Jonas Kaufmann: The All-Purpose Voice

Jonas Kaufmann was born in Munich, in 1969. He started his musical studies as a piano student while still a small child. He began vocal training at the University of Music and Performing Arts in Munich when he was 20, singing small roles at the Bavarian State Opera at the same time. He ran into vocal problems as a young singer, but had the good fortune to make friends with an American baritone, Michael Rhodes, who showed him a proper way to sing, and Kaufmann responded quickly and successfully to Rhodes' suggestions. His professional debut was in 1994 in Saarbrüken, and he was very soon invited to sing throughout Germany. International debuts followed in quick succession, and a major career soon blossomed for him. Because he is so well known and actively singing, there is no need to speak much of his career, since such information is easily obtained. In this case, we may go directly to a discussion of the artistry.

The most amazing thing about this popular and successful tenor is that he sings an extraordinarily wide repertoire, from Mozart to Wagner, and all the bread and butter spinto roles in between! This is most unusual, and made possible to a large extent by his vocal technique, which is essentially Italian. In the past, German trained tenors were often accused of throaty and muscular singing, a phenomenon almost certainly related to the German language. Most operas performed in Germany are performed in German, and that has implications for vocal production. Kaufmann, on the other hand, sings in a dark and covered way reminiscent of Domingo, and—even more—Giuseppe Giacomini. Kaufmann is basically a spinto tenor, and this has opened the whole range of popular Italian operas to him. Other German singers have managed the Mozart/Wagner leap, but fewer have, in the process, shone in the Verdi/Puccini middle. Here is an example of Kaufmann in a very light and lyrical piece from Così Fan Tutte, a repertoire more characteristically inhabited by lyric and leggiero tenors:

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


This is absolutely impeccable singing! It is beautiful, the line is there, the Italian is perfect, and the performance, as I see and hear it, is flawless. Yes, the voice is darker than one usually expects in this aria, but so what? I have always contended that sub-categories of voice genres are ultimately a bit silly. How about "tenor." It works for me!

As I say, the Mozart singer who can also sing Wagner is a known phenomenon in Germany, but here is what is much more unusual, and the main thing that marks Kaufmann as almost unique; his ability to sing the Verdi repertoire in Italian. This video, of  "La donna è mobile," is unfortunately somewhat out of synch, vocally, so bear with it please. It is worth it to hear the singing:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mjgo7c3IW4


I honestly think that is nothing short of spectacular. To me it sounds essentially like Domingo, Corelli, or Carreras in his youth. It is a quintessential Italian spinto sound, and a remarkably good one at that. It is solid, it is convincing, and it is consistent all the way up to the B natural. The best and simplest way I can describe the Kaufmann phenomenon is that he is a great German tenor who sings like an Italian! And boy, does that ever cover a mile of territory in terms of repertoire!

Finally, Wagner. Here is a sample of his Sigmund, against the mighty voice of Deborah Voight:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUI-3hAVYSU&feature=related


I feel Wagner would have been pleased to have tenors who could sing like this. He is known to have wanted his tenors trained in Italy when possible, and this is why. Domingo has successfully sung Sigmund, at the Met, not all that long ago, to great acclaim. This is first rate singing, and I do not believe it can be faulted.

Finally, I think a word needs to be said about all the silly criticism that seems to abound on Youtube about this great German tenor. Most of it has no meaning. There is one thing that I very much like about opera, and that is that it is a "bottom-line" art form. Opera audiences are not stupid or undiscriminating. Any person (who is not a millionaire) who lays down the money required to see a performance at the Met, La Scala, or Covent Garden, is in love with opera, and expects to see the best. If they don't, they will get very vocal about it, very quickly. A singer who can appear week after week on the stages of great houses, in different countries, and find acceptance, even acclaim, is—in this day and age—a great singer by definition. There is simply no way to survive otherwise. Kaufmann has done this. He sings all over the world, in the world's great houses, in the wide repertoire we have spoken about, and almost always to acclaim. For me, that says it all.

Franz Völker: A Great And Most Versatile Tenor

Franz Völker was born in Neu-Isenburg in 1899, and began his vocal studies fairly early in life, in Frankfurt. He was only 27 when he made his debut in that city as Florestan in Beethoven's Fidelio. His vocal stamina, along with the particular quality of his voice, made him a natural, in the eyes of most, for dramatic work and most especially as a Wagnerian. It is perhaps not entirely certain that he would have made that immediate impression today, because Völker's voice, from the beginning, was a singularly adaptive instrument, usable and convincing over a very wide range of musical genres. It may well have been the color of his voice, more than anything else, that suggested the heroic tenor label. In any case, that was the initial impression he made, as a young man, and his rise was rapid. He was a superb singer, and engagements followed in quick succession, as is so often the case when a truly remarkable talent appears on the scene. He went on to Salzburg, Bayreuth (particularly) and Covent Garden. His most outstanding roles, for which he was instantly applauded, were Lohengrin, Freischutz, and Walküre.

He made many recordings, which is most fortunate, because his career was exclusively European, and seldom outside Germany. Having made his career during Germany's darkest hour was necessarily limiting, as far as travel was concerned. He did, however, have a major career in Germany, and his many recordings testify to his remarkable versatility; in grand opera, operetta, and Lieder. He excelled in all three fields.

His first great impression was made as a Wagnerian, and so it seems appropriate to begin with his superb rendition of "Walter's Prize Song," from Die Meistersinger Von Nürnberg, an opera so difficult for the tenor that Melchior, to take but one example, would not sing it. The "Prize Song" is hard enough in itself, but it is repeated in choral fashion, always featuring Walter, in seemingly endless iterations toward the end of the opera:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzK1hcubdiI&feature=player_embedded


This is a markedly common-sense presentation, and it is a joy to hear the studio orchestra minimalized. Would that most conductors would do the same in the opera house! The smoothness of Völker's voice, all the way up and down the scale, is a beautiful thing to hear. His top was good, and the high A, which climaxes a series of progressively ascending phrases— and has been the downfall of many heldentenors who make the fatal mistake of starting the aria too intensely and too loud—is not a problem at all for Völker, who manages it smoothly and in line. All in all, a magisterial rendition of a difficult aria.

Many famous German opera singers have historically crossed back and forth across the line separating opera from operetta, and Völker was no exception. Here is the famous and ever-popular "Dein ist mein ganzes Herz," from Lehár's "Land of Smiles":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4Zr7G4Z-dQ&feature=player_embedded


Isn't that just perfect! It is hard to imagine it sung better. A wonderful voice, excellently trained, with great dramatic operatic range and intensity, harnessed into submission for a classic show tune! I have always found Völker's extreme flexibility as a singer to be nothing short of astonishing. And admirable! For one thing, it is a sure sign of superbly trained voice. People often complain that German singing teachers just don't know how to train a tenor voice, but when the tenor is an intelligent man with strong artistic instincts, wonders can be done, especially if the tenor sings exclusively in German.

Finally, here is a beautiful example of yet a third category in which Völker excelled—German Lieder. This is much less common; many good German opera and operetta singers also try to sing Lieder or even popular music (which Völker also did) but the results are less predictable. Völker, however, like Leo Slezak, managed it very nicely indeed. Here is Schubert's lovely "Du bist die Ruh":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVnR6yDeFzo


What can I say. Absolutely beautiful! Opera, operetta, Lieder; all beautifully done. What on Broadway would be called a triple-threat performer. This was not only a great German tenor, but a German tenor for the ages!

Licia Albanese: Vocal Melodrama

Italian-American soprano Licia Albanese was born in Bari, Italy, in 1913. An energetic and talented child, she had the good fortune to have as her teacher the great verismo soprano Giuseppina Baldassarre-Tedeschi. In 1934, when Albanese was only 21, she substituted for an ailing soprano, singing Cio-Cio-San, a part that would become her signature role over the years. The idea of a 21 year old taking on that part is somewhat daunting, but Albanese's vocal stamina (and longevity!) was legendary. I heard her sing at age 67 at a gala fundraiser, and she was extraordinary.

Like so many Italian singers of her day who were destined for a major career, progress came quickly. Italy's system of regional theaters has always presented wonderful opportunities for young singers to be heard fairly early on in their careers, and Albanese was no exception. By 1935 she had made her debut at La Scala (in Gianni Schicchi) and she was on her way. She was excellently suited, by voice, training, looks and temperament, for the Verdi/Puccini verismo roles, and she quickly became an international presence, especially in Bohème, Traviata, and Butterfly.

Albanese's Metropolitan opera debut was in 1940, somewhat predictably in Madama Butterfly. She was to perform this signature role at the Met over 70 times. It was a great success, and she was to make the Met her artistic home for the next 26 seasons, in a variety of roles. She also quickly made America her patriotic home, acquiring American citizenship in 1945. In 1946 she did a series of radio performances with Arturo Toscanini. Albanese did not limit herself exclusively to the Met, being an artistic presence also at San Francisco. She did, however, tend to limit herself to her adopted land, and while she sang overseas occasionally, she was essentially an American soprano from that point on. In later years she became very active as a fundraiser for the arts, and for her Licia Albanese Foundation, established to help aspiring singers. Like other great Italian American singers before her, most specifically Amelita Galli Curci and Enrico Caruso, she was enormously popular here, and made very significant contributions to the arts in America.

It is necessary, at the very beginning to address Licia Albanese's voice and singing style, in order to avoid instant analysis or judgments. I do not believe it is possible to describe her singing by comparison to any other soprano, except possibly her teacher, Baldassarre-Tedeschi. (I recently posted two Baldassare-Tedeschi videos on my Youtube channel. You can find a link in the righthand sidebar of this page.) I find it more helpful to compare her to male singers, specifically Giuseppe Di Stefano and (brace yourself!) Feodor Chaliapin. Quirky as that may sound, there is a reason: all are extraordinary singing actors, and they place their voices in the service of the melodrama which characterizes their repertoire. It is fruitless to compare Licia Albanese to great lyric sopranos whose fine and flute-like voices soar with abandon; she will seem thick and over-heavy in the middle of her voice and short on top. The darkness in her voice will at times seem like a bark. No, she uses her voice to serve the part she sings. Like Di Stefano, she enunciates extremely clearly; it sometimes seems as though she is speaking to you. Most importantly, she uses her voice as Chaliapin used his, to vocally portray a character, usually in the grip of great emotion, distress or outright despair. People in those situations do not trill prettily. In terms of style, Albanese, like Callas, shows great conviction in her portrayals, and conviction is the absolute bedrock of great style. Here is the "Un bel dì" from her signature role, Cio-Cio-San:

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


Do you see what I mean? What strikes me immediately is the characterization in the voice. Like Giuseppe Di Stefano, she sang, to a large extent, as she spoke. The enunciation is extraordinary. I sometimes forget she is singing, and think she is speaking to me. The voice is dark and highly dramatic. She is a singing actress, and this is not an exercise in pure vocalism—it is simply a part of the whole picture. One thing she had was power in abundance. I can testify from having heard her in person that it was an astonishingly big voice for so tiny a person. Yes, the voice is showing signs of wear here, at 40, but one must remember that she started singing at 21, and almost the entirely of her repertoire was verismo, with all the attendant demands made on the voice. You will hear "prettier" Bb's than she manages here, more cleanly produced, but you will seldom hear a more moving, better articulated or more realistically convincing version of this famous aria.

Here is Albanese in another Puccini aria, "In Quelle Trine Morbide," from Manon Lescaut:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIuMJ3Wg9zo


This is a much more traditional bit of singing, and excellent in every way. The dramatic intensity is there, as it always is, and the vocal line is clear and well connected stylistically to the music. It is perhaps more lyrical than the Butterfly selection, and soars where "Un bel dì" cries. That, however, derives from characterization more than anything else.

Here, finally, is Licia Albanese at her absolute best; as Violetta in La Traviata. This great scene, "Addio del Passato," shows all her strengths. The recitation at the beginning is so clear and painfully felt that it easily brings tears. The articulation is so precise that it almost seems possible to understand even if one doesn't speak Italian! Finally, the singing soars, and Albanese's dramatic voice is displayed to full advantage:

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


Say what one will, I personally would lay down my hard-earned money any place, any time, to hear something like that!

José Carreras: A Voice of Extraordinary Beauty

José Carreras was born in Barcelona in 1946. Like so many before him, he came from a family of very modest means, and showed marked musical talent from the beginning. He seemed naturally inclined to sing as a child, and started even then trying to sound like great singers he had heard, most especially Mario Lanza. I know so many singers who have told me that Lanza, primarily through his movies, had been their first inspiration to try to sing opera. This was one of Lanza's less well known—but very important— contributions to opera and operatic singing. Even though he himself largely portrayed an opera singer, he inspired many who went on to actually become opera singers. Carreras was singing in public, most specifically on Spanish radio, as early as 8 years of age, which made it abundantly clear to his family that he was both serious and talented. His family at this point saw to it that he started to receive music lessons at Barcelona's Municipal Conservatory.

In 1970 he appeared as Flavio in Norma; a very small first role, but one which caught the attention of the great Monserrat Caballé, who heard gold in the young voice. In the same year, under her patronage, he sang opposite her as Gennaro in Donizetti's Lucrezia Borgia. Carreras proved his patroness to have been right! He was a great hit from the beginning, and his career skyrocketed. The golden voice was unmistakable, and international debuts followed in rapid succession: London, Italy, New York, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Vienna; all within a period of 4 years. He was on his way to greatness, in operas such as Bohème, Butterfly, Traviata, Rigoletto, and Tosca. He also did Ballo—possibly a questionable choice, because it is a very big role for the tenor, well into the spinto repertoire, and at this stage Carreras' voice was what might be called a robust lyric. By his own admission, the very top of the tenor range was not at all easy for him, while the middle was especially beautiful. This may have led many to believe that he was really a spinto verging on dramatic, but that of course would only exacerbate the difficult top, since so much more energy was being put into the middle and upper-middle registers. In a word, it's a short path to becoming a Bb tenor.  However, that was not in evidence at the beginning of the career, when there seemed to be plenty of range to sing at least a good B natural, enough for virtually all the bread and butter Italian and French repertoire, where the arias containing a high C are often sung down a half tone. (Except perhaps in Italy, where a tenor can on occasion be booed for transposing a famous aria.) Recording contracts followed, and by the late 70's, José Carreras was internationally famous, and enjoying one of the great careers of the 20th century.

Here is the young Carreras, in 1973, singing one of his most popular early roles, the Duke of Mantua. The aria is beautifully sung generally, and the extraordinary beauty of Carreras' voice is very winning, and immediately makes his character sympathetic, even in the case of very flawed and unpleasant characters such as the Duke. Also, and importantly, the high B at the end is solid at this point in his career, and is clearly a bit hit with the audience.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LRo_ZpVIpE



That is truly superb! It is a world-class rendition, and a clear announcement to one and all that a new great tenor has arrived on the scene. This is what I would call the true Carreras voice. I am not alone in wishing that he had restricted himself to this kind of lyric repertoire as long as possible. But that was not the case. Like many, many tenors before, the lure of the big tragic, dramatic roles was calling, and Manrico, Chenier, Rhadames and Canio were on the way. By the late 70's and early 80's, the problem with the top of the voice was becoming self-evident. The attractive beauty of the voice, however, was such that his fame was still intact. Here is a Rhadames from 1979, six years later:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V4Lp8nZVSQ


The coming trouble, as I say, is evident. The top notes in this aria are only Bb's. This is hardly more than the top of the range of many good baritones, yet notice the effort, and the change in quality from the middle to the top notes. They are not quite in line. He hops off the final Bb so quickly that the audience is confused and starts to applaud too early and has to clap again after the orchestra finishes. Almost all spinto and dramatic tenors take a big breath and hold on to that note as long as possible, ending with the orchestra if possible for the big applause cue, which seldom fails to bring a huge hand from the audience. Many conductors will help them by speeding up the tempo at the end. That just doesn't happen here—it is a weak and disappointing ending to the aria. Yes, I know that Verdi wrote a pianissimo note here, to end in a wistful, dreamy way as Rhadames dreams of his beloved Aida. But realistically that  doesn't happen in performance. The triumphal chord progression in the orchestra begs for triumphalism in the voice as well.

Toward the latter part of his career, Carreras began to shift his emphasis from opera to the concert stage, where he could choose songs and arias that favored the strongest part of his beautiful voice—the middle—and avoided the highest notes, which had become too difficult. He recorded West Side Story and South Pacific, and was fond of singing "Tonight," from West Side Story, with different sopranos, but I feel this was largely a failed effort. Simply the wrong choice. It is almost impossible for the classically trained foreign operatic tenor to transition to any kind of Broadway tunes, even one where the character being portrayed is a dialect character. The over-blown cover and vowel formation always make the young lover character sound too old to be taken seriously. And also, the best Broadway tenors—John Raitt is a good example—simply do not cover. It just isn't an acceptable English language sound in music any longer. That day (Victorian fin-de-siècle) is long gone. It sounds too foreign. Where Carreras did excel was in Neapolitan songs, something squarely within the Latin tenor fach. Here is an interesting video, introduced by considerable pre-song applause and an introduction by Carreras himself, in English, of "Core 'ngrato." Very beautiful, and well received, even though the Bb at the end, while acceptable, is strained and seems to be nearly out of his range at this point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=be2ourqC09U&feature=related


I think it is important to end by reiterating that Carreras was a great tenor. There just isn't any doubt about that. I don't mean to overplay the vocal problems. He knew from the beginning—and was honest about it—that the top was not easily produced. But just consider for a moment what he actually did during his career in spite of that! The voice was extraordinarily beautiful, and won him much attention and affection from his vast audience. He was a handsome man who acted well and convincingly, and he sang with great passion. His repertoire was huge, and he became very famous. He even struggled with—and conquered—leukemia and its debilitating effects and never—ever—lost the affection of his fans. To fuss unduely about the odd Bb or B natural is ultimately over-pedantic. This was a great singer, a great performer, and an admirable individual. He deserves all the attention he has received!

Giannina Arangi-Lombardi: A Great Dramatic Soprano

I am aware that Giannina Arangi-Lombardi is not exactly a name that rolls trippingly off the tongue of the average American opera lover, but this owes simply to the fact that she did not sing in America. Her life and career was centered largely in Europe, with some excursions to Latin America and Australia. All that to one side notwithstanding, I feel no hesitancy whatsoever in saying that hers was one of the greatest soprano voices of the 20th century, and her stature among dramatic sopranos can only honestly be described as outstanding.

Arangi-Lombardi was born in 1891 in Marigliano, and she studied at the Conservatorio San Pietro a Majella in Naples.

(I am indebted for the information that follows to Mr. Tim Shu, at dantitustimshu Tim is among the very best musical historians writing on Youtube, and his biographies are exemplary. If you do not know his channel, I urge you to become acquainted with it, as it is a treasure trove of great opera videos.)

"Arangi-Lombardi began her career as a mezzo-soprano in the early 1920s. With growing awareness of her brilliant middle-upper vocal capabilities, she made an important transition to become a dramatic soprano in the mid 1920s and enjoyed great success as Gioconda, Santuzza, Elena in Mefistofele, the Trovatore and Forza Leonoras and in particular Aida. In fact, she became the most famous Aida of her day in Italy. Such was her prominence in the role that the Teatro alla Scala mounted several performances of Aida with her leading the cast in the late 1920s. On top of that, she undertook a prestigious central European trip with the La Scala Ensemble and Toscanini in January 1929 and performed the role in Berlin and Vienna. Together with Giuseppina Cobelli and Bianca Scacciati, she ruled Teatro alla Scala as its co-prima donna in the mid to late 1920s. She also went on a five-week tour to perform in various cities in Australia in 1928, in the company of other distinguished colleagues including Toti Dal Monte, Hina Spani, Francesco Merli and Apollo Granforte.

With the departure of Toscanini from La Scala in early 1929, she ended her career at Milan's "Temple," but continued to sing in Rome and elsewhere in Italy. She retired in 1937 after growing vocal difficulties from the mid 1930s. From 1939 onwards, she assumed a teaching career in Milan. In 1947, she accepted a lucrative offer by the Turkish government to become the director of the Music Conservatory in Ankara. It was during her stint in Turkey that Arangi-Lombardi discovered a budding young soprano named Leyla Gencer and took great interest in her training and development as an artist. Gencer was to remember her teacher with great fondness. In an interview with OPERA NEWS (published in the November 2003 issue), Gencer recalled: "Every morning at ten, she would put on her most elegant dress, with pearls, and her diamonds on her fingers, sat at the piano, and we studied. I learned my first opera arias, from Ballo, Aida, Forza del destino, and when I sang them my whole life, I sang them just as she taught them to me."  For reasons of health, Arangi-Lombardi returned to Milan in 1951 and passed away in July of the same year."

I think there is no better place to start than with Aida's big aria "O Patria Mia." Aida was the signature role for Arangi-Lombardi, and this is why:



Or, if the author should remove the embed code in the future, see:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJLZMgPYI20


Isn't that simply stunning! I think that is one of the most extraordinary renditions of this very famous and often-recorded aria that I have ever heard. The reason I say this is that it displays a vocal technique and a presentation that is bel canto derived. The drama in her voice—and I would even say her very designation as "dramatic"—is as much a question of color as it is of heft. Some sopranos simple power their way through the aria. While that can work, it can make the more discriminating listener frown. I call particular attention to the high C near the end, taken piano and then taken out on a long crescendo, a tutta forza! The effect is overwhelming, as is that of the other big moment at the end when she soars up to the final note on a long portamento. This is grand artistry and vocalism of the old school, and for many, even in the 1930's, it came as a revelation, as verismo had done its job by that time, and this was singing of a different order.

For something more nearly on the "dramatic" side as we understand it today, I offer her rendition of "Suicidio!" from La Gioconda:




-or-

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

This is great singing, by any measure. It is hard to compare it to other versions, except possibly that of Zinka Milanov. It is "darker" than the Aida aria, but is attained purely through control of color. It's the same voice, same technique.

Finally, an aria in the category of "Only Great Singers Need Apply: Amelia's aria from Un Ballo in Maschera:




-or-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtGOhcl1v-g


Great voice, great artist, great lady of the theater—dramatic opera singing at its best!

Joseph Schmidt: A Great Tenor And A Terrible Tragedy

Joseph Schmidt was born in 1904, in Davydivka, a small town in Austria-Hungary, now a part of Ukraine. Born into a musical family, he showed promise very early, as is so often the case with those who go on to achieve musical greatness. From living in a multi-cultural geographical area, he soon began to acquire more languages than his native German. He was Jewish, and quickly became acquainted with Yiddish and Hebrew. It was natural, therefore, that his first training was in the synagogue. He was presented as a very young man of 20 in his first concert, in Czernowitz, singing a wide variety of Jewish and operatic music. His talent was so evident by that point that he was sent to Berlin to study piano and voice. He was shortly thereafter appointed cantor of the Czernowitz Synagogue.

In 1929 he went back to Berlin, where he was given the opportunity to sing the role, on the radio, of Vasco da Gama in L'Africaine. Normally, this would mark the beginning of an operatic career for most, but Schmidt was an extremely small man, only 4 feet 11 inches tall, hardly bigger than a young boy. This of course made a stage career impossible. For that reason, his world of opportunity was to be found in radio, recordings (of which he made a significant number), the concert stage, and movies, where clever photography made it possible for him to appear more normal in appearance. (Similar, in modern times, to the career adjustments forced upon Alan Ladd and Dudley Moore, for the same reason.)

The tragedy in the Joseph Schmidt story derives from the time and place of his birth. His artistic rise was during Germany's darkest hour, the rise of the Nazis. Even though extremely popular in Germany, the rise of the barbarians soon made it impossible for him to work there. His popularity in other countries seemed, I suppose, to be sufficient compensation for the German turn of events, and he stayed in Europe longer than he should have. He was touring in the United States as late as 1937, and had he stayed here, the horror of his last days would have been prevented. It is so easy in hindsight to see these things, but it is unfair. I know many Jews who lived through that era, and the stories I have heard always point up the fact that most just didn't know how bad it was going to get. Most thought it to be probably for a limited period, something like the pogroms that had historically erupted in Europe. We cannot impose upon them a foresight that few possessed. Also, not everyone had the money or the opportunity to get out. The end of the Schmidt story is painful to recount, and easily consulted, if one has the stomach for it. To be brief: in 1939, he was caught in France by the German invasion, tried to escape to the US but didn't get any further than just across the Swiss border. Interned in a refugee camp near Zurich, he was extremely poorly cared for and died in 1942. He was 38 years old. As in the case of Mario Lanza and Fritz Wunderlich, one wants to cry.

To really appreciated the astonishing technical virtuosity of Schmidt's voice, one needs to hear what is unfortunately a poor recording, privately made in 1934. I have done some audio work on this recording, in an attempt to bring out some of the sounds of the lower register, which are all but lost in the original. I believe it is at least a little better for the effort. Here is the Aramaic prayer Ano Avdoh. "I am thy servant, Oh Holy One, and I ever bow before thee and the glory of the Torah."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciVxjj7PMCM


An absolutely astonishing instrument! Schmidt's voice soared easily to the very top of the tenor range. He could, like Lauri Volpi and a few other great bel canto tenors, sing—in line— all the way to the high D natural, something remarkably few tenors can legitimately do. Also note the extreme flexibility, owing almost certainly to his early cantorial training. The plaintive nature of the piece is very moving indeed.

Schmidt had an enormous operatic repertoire, and recorded a large number of the best known tenor arias, something that was easy for him, as he had "no fear of heights," so to speak! It was the more popular repertoire, however, that won him his biggest audience. Here is a good example, the English version of "Ein Stern fällt vom Himmel," the title song of a 1934 movie:

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


A lovely rendition of a pretty, lilting melody. His English was quite good, and the song is easy enough to understand. That cannot always be said, as legitimate voices often slur over consonants, especially if English is not the singer's native language. But Schmidt handles English diction quite well. (The greatest exception to this tendency was Mario Lanza, whose enunciation was crystal clear, like that of a popular singer, even in his stratospheric upper register.)

Finally, we must include one operatic piece, even though it is in an arranged concert version, Here is a special Schmidt version of the old war-horse "Di Quella Pira," where he manages to interpolate yet a THIRD high C in the middle of the aria:) You will never hear an easier high C. It sounds like the middle of his register. His voice lay extremely high.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dxMyV6MOjjA&feature=related


A great voice, by any measure. It is at least some consolation that he made so many recordings. In this way, his artistry and extreme vocal endowments live on, for new generations to enjoy and admire.

Set Svanholm: The Many Sides of a Great Musician

Today it is my great pleasure to present another in our series of guest commentators, Dr.Marie-Louise Rodén, whose photo appears to the left. Professor Rodén is Swedish but grew up in the United States and received a Ph.D. in History from Princeton University. She is currently Professor of History at Kristianstad University in Sweden, and her research specialty has been the political development of the Roman Papacy in the Early Modern Period. She also has a background in classical music and is currently, together with Daniele D. Godor, preparing a biography of Set Svanholm, which will be published in 2014.

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No one living in Sweden can have failed to notice that 2011 marks the centenary of the popular Swedish tenor Johan Jonatan “Jussi” Björling (1911-1960). Jussi fan clubs across the country have had a field day. Radio programs, television documentaries and biographical works have literally rained on his compatriots this past spring. I thought it might be time to redress the balance by introducing readers to another renowned Swedish tenor, Set Svanholm (1904-64.)

Early Years

Set Svanholm was born in Västerås as the second of three sons to Viktor Svanholm and his wife Beda. Viktor Svanholm came from a poor family in Västergötland and signed on as kitchen boy on a cargo boat at the age of 13. An accident with firearms cost him his sight, and two years later he was enrolled at the Manilla school for the blind in Stockholm. When he returned home after completing his education, a sermon by a visiting preacher made such a deep impression on him that he decided to become a clergyman himself. Viktor Svanholm thus became a preacher in a free-church movement, the “Evangelical Foundation for the Fatherland (EFS)”. In an essay about his father from 1963, Set Svanholm recalled that it was his task, even as a schoolboy, to play the organ in religious services. The hymns sung at these services, “with tones from Zion” made an indelible impression on him and shaped his musical sensibilities.

Set Svanholm graduated from gymnasium in 1922 and almost immediately obtained his first position as organist and choir director in Tillberga. In the following years, he completed both elementary and advanced degrees in organ and church music, as well as a general teacher’s certificate and one in music education. In 1929 he obtained the prestigious post of cantor in St. Jakob’s Church in Stockholm, which he retained until 1950. Here is his earliest known recording, (1934) where he is featured as conductor, leading the St. Jakob's choir in the Bach chorale “Jesu, nådens källa (Jesus, Font of Grace.)” It is a brief selection, but provides a good introduction to his musical sophistication and mastery of classical form. He was, from the beginning, a formidable musician:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXUvGq6rsxc&feature=email


St. Jakob’s Church was conveniently located right opposite the Royal Opera, and during his first years as conductor Svanholm had a promising tenor among his choristers – Jussi Björling. As Björling’s operatic career prospered, he started skipping rehearsals or just “marking” notes instead of singing with full voice. When Svanholm reprimanded him, Björling quit abruptly by stomping out of the church, slamming the door behind him, only to open it again. He stuck his head in to say: “Get yourself a better tenor – if you can!”

From Church Musician to Opera Singer

Both Svanholm and Björling were voice students of the well-known baritone John Forsell (1868-1941), as was the soprano Nini Högstedt (1909-98) who became Svanholm’s wife in 1934 and gave up her singing career. She then bore him six children, as Anna Russell would have put it.

Svanholm made his debut in 1930 as a baritone, as Silvio in Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci, and became a member of the Royal Opera’s ensemble in 1932. All on his own, he began reworking his vocal technique to make the transition from baritone to tenor roles. He was a lyrical Italian baritone, known as “Kavalierbariton” in German, and had always had an easy high register. One day he telephoned his old teacher and announced that he had a promising new tenor that he would like to present – and surprised Forsell by coming to the appointed meeting all on his own!

Svanholm made his debut as a tenor in February of 1936, as soloist in Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. His operatic debut followed on September 22 of the same year with Radames in Verdi’s Aida. In the fall of 1937 he began to sing Wagner, with Lohengrin as his first role. In a short time he added Siegmund in Die Walküre, Tannhäuser, Stolzing in Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, and both Siegfrieds to his Wagnerian repertoire. Here is Svanholm as Siegmund, in an exceptionally good live recording from 1954:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jucxGMxoJNQ&feature=email

Kirsten Flagstad (1895-1962), the greatest Wagnerian soprano of the age, remarked in her memoirs: “For me there was only one Siegmund . . . that was Set.” It is hard to disagree with her. The baritonal, metallic quality of Svanholm’s voice was a perfect match for this role. A commercial recording from 1957 (Decca) of Die Walküre, Act I, also presents Svanholm at his very best and Flagstad as a surprisingly youthful and convincing Sieglinde – at the age of 62!

Swedish Heldentenor in the Third Reich

Svanholm’s career outside Sweden began in 1938, on the eve of World War II. Bruno Walter had heard him in Stockholm, and invited him to Vienna where he made his debut in Lohengrin. Performances in Germany, Austria, Zürich, Budapest and Prague soon followed. In 1942 he became the first Swede ever to sing at La Scala in Milan (Tannhäuser) and, in the same year, became the only Swede to appear in a major role at the Kriegsfestspiele in Bayreuth. Many vocal artists from politically “neutral” Sweden sang in Germany during the war years: Jussi Björling, Sigurd Björling, Torsten Ralf, Sven Olof Sandberg, and Zarah Leander are names that come to mind. But apart from Leander, who was criticized severely after the war for her activities, Svanholm was probably the Swedish artist most active in the Third Reich during these years. He was a member of the ensemble of the Deutsche Staatsoper in Berlin and did not leave the German stages until 1944.

There is no real indication that Svanholm was sympathetic to the political policies of the Nazi regime. One plausible explanation for his desire to remain in Germany was the opportunity of developing his interpretations of the great Wagnerian roles in collaboration with Heinz Tietjen (1881-1967), artistic director of the Bayreuther Festspiele from 1931 to 1944.

But Svanholm also had firm invitations from the Metropolitan, Chicago Lyric and San Francisco operas and in 1946 finally crossed the Atlantic for a glorious decade as the foremost Wagnerian tenor of the post-war era.

International Acclaim

Svanholm’s trans-Atlantic career began in South America, where he sang Siegmund and Tristan in Rio de Janeiro. His debut at the Met was on November 15, 1946 in the title role in Wagner’s Siegfried. Svanholm was to remain under contract to the Met until 1956.

The American critics and audiences saw Svanholm as the self-evident successor to Lauritz Melchior (1890-1973), who was nearing the end of his career. Svanholm was unanimously appreciated for his athletic physique (he was only 5 feet 8 inches tall and quite trim at around 136 lbs), but above all for his intelligence, sophisticated musicianship and scrupulous adherence to the score: all of which stood in sharp contrast to the interpretations of “the Great Dane!"

To an international public, Svanholm is primarily recognized as a great Wagnerian, but in fact, his repertoire, both in terms of art song and opera, was broad and diversified. As a last excerpt, here is his interpretation of Schubert’s Der Erlkönig. This recording comes from a Liederabend in 1949 at the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. Svanholm is accompanied by the fantastic Arne Sunnergårdh:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fc0G-ozV_vo&feature=email

During his decade in the Americas Svanholm continued to sing at home and performed many roles from Italian and French repertoire, as well as Swedish rarities such as De Frumerie’s Singoalla and Atterberg’s Fanal. By 1956 he was weary of traveling, wanted to spend more time with his family, and thus accepted the position as General Manager of the Royal Opera in Stockholm. Svanholm’s years as manager, too large a subject to discuss here, can be summarized as follows: New music, Swedish music, Niche music. Many works from the modern (Britten, Berg) and older operatic repertoire (Lully, Händel, Mozart’s Idomeneo) were performed in Stockholm for the first time and the most significant premiere of a new Swedish opera was Karl Birger Blomdahl’s Aniara.

There are several reasons why “Set Svanholm” is not a household word, even in Sweden, in the sense that “Jussi Björling” is. Björling’s repertoire was more accessible to a large number of casual opera listeners than the more specialized and demanding roles that Svanholm performed. Above all, Björling made over 240 commercial recordings while Svanholm only made 15. In the aftermath of World War II Svanholm’s main repertoire was, with a few exceptions, ignored by the major record companies. A Wagner “Renaissance” eventually occurred partly thanks to the commercial success of the Solti Ring, where Svanholm only participated as Loge in Das Rheingold. However, many live recordings of this important musician have been preserved, and a number of them are available on labels such as Music & Arts, Gebhardt, Golden Melodram, Bluebell, Preiser, and Caprice.

With thanks to Edmund for inviting me to “blog” and in the hope that some of his readers will either discover or re-visit this glorious voice.