The Great Jacques Urlus

Jacques Urlus was born in 1867 near Aachen, and grew up in Tilburg, in The Netherlands. As was—and is— so often the case with great artists, entertainers and sports figures, his family was poor, so much so that they could not afford to give him any musical training. The result of this is that Urlus was essentially self-taught, and a mighty job he did of it, for he was to become an extraordinary technician, with a near-flawless vocal technique that made it possible for him to sing Mozart, Wagner (with which he was particularly associated), and Lieder. In a word, like Franz Völker and Leo Slezak, he could sing anything he put his mind to. Essentially, it is always the same voice, and it always works well! More on this subject in a moment.

His debut was at the Amsterdam Opera House, in 1894, in a small part. After singing around Amsterdam for a while, he had the chance to go to Hannover, Germany, where he appeared in Lohengrin, to considerable acclaim. He sang for Cosima Wagner, but was not at that time given any opportunities at Bayreuth. So, it was back to The Netherlands, where he continued singing where he could. His next big move was in 1900, to Leipzig, which became his artistic base for many years. Debuts from farther afield soon came, and he went on to perform in Berlin, Vienna, Frankfurt and other houses in Germany and Austria. He also appeared at Covent Garden at this time. Finally, in 1911, he did get the chance to go to Bayreuth, where he sang Siegmund , which was well received.

It was on to the Met the next year, and Urlus was now established, having sung in all the major Northern opera houses. I do not know that he ever sang publicly in any language except German, or, I assume, Dutch in some of the performances in The Netherlands.  After the Met engagement, it was back to Germany, where he essentially spent the rest of his career.

Urlus is a good example of what I talk about often in these pages, and that is the unsatisfying vagueness of our current terminology for voice types. He was a great tenor. To me that sums it up. We are so besotted with ever-finer vocal definitions, that they lose meaning after while: Heldentenor, heroic tenor (the same thing) dramatic tenor (the same thing), spinto tenor, leggiero tenor, lyric tenor, etc. ad infinitum. They are all in fact tenors, men with high singing voices. We burden our vocabulary with endless definitions, to almost no avail. Most of these definitions, when you stop and think about it, describe the color, size, intensity and flexibility of the voice. It does not invent a new category every time one tenor sounds different from another. Let's look more closely at Urlus, a good example of what I am talking about. Commonly called a "Heldentenor," a term I somewhat uneasy with in his case, here is his rendition of a popular Mozart aria, Tamino's "Dies Bildness ist bezaubernd Schön"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCou93le6zU&feature=related


It is beautiful, and reminds me of what a well-known New York opera coach once told me: "Everybody likes to hear these great Mozart arias, but they don't want to hear a church tenor singing them." Indeed. Urlus' voice sounds different here, of course, from that of Fritz Wunderlich, Jussi Björling, or Alfredo Kraus, but so what? They are different people, each with his own voice. If it resembles anyone else's rendition, it would be Franz Völker's. Both were eminently successful singing Mozart. And Wagner!

Let's hear Urlus move now to Verdi, and to what is commonly considered a "big" and "dramatic" aria, "Celeste Aida."  Urlus sings it with exactly the same voice with which he sang the Tamino aria:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LB1gfEe1IlY


I would say this is exceptionally well done; that it is, in fact, great tenor singing, without question. The line, the purity of the vocal production, the style, and the dynamics, even with the "as written" ending.  It is elegant and consummate singing, by any standard and in any historical period.  What I am not sure I hear is "Heldentenor."  If Lauritz Melchior is a "Heldentenor," then Jacques Urlus may not be. That is as simply as I can put it. They are both tenors, and they both sound very good in very different kinds of roles.

Finally, 2 short Wagner arias, from Lohengrin, recorded in 1907 and 1911. ("In Fernem Land," when Urlus was 40 years old, and "Mein lieber Schwan," four years later. I invite you to compare the voice, in all its aspects, to the two pieces we have already heard.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETGflvP5el8


And there you have it. Superb singing on all fronts: Mozart, Verdi and Wagner, and we have not even touched the lighter song repertoire, at which he also excelled. One voice, finely tuned and universally applicable. The fact that he always sang in German or Dutch, of course, helps make this happen. If he were to sing in Italian, Spanish, or French, it would be possible to talk about his particular aptitude for one or the other language, but that only adds another element to the real differences between tenor singing voices, and that is the aptness to the language of birth—another matter altogether, unrelated to voice types. Jacques Urlus was a great tenor; remarkably consistent and almost infinitely adaptable.*

__________________________________________
*For those who wish to listen to more of Urlus, please permit me to recommend strongly the Youtube channel of Mr. Tim Shu, at dantitustimshu, one of the very best sites currently available on the web, where you can find many Urlus videos, all with erudite and reliable commentary.

Léopold Simoneau: The Art of Elegant Lyricism

Léopold Simoneau was born in St. Flavien, Québec. After beginning studies in Québec City and Montreal, he went to New York to study with the well-known American tenor and teacher Paul Althouse. His first important debut was in 1949 at the Opéra Comique in Paris, in Gounod's Mireille. His lovely, elegant singing was an instant hit with the French, and in the next two years he went on to debuts at the Paris Opera, Glyndebourne, Aix-en-Provence, Edinburgh, Salzburg, Vienna and Milan. He was quickly establishing a reputation not only as a brilliant Mozartean tenor, but as a near-perfect exponent of the elegant style of older opera in general, including Gluck's Orfeo, Delibes' Lakmé, and Rameau's Les Indes galantes. In the US, he sang at the Chicago Lyric from 1954 to 1961, and one season at the Met, as don Ottavio, in the 1960's. New York was not a fertile artistic field for elegant tenor singing in the Franch style at that time, being heavily invested in Italian verismo opera. Simoneau's superb lyric craftsmanship won him many honors in Canada, and he was, during his entire career, greatly respected for his musicianship and sense of high style.

His sense of style and finely tuned singing technique is something easily appreciated from hearing it, as opposed to someone talking about it! Here is the lovely "Un'aura amorosa," from Mozart's Così Fan Tutte:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=in7Nhn1H7Zs


Isn't that lovely! The legato line is perfect, and the smoothness of his singing is truly astonishing. This little aria is much trickier artistically that it might seem. The back and forth movement over the passagio can be treacherous, and it is not at all easy to maintain a smooth legato in the process. This is exemplary Mozart singing, and in fact Simoneau was praised throughout his career as one of the very greatest of Mozart singers.

It was not only in Mozart, of course, that he excelled. As a French-speaking tenor, the transition to operas such as Bizet's Pearl Fishers was natural. Here is the famous and beautiful aria "Je crois entendre encore:"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCl-Ib9FmTs


That is supremely beautiful, and vocally matches even the most famous tenors of all time (and I think every professional tenor has recorded it!) and is, I must say, far more convincing stylistically and linguistically that the versions of many well-known tenors. Simoneau is squarely within his favored repertoire!

Finally, an unusual piece. The music itself is very well known (Orpheus' heart-breakingly beautiful "che farò senza Euridice") but it is almost always sung by a contralto or mezzo-soprano. In France, however the piece was mounted as a French 18th-century style opera, with Orpheus sung by a tenor. This may sound a bit unusual to those who have heard only the contralto version, because dramatically the tenor best represents the role and the music as a male heart-broken lover who has lost his beloved, and the dramatic inflections which Simoneau makes place the piece slightly outside the more concert-like lilting, legato versions of female singers. I think it's a small matter, because the piece gains much in the (appropriate, I think) drama of its presentation. See what you think:

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


I find this very moving, and I think it works perfectly well.

Simoneau's career was one of very high musical and stylistic quality , and his recordings still bear eloquent testimony to that fact!

Ezio Pinza: One Of The Greatest Singing Basses

Italian-American Bass Ezio Pinza was born in Rome in 1892, and grew up in Ravenna. Like so many famous artists, he was born in poverty. Such individuals often strive to succeed in sports or show business, largely because their poverty frees them from ordinary middle-class expectations, and, to put it simply, they can afford to take the chance. He showed musical promise early on, and was able to take some lessons at Bologna's Martini Conservatory. His operatic debut was in Norma in 1914.

His operatic career began in earnest after WWI, when he made his La Scala debut, in 1919, under Arturo Toscanini. From the very beginning, his voice was uncommonly smooth and beautiful, a great asset for a singing bass, especially one with matinee idol looks, which Pinza possessed in abundance. His lack of formal education meant that he was not a particularly well-schooled musician. He was not able to read music, for example, but he had a very sharp ear, and could memorize music accurately, even to the point of being able to hear—and absorb—stylistic nuances. His musical instincts were superb. The result of this was that he began his musical career to considerable acclaim, coming across to audiences and critics alike as a very good-looking and sophisticated singer and actor, with a brilliant and beautiful voice. His career soared as a result, and by 1926 he had been invited to sing at the Metropolitan Opera. Engagements at Covent Garden and Salzburg soon followed. He was particularly successful in the Italian repertoire, including Bellini, Verdi and Donizetti.

Like other Italians before him, he felt most at home in America, where he was an idol of the huge Italian-American audience that had so warmly embraced Caruso, Galli-Curci, Martinelli, and so many others. He was a favorite at the Met, where he sang for 22 years. In 1948 he switched gears, so to speak, and embarked upon a successful Broadway career, becoming a popular and well known matinee idol, largely through the success he enjoyed in South Pacific and, later, Fanny. It was in South Pacific, however, that he first became known by America's popular music audience, and it brought him great fame. He was frequently heard and seen on radio, TV and in the movies, and found acceptance as an essentially popular singer. His was one of the broader and more successful American singing careers.

Here is the quintessential Pinza in one of his most popular operas, Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, singing "Non Piu Andrai."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qk7NEnT1T1o


Notice the extreme smoothness of the voice. The wonderful thing about Pinza (inter alia!) is that he was first and foremost a singer. He put the "singing" in "singing bass." Many, less endowed vocally, will sometimes bark their way through even lyric arias like this. Pinza never did that. He was always the consummate singer and musician.

In the Italian repertoire, Pinza was very much at home, and the opportunity to display his elegant and musical singing was never greater than in operas such as Verdi's Simon Boccanegra. Here is the beautifully dramatic "Il Lacerato Spirito."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7cwjbO4zaM&feature=related


It is hard to imagine this aria better sung. It displays Pinza's operatic gifts perfectly. It is all there: the musicality, the stylistics, and—always—the flawless technique and beautiful, flowing voice.

Finally, we absolutely must conclude with the song that made Pinza a household name in America. Here is an old kinescope recording of Pinza and Mary Martin in "Some Enchanted Evening" from South Pacific. As will become apparent from the old video, he was in fact an excellent actor. The voice is wonderful, and the thick Italian accent is completely irrelevant, because it is a foreign character part. In fact, it adds to the charm. This is the Pinza most Americans knew and loved:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqBtME2kXUY&feature=related


There is nothing I can add to that!

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!