a B natural at the end. This, as I indicated in the description accompanying the video, is virtuoso singing of a very high order indeed:

http://www.youtube.com/user/EdmundStAustell#p/u/3/q6PPPLXvAnM

That is simply spectacular! There is no other word for it. That is the kind of singing that makes people happy to lay down their hard earned money for expensive opera tickets, and then stand up and shout to demonstrate their satisfaction at having heard great singing.

Finally, in our progression, a very heavy role, Calaf in Turandot, in the by-now famous "Nessun Dorma:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvyWpLZalE8&feature=related

Magnificent. Same vocal production as for Nemorino. Nothing has changed. This is the repertoire critics say he should not have sung, yet I challenge anyone to fault this rendition of "Nessun Dorma" in any way. Perhaps it did shorten his career a bit, but that turns out—considering how long his career was—to be a matter of small concern. He had a spectacular career, was greatly respected, sang all over the world in all the important opera houses and made a very large number of recordings and no small amount of money. There's a problem here? I don't think so. Also, he was certainly not the only tenor to sing with an open phonation on top. One thinks of Giacomo Lauri Volpi, Fernando de Lucia, and Georges Thill, for starters, three of the most famous tenors of all time. No, this is great tenor singing, plain and simple.

Sadly, he died a tragic but heroic death. Attacked by unknown assailants in his summer home in Kenya, he fought bravely—at age 84!—to defend his wife from the thieves. He saved her, but he paid for his heroic actions by being so badly beaten that he slipped into a coma and basically lay, in pain and semi-consciousness, for the last three years of his life, dying at 87 in Milan. This was as great a man as he was an artist!