Leyla Gencer: The Power of Restraint

Leyla Gencer (Ayşe Leyla Çeyrekgil)  was born in 1928 near Istanbul, the daughter of a Turkish father and Polish mother. Her mother was of aristocratic lineage and her father a well-to-do Turkish businessman.   Leyla began to study singing at the Istanbul Conservatory, but later had the very good fortune to study privately with the great Italian soprano  Giannina Arangi-Lombardi.  She began singing small parts in the Turkish State Theater until she made her debut in Ankara in 1950 as Santuzza in Cavalleria Rusticana.  She soon became well known in Turkey.

Gencer's Italian debut was in 1953 at the Teatro di San Carlo in Naples. The role was again as Santuzza. She appeared in Naples in 1954, in both Eugene Onegin and Madama Butterfly. In 1957, she made her big La Scala debut, in the world premiere of  Poulenc's Dialogues des Carmelites. From that point forward, she was in demand, and she began to sing abroad. Italy—and specifically La Scala, was clearly her artistic home, where she was adored and given many important roles.  While she did sing in many foreign cities and venues, including in the United States, she did not appear at the Met, for some reason.  Gencer's biography, especially from an American point of view, could be called exotic,  and it may be the case that many of her decisions about appropriate foreign engagements were determined by convictions both personal and artistic. This is not always the case, in a business where managements often make almost all career decisions for their artists.

Throughout her career, Gencer was especially renowned as a Donizetti interpreter, although she sang many, many different operas.  He repertoire was enormous, exceeding 70 roles!! She was additionally a researcher and teacher, and responsible for re-introducing many works from the Romantic period. Like her mentor and teacher, Giannina Arangi-Lomardi (q.v. in Great Opera Singers) Gencer's singing was characterized by great control and elegance.  There was plenty of power in her voice, but one always has the feeling that there is so much more in reserve.  This sense of restraint gave great credibility to her vocal presentations and always suggests refinement. The great tenor Gigli once said that he sang  through most of his songs and arias quite lightly most of the time because basically, it was loud enough, and he saved the big sound for the ending.  This common-sense approach to vocalism gave him great durability and an extremely long career.  There is something of that in Gencer also.  The power is there when she wants it, and it seems that it is always there, in reserve, even when she is not using it.  Others have done this, but it is, to my ear at least, more pronounced in Gencer.  In any case, the effect is magical.  One other quality is noteworthy, and that is the very unusual glottal attacks in her singing, for which she became somewhat well-known, for better of for worse.  This is certainly not recommended by Western voice teachers, but seeminglhy natural for her, I suspect it is a habit formed from speaking Turkish.  Here is a wonderful "Deh, non volerli vittime," from Norma:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bC4QUN6Hco&feature=related

Do you see what I mean about the intense—even smoldering—voice that somehow suggests restraint; that there is an explosion waiting to happen, whether it actually does or not?  It's not that it is not there—you can certainly hear the dramatic high voice in the B natural that jumps out around 1:40.

Here is another good example of what can be accomplished by the intelligent use of vocal dynamics.  I call your attention to the final note of this aria, which starts with a controlled and covered piano, and develops into a mezzo forte at the end.  This is a classic artistic singing device which, properly used, can be counted upon to have its desired effect on the audience.  The aria is "Addio del passato," from La Traviata:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwrVw5UNG7Y

Extremely moving!  There are not a large number of Gencer videos on Youtube, because she made few commercial recordings.   Usually, they are excerpts from actual performance, of varying quality.  I suggest, for the interested reader, having a look at the O Patria Mia and the Un Bel Dì.    Gencer's vocal technique, coupled with her admirable sense of restraint, elegance and dignity, are all exemplary, and absolutely worthy of study.

Jozef Sterkens: Golden Voice of the Royal Flemish Opera

Introductory Note

[Before I can even begin to tell the story of Jozef Sterkens, I need, first and foremost, to publicly thank Pierre at Jozefsterkens2.com. for his absolutely indispensable  assistance.  Pierre 's site is one of the oldest and most respected on Youtube, and he is certainly the foremost authority on Jozef Sterkens, after whom he has named his site. I owe to him the videos and the biography which I have used in the preparation of this article.  Secondly, it is important to point out that Jozef Sterkens' life consists of two distinct parts: artistry and politics, and the two influenced each other.  He was a leading figure of the Flemish artistic renaissance in Flanders, during the very stressful  period of WWII.  I can only deal here with the artistic life.  Edmund St.Austell]

Jozef Sterkens (pseudonym of Jozef Steuren) was born in Antwerp in 1893.  His parents had a laundry in Antwerp, and hoped that young Jozef could study to become a teacher. He was a good scholar, and so they arranged—although their funds were limited—to send him to  the Normal School in Ghent, in 1908. Bright boy though he was, he failed to develop much interest in his studies, generally speaking, but he did have the chance to take music lessons from the Flemish composer Emiel Hullebroeck, who soon discovered that young Jozef had a beautiful tenor voice. Hullebroeck strongly recommended singing lessons, but family finances made it impossible for Jozef to do anything but become an art teacher after graduation. Within a few years, WWI broke out, and Jozef joined the armed forces, where he spent the next four years working as a nurse in a military hospital.  While in the army, he had the opportunity, along with other artists, to sing for soldiers at the front.  His patriotic diligence and hard work led to his being decorated on four different occasions.

After the Armistice, Sterkens returned to Antwerp and resumed his teaching career, while also studying at the Royal Flemish Conservatory. In 1923, he sang for the music critic of a local newspaper, who in turn introduced him to Edmond Borgers, the leading heldentenor of the Royal Flemish Opera.  After hearing Sterkens sing "In Fernem Land,"  he offered to give him singing lessons.  In that same year, Sterken's career began, in a modernistic vein that would characterize much of his later work.  His first concerts consisted of works by Flemish composers Peter Benoit, Jan Blockx,  Jef Van Hoof, and Renaat Veremans, and were presented to largely Flemish-speaking audiences.

One of the main reasons many opera lovers, especially in this country, do not know much about Sterkens'  career now is that from the very beginning he became strongly associated with presenting Flemish music, and music in Flemish.  There were two opera houses in Antwerp:  The Royal French Opera and the Royal Flemish Opera.  The French Opera dedicated itself largely to French and Italian works, and the Flemish house to German works, and works in Flemish translation.  Because of Sterken's association with the Flemish house, he did not have much opportunity  to sing the French and Italian repertoire that held so many great roles for tenors. There were strong political pressures for him to adhere to Flemish.  At this time, Flanders, the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium, was completely dominated by French speakers and French culture, and the need was greatly felt, by the Flemish, to establish Flemish art and culture in Flanders.  Sterkens was, in fact, to become an important figure in that Flemish struggle for cultural liberation.

He joined the Royal Flemish Opera in 1925, and his first big success was Tamino, in 1927.  He quickly became the leading lyric tenor in the company.  The following year he sang the St. Matthew Passion in Paris, under the baton of the famous Flemish conductor Lodewijk de Vocht, and made his first recordings for the French Gramophone Company. He was also becoming a fixture on Belgian radio.  In 1929 he sang Florestan opposite the Leonore of Lotte Lehmann, who was a frequent performer at the Royal Flemish Opera.   During this period, he took part in presenting the Dutch versions of Sadko (1925), Paganini (1927), Jenufa (1927), Sly (1929), Die tote Stadt (1932), and Daphne (1939)

Sterkens' story from this point until his death in 1952 is primarily a story of administrative work, both at the Royal Flemish and elsewhere.  Unfortunately, it is a sad one, full of the political intrigues and politics of the time.  He was even jailed at one point, after the liberation of Antwerp in 1944, for a period of about 8 months.  After that, he fell into obscurity for a long time, but slowly began to regain his reputation.  Just at the moment when he was to be given a significant post as chairman of the Musical Copyright Society, he died of a heart attack.  The year was 1952. It's a rather depressing story, really. Those interested in reading of these matters in more detail can consult 401 Divas, http://401dutchdivas.nl/en/belgian-singers/440-jozef-sterkens.html   I am indebted to this site for my biographical information.

I think it is important to first hear Sterkens in one of the most lyrical and beautiful renditions I know of  the aria "Glück das mir verlieb," from Korngold's Die tote Stadt:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tofrmq8GbC8

Now isn't that just absolutely beautiful!  I certainly think it is!  What kind of voice is it, essentially?  I think of Sterken's voice as being in the Gigli/ Tagliavini/ Schipa fach, which is to say high lyric tenor, but with a decidedly German/Dutch color.  If you associate colors with vocal sounds, this might be called "brown,"  as compared to the darker, "black" quality of the typical Italian voice—or at least that of Gigli, perhaps not so much that of Tagliavini.  Of one thing there can be no question:  this is a very beautiful voice, absolutely without strain or harsh edge, a superb lyric tenor.

Next, we can hear in Sterken's voice the introduction of drama, of a dark and mysterious kind, in Respighi's Campana Sommersa,  a mythical opera concerning a sunken bell between two worlds, the world of humans and that of fairies.  Choices have to be made, and tragic consequences may hang on the quality of the choice.  It is basically a verismo fairy-tale with dark forebodings:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOdwObQi9xo

The voice, while lyric, has here acquired some edginess; it is also more dramatic, with greater dynamic variations.  Clearly, the potential for development into a slightly darker voice is there,  but it was never pushed.  It was always the lyric and the beautiful that dominated Sterken's singing.

Finally, to illustrate that point even more, here is a real rarity, the only known film footage of Sterkens.  It is from a silly, light-hearted comedy of the kind that proliferated during the 1930's.  Here is the Dutch song "Elisa," from the movie "De Witte:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEIQ3tU4U0c

Notice the voix mixte high C sharp at the end?  A famous voice teacher once told me that opera voices would be better and longer-lived if singers and conductors ever figured out that most people far prefer what is pretty to what is simply loud!.  Case in point!  I cannot help but wonder what Sterkens' fate would have been if he had been born in Italy or France, in years of relative peace, and had had the opportunity to sing extensively in the standard Latin repertoire of those countries.  I believe I would be telling an entirely different story.

LILY PONS: THE LITTLE NIGHTINGALE

Lily Pons was born Alice Joséphine Pons near Cannes, in 1898.  Like Amelita Galli-Curci, another great coloratura soprano, she showed pianistic proficiency at a very young age, and was admitted to the Paris Conservatory as a piano student, where she won a first prize at the age of 15.  At the outbreak of the WWI her family moved to Cannes proper, where young Alice played the piano and sang at fund-raisers for the French military forces.  She began serious vocal studies at the relatively late age of 27, and made a successful debut the following year in a provincial house in Delibes' Lakmé, which was to become what for many was her signature role. She quickly began to attract serious attention to herself.  She was gifted with an extraordinary high and flexible voice, and she was exceptionally petite, standing a mere 5 feet tall, if that, and weighing less than 100 pounds.  (Heavens, some opera singers have lost more than that in attempt to keep their weight down!)  This of course gave her the appearance of a child, essentially a teen-ager, which, in turn,  made her a perfect Lakmé, Gilda, Lucia, or Marie, the daughter of the regiment. I suppose, to use a rather non-critical term, one could say she was "cute."

Her early success was such that other singers soon began to speak out on her behalf, and soon a trip to New York was arranged, where she had the opportunity to audition for Giulio Gatti-Casazza, at the Metropolitan Opera.  Galli-Curci was in her last professional years at the Met, and there was a decided need to replace her.  The audition must have been a real winner, because Gatti Casazza got her name on a contract very quickly, and by 1931, now armed with a Met contract and an RCA Victor recording contract,  she made a spectacular debut at the Met as Lucia.  She by now had changed her first name to Lily, and quickly inherited almost all of Galli-Curci's roles, as the great Italian-American coloratura had retired the previous year

Like Galli-Curci before her, Pons became a naturalized American citizen (in 1940) and set about to make herself very famous.  She was extremely adroit at managing the media, and she was everywhere to be seen and heard:  radio, movies and much concertizing.   She was at the Met for thirty years, appearing 300 times in ten roles from 1931 until 1960.  She took a season off during WWII  to sing for American troops abroad.  She had become an exemplary, beloved and most popular performer in the public's eye.  Hers was, like that of Galli-Curci, Enrico Caruso, Alma Gluck, and Louise Homer, one of the classical music names most known and most revered in this country.

For starters, here is the role with which she was most identified, and in which she had extraordinary success.  For many years, she virtually owned the part of Lakmé.  Here is the famous "Bell Song," from a 1935 film entitled  I Dream Too Much:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZjwRN6v9bE&feature=related

It is not hard to see why she owned this role, is it? Her extraordinary high and flexible voice, her movie-star looks, in an era of often severely aristocratic (and large) sopranos, and her bubbly way with even so demanding an aria as the Bell Song, all combined to make her a box office hit, from the moment of her first Met debut.

To my taste, this is the sound of a real coloratura.  The same thing happened with coloraturas, in later years, that happened to opera singers in general, and that was the tendency for very powerful and dramatic voices to rise to prominence and overwhelm the gentler, bel-canto based singing of earlier times.  This phenomenon, in the case of the coloratura, led to dramatic portrayals by some rather elderly and hefty Gildas and Lucias.  Vocally jaw-dropping, certainly, but not, shall we say, necessarily an epicure's taste.

Here, finally, is Marie's very charming and energetic aria from La Fille du Régiment, another popular Pons showpiece:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-I1IPIKm00&feature=plcp

It is all there—the bubbly cuteness, the remarkable cadenzas and fioratura, the sharply crisp enunciation, and the crystal-clear extreme top.  One wants to stand up and shout Vive La Patrie! Portrayals of roles such as this are irresistible to most theater-goers, and in the case of the lyric theater,  those of Lily Pons were clearly among the best ever.

Renata Tebaldi:  She Lived For Art!


Renata Tebaldi was born in Pesaro, in 1922.  The daughter of  musically gifted parents,  she dedicated herself as a young child to musical studies, not only because she was herself musically gifted, but because, having had an attack of polio at age 3, her physical activities as a child were limited.  By age 13, she had begun to study piano and voice seriously.  Her original hope was to be a concert pianist,  and she studied diligently, almost obsessively.  It eventually became apparent that her future lay in singing, which she approached with the same seriousness with which she had approached the piano.  After intensive study with Carmen Melis, herself  a well known and highly respected singer, Tebaldi made her debut in Rovigo as Elena in Boito's Mefistofele.  She went on to Parma, where she sang Bohème,  Chenier, and L'amico Fritz.   From there it  was on to Trieste, where she debuted as Desdemona.  It is interesting to note the fairly heavy roles she sang in her youth,  at least apparently without problems.  I say "apparently."  I tend to doubt it.

From this time on, her rise was rapid. After auditioning for Toscanini, who was impressed, she debuted at La Scala in 1946, in a concert celebrating the re-opening of the theater after WWII. She learned new roles, and by 1950 Toscanini had convinced her to make her role debut at La Scala as Aida, with Mario del Monaco.  She was—not surprisingly—hesitant to make a debut in such a huge role, and she took a lot of convincing (to her credit) from Toscanini.  But it went off well, and basically launched her international career.

Tebaldi made her American debut in 1950 as Aida at the San Francisco Opera, and  her Met debut took place on January 31, 1955, as Desdemona opposite Mario del Monaco's Otello.  The Met was to be her artistic home for the next 18 years, and she was a perennial favorite.

Tebaldi always considered herself a lyric soprano, but others disagreed, and from her youth she was pressed into big operas, with very dramatic and demanding soprano parts—Chenier, Aida,  Lohengrin and Otello principle among them.  Her voice had an uncommonly rich, chocolate-like quality that may possibly have given the impression of size and depth when it was in fact only a characteristic of the voice's essential color.  Perhaps not surprisingly, she had some vocal problems later in her career, and was obliged to withdraw from the Met for more than an entire season at one point.

The famous and on-going feud with Callas (whether real or calculated) might be interesting to some, but  I find it meaningless and distasteful and have chosen to ignore it. It is easily consulted in any biographical study, which abound on the web.

To the voice and the art!  This is the real Tebaldi story.  Here is a woman who, unlike the fictitious Tosca, did in fact live for art! :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzHaFDeEUY0&feature=related

Isn't that something!  Here is the essential Tebaldi.  The first thing that catches one's attention is the extreme beauty of the vocal color; so rich in texture!  The next thing that calls attention to itself is the musicality.  The sheer musicianship here is in every way inspiring—the legato line, the absolute control of dynamics and the textual sensitivity revealed in perfect style.  This is perhaps the ultimate verismo soprano.  It is hard to imagine the aria better done.  I know the contenders would be many, but one could not deny Tebaldi a position among the very best!

To all these vocal and musical refinements, add acting:  Here, in a remarkably beautiful video, observe the careful study that has gone into the acting, including the gestures from Japanese theater, which lend great veracity to the characterization:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1woH96ROG-c&feature=related

Simply beautiful!  This is the kind of care with which Tebaldi approached everything she did.  He life was completely dedicated to art.  She never married, and there were no children.  What there was, from earliest youth, was constant attention to study, and to aesthetic perfection.  So admirable!  And the results always demonstrate the value of a life so dedicated; her work is immaculate.  This was one of the great careers in opera.  There is simply no question about it.

We should not think that verismo opera was all Tebaldi could do, however.  Even with the big and richly colored voice, she was capable of embracing classical style, with all the refinement and nuance that this implies.  Here is Gluck's "O del mio dolce ardor" from Paride ed Elena.  I don't usually encourage this, but take a look at the first comment under the video.  It sums up perfectly what I have been saying about her musicality and artistic refinement.  It's not only my opinion! :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Abbh1BK76_o&feature=related

This speaks for itself.  A life dedicated to great music and great theater.  This was a woman and an artist who could serve any aspiring singer, anywhere, as a perfect model.  She lived for art!

Richard Crooks, A Brilliant American Tenor

There are at least two American tenors who have not, in my opinion, received the general  attention that their talent merited.  The first, Eugene Conley, was the subject of a recent blog, and today I would like to deal with the second, the brilliant American lyric tenor Richard Crooks.  It is of course true that if Mario Lanza had pursued an international stage career, instead of the movies, he could have been the great American tenor, but with a name like Mario Lanza, and being of immediate Italian ancestry, he would have been in the same situation as Roberto Alagna—a tenor whose name and childhood home language suggest a country and heritage different from the country and heritage into which he was born and raised.  That isn't quite the same thing as the situations of Conley and Crooks.

Richard Crooks  was born in 1900 in Trenton, New Jersey.  By the age of 9 he was singing in church choirs, and soon went on to study with Sidney H. Bourne and Frank LaForge, in New York.  He joined the Air Force in 1917 (although he had to lie about his age!) and served as a pilot for the remainder of WWI.  After the war, he began giving concerts in 1920, and was immediately successful; so much so that by 1925 he undertook a concert tour of Europe and was very much acclaimed.  He operatic debut was in Hamburg in 1927, as Cavaradossi.  After singing and concertizing in Europe for the next several years, he returned to the United States, debuting first at Philadelphia, in 1930, and then, in 1933 at the Metropolitan Opera  as Des Grieux.  He was to spend the next 10 years at the Met, starring in the lyric tenor repertoire, most notably as Faust, Cavaradossi, , Pinkerton, Wilhelm Meister, Ottavio and Romeo.  In 1936 and 1939 he made very successful tours of Australia and South America.

During the 1930's and 1940's, Crooks was increasingly heard on the radio, singing operatic favorites, along with popular and Broadway hits of the day.  He underwent abdominal surgery in 1945, and was forced into an early retirement.  He was greatly acclaimed by the time of his retirement, and was fondly celebrated and remembered.  The great soprano Rosa Ponselle is reported by her biographer James A. Drake (Rosa Ponselle--A Centenary Biography) to have "admired Crook's distinctive lyric voice, his presence, and his overall musicianship."  [See Mr. Drake's comment in the Comments Section at the end of this article.]  That is of course one singer's opinion, but it is characteristic of the high opinion in which Crooks was held at the time.  Why then, one might ask, is he not celebrated in memory as much as he was during his career?  Largely, I think, because in America, at least before the present day, it was important to have the glamour of being foreign—usually Italian.  Also, like Tito Schipa, he was a genuine high lyric, possibly leggiero, and the big, powerful Italian tenors were about to stake a very major claim on public attention, just about the time Crooks was retiring.  Elegance—which Crooks possessed in abundance—was to take a back seat to bravura and heroic singing, and its stars were Italian.  That is no longer the situation, and American singers are very much in evidence today, and it is possible to hear major operas in major houses where one can search almost in vain for a foreign name. This was not the case 40-50 years ago, certainly.

The beautiful voice of Richard Crooks tells its own story, however, far better than my modest appraisals.  Here is the extremely beautiful "Ah fuyez, douce image," from Manon:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7_zONgy2_c&feature=plcp

I feel it is perfectly reasonable to say that this is one of the better versions of this famous aria.  It is a magisterial bit of singing—smooth, linguistically excellent, stylistically exemplary, and vocally near-perfect.  I am filled with admiration when I hear it.  This is world class, on a par with Schipa or Gigli.  But of course those comparisons are simply not made, which is a shame.

Here is Crooks in a signature role, Romeo, from Gounod's Romeo et Juliette:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4b09cF0lbc&feature=plcp

As I search for adjectives to describe the overall effect of this singing , the words "elegant," "genteel." "restrained," all come to mind, as does—compounding the adjective one degree, "deeply-felt."  There is also something ethereal about it.  To my ear at least, the line and clarity of enunciation are outstanding.  They constitute the essential musical and stylistic qualities upon which the ethereal quality of which I speak is based.  How many tenors can sing this with such elegant restraint?  Even lyric tenors cannot resist the temptation for at least occasional bombast somewhere in the aria!  Crooks never does.  He sings like a young lover in quiet ecstasy would sing.  What a singer!

Finally, a song in English. Crooks was not only an operatic tenor.  Concert, and even semi-popular singing on the radio were a significant part of his career.  Here is a song he recorded in his youth, "For You Alone," from 1924:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1bWkW9_Axg&feature=plcp

What can I say?  This is a very young singer, already displaying a voice and technique which is best, and most honestly, compared to the great leggiero tenors of his day, including John McCormack.  A brilliant tenor, without question!  If you want to hear one of the most popular song he ever recorded, I would recommend The Holy City, of which there are many copies available on Youtube.  I didn't put it here because it is 5 ½ minutes long, but it is easily found.  It is extraordinary, as was he!

Leonid Sobinov:  A Great Russian Tenor And A Golden Career

Leonid Vitalyevich Sobinov (Леонид Витальевич Собинов) was born in 1872 in Yaroslav. Unlike so many artists, Sobinov's childhood was relatively calm and unproblematic. He was in fact a golden boy, destined for an astonishingly fortunate and successful life.  His father Vitaly, a Naval officer, saw that Leonid got a good education, and placed him into a boy's school at the age of 9.  He joined a choir upon graduation, and proceeded to enroll in the University of Moscow, where he earned a law degree.  Upon graduation he began to practice law and fulfill his military service, taking time to begin singing lessons.  This led to an audition for the Bolshoi theater, which was a big success, and he received a 2 year contract in 1897.  He performed, in quick succession, many operas, both in Moscow and Petersburg.  These included works such as Faust, Manon, Lohengrin, Rigoletto, Tanhäuser, Prince Igor, and Eugene Onegin.  Sobinov met, and was impressed by Chaliapin, who was very nearly his age, and they sang together, in performance, when Sobinov was only 27 years old.

Sobinov was a very wise young man who understood the importance of guarding his vocal gifts carefully, and he was careful to expand his operatic repertoire with care.  To that end, he traveled to Italy as a young man, to learn, and hopefully to perform.  He did both, and even sang at La Scala in the early 1900's, expanding  his repertoire to include such standards as Marta, Werther, Mignon, and Romeo et Juliette.  He went on, with La Scala now in his background, to attract very favorable attention in London, Paris and Madrid.

To make a fairly long story short,  Sobinov went on to have a brilliant career, everywhere loved, everywhere respected.  He was handsome, a real ladies' man, and had a storied romantic life. (Of course....everything seemed to go well for him!) After the 1917 revolution, he became director of the Bolshoi theater.  In 1923, he was named People's Artist of The Soviet Union.  He died, peacefully,  in 1934.

If ever there were a charmed life, it seems that Sobinov had it.  I'm sure there were problems along the way—no life is perfect—but they seem remarkably few and far between.  What a lucky fellow he seems to have been!  It reminds me somewhat of the modern life of star prima ballerina Diana Vishneva.  Prodigiously talented, and stunningly beautiful from childhood, now People's Artist of Russia, she has known only success since winning the Prix de Lausanne in 1994 at 17 years of age. Some people are just born under lucky stars!

So, what did our golden boy sound like?  Need you ask?   Naturally, he was very good.  His voice was classically lyric, and that is the simplest definition I can think of.  As was the custom in his time, opera singers sang a very wide repertoire.  This does not happen often today (unless one is Jonas Kaufmann), when specialization seems to be the norm.  Sobinov sang Wagner as well as bel canto comic operas such as don Pasquale.  It was very much simpler then.  Singers sang.  Tenors sang high, Basses sang low.  Baritones sang in the middle.  That pretty much covered it.  Here is an absolutely lovely version of "Mein Lieber Schwann," from 1910:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TN5zSrLwug

A classic and very beautiful rendition of this aria; one that is actual sung as opposed to declaimed. Like his friend and fellow People's Artist Antonina Nezhdanova, Sobinov always sang Wagner as though it were Bellini, and it worked very well.  I am convinced it would also work very well today if conductors, managers and stage directors would let it. It was this kind of lyric singing that most characterized Sobinov's art, even though he sang roles which today are sung by more heroic voices.  Also, his technique was slightly different than common singing technique today.  His support was rather less, with the result that in the upper register one often hears a kind of "rip" or a "tearing" sound at the end of a note, when he releases it. This is often accompanied by a slight gasp, as though the breath has run out. This means it is only slightly supported.  However, that was characteristic of the time, and it did not effect the essential beauty of the singing.  Here is the very popular "Je crois entendre encore," from 1911:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEyTkkZ2zDg

Again, very beautiful singing, but without the customary high note at the end.  The extreme top was not Sobinov's particular forte, it was rather the quality of the voice and the artistry of the style that command attention.  Finally, here is Werther's  aria "Pourquoi me reveiller":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0JcWfTudAs&list=PL828FF772DE2A25DE&index=23&feature=plpp_video

One of my most faithful readers, Mr. J.D. Hobbes, wrote a comment when I published this blog, several hours ago, and noted that Sobinov's rather obvious holding on to high notes, until there is a gasp and slight "rip" in the voice, may have had something to do with the demands of acoustic recording, and the need to keep the sound volume high to the very end.  It occured to me to check an electric recording of him as an older man, to test this idea.  I was able to find an old sound film, whose voice recording was obviously electric.  Here it is....it is revealing.  Just listen to Sobinov as he sings at the very biginning of the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClqNn4G5TUc

I find that most interesting!  All the delicate nuance and musical line is intact!  I think we have discovererd something here.  It may well be the case that his breathing and lack of diminuendo on the old acoustic recordings were simply an act of necessity.  Thank you Mr. Hobbes, for that fascinating suggestion!

Summing up, it seems fair to classify Sobinov's voice as straight-line lyric, an instrument of great beauty, well enough produced for the time, albeit a bit short on top compared to the Italian model. It is a remarkably consistent voice, strong and commanding.  For me, at least, the outstanding aspect of Sobinov's singing is the intellectual and stylistic artistry that is always present.  There is something hypnotic about his singing that is most attractive, and was, in his day, greatly praised.   A golden life, a beautiful voice, and one of the greatest careers in opera!

Eugene Conley: An Excellent And Greatly Under-Rated Tenor

I remember picking up a copy of Opera News some 50 years or so ago, and being struck by the title of its leading article.  It read, as best I can now recall, "I Hear America Singing Abroad; Why Not At Home?"  Why indeed?  This is a question that plagues not only me, I assure you, but nearly all American opera lovers.  With the relative objectivity provided by (eternally evoked) hindsight, it becomes a curious matter indeed why some singers attain international stardom and others, equally gifted vocally, do not.  Many things come into play, I know; thing such as looks, acting ability, musicality, stylistic intuition, and so on.  Then we get down to those very hard to define things such as timing, luck, talent, drive, competitiveness, and so on.  And then there is just plain prejudice.  I cannot help but feel that the latter, sadly, plays a part.

Opera was founded in America as an exotic plant; an Italian art form that was oh-so-much more sophisticated that what the new and up-coming country could supply on its own.  It became the darling of New York High Society, and almost all the big stars—and certainly the big attractions—were foreign, mainly Italian.  Mercifully, the situation is now much more balanced, and Americans are now reasonably represented world wide.  But a lot of good singers got trapped in the no-man's-land of the early years, when it would have been a decided advantage to have a name that ended in a vowel.

One such case was Eugene Conley.  Born in Massachussets, in 1908, Conley made his debut as the Duke in Rigoletto in 1940, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.  He joined the New York City Opera in 1945, debuting in the role of Rodolfo in La Bohème, and from there it was off to a European career embracing the Opéra Comique, La Scala, and Covent Garden.  It was in Milan, at La Scala, that he sang opposite María Callas in I Puritani (one of his signature operas) in 1949.  He returned the following year to the States, and made his Metropolitan Opera debut in 1950, as Faust. He was to appear at the Met in many performances for the next six years.

Conley was a handsome man, and an attractive figure on the stage.  Most importantly, he was a real, vibrant vocal presence, with a lirico-spinto voice that soared above high C with seeming ease.  Possibly the best introduction to Conley is his singing of "A te, o Cara," from I Puritani, the role he sang opposite Callas at La Scala:  Notice, please, that he sings this demanding aria in the original key, which many tenors cannot manage, as the high note is a Db above high C:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mvcJlaXZsI 

This is first rate tenor singing!  The voice is amazingly consistent, all the way to the top.  The essential quality of the voice can be called lyric, although there is certain spinto edge there that, while it does not become harsh, does introduce a certain dramatic touch to the phonation. 

A slightly more lyric and less dramatic Conley reveals itself in the eternally popular Che Gelida Manina":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5xu4o6kH0c 

This is the quintessential Conley voice—high, lyrical but virile, with squillo in abundance. To my ear, this is not a voice I would characterize as "French," "Germanic," "Anglo-Saxon" "for Mozart," or any other commonly applied term.  If anything, I would call it Italianate.  It is in every way an excellent tenor voice, absolutely suited to the popular Verdi and Puccini favorites.

Finally, because he was an American tenor, and native English speaker, we owe it to ourselves to hear him sing in English.  Here is the very popular "Because," composed by Guy d'Hardelot in1902, and recorded by very many tenors in the early to mid-20^th century:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hy4gD596eaQ&feature=plcp&context=C419d855VDvjVQa1PpcFPqn0isf7X1xJnKUgNSVa7Z_m9BNcFePWM%3D

What a top voice!  Why this wonderful tenor is not a household name among opera lovers is not entirely clear to me.  I know there was at that time an unspoken and seldom-articulated prejudice against American tenors because they just somehow weren't "the real thing,"  weren't exotic enough and so forth, yet there were some who escaped that classification, such as Richard Tucker.  Jan Peerce did well also, albeit not so much on stage.  But that's about it.  The case of Richard Crooks is just as striking as that of Conley.  Perhaps James Melton also, although to a lesser degree.  Maybe it's just a simple matter of luck, but it seemed to happen with a little too much consistency to be purely coincidence.