Mario Filippeschi--"The King of Tenors"

Dear Readers:  This article was originally written on June 17, and was unfortunately lost during the time I was rebuilding this site.   Fortunately, I had backed it up, and have been able to reconstruct it! 

It is a real pleasure —and distinct honor—for me to welcome the return today of our very distinguished guest writer, Mr. Gioacchino Fiurezi Maragioglio, Italian industrialist from Naples, opera critic and historian. Mr. Fiurezi Maragioglio was an intimate friend of the great Italian tenor Giacomo Lauri Volpi, and is a life-time subscriber to the Teatro San Carlo, one of the world's historically great opera houses. Mr. Fiurezi Maragioglio's knowledge of Italian opera and opera singers —past and present—is simply vast, and I do not believe that there is anyone among my acquaintances whose knowledge exceeds his own, and there are precious few who could match it. I know that I certainly could not. It is a rare pleasure to be able to feature this piece on the great Italian tenor Mario Filippeschi.]

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 Mario Filippeschi, the tenor from Pisa, was called spadavoce* by adoring audiences in Spain. At his beloved Teatro San Carlo, he was known as Mario il mito.** Lauri-Volpi, in private correspondence, once called him the "King of Tenors." It was a title he truly deserved.

 

The voice was of the highest quality: warm and sonorous throughout the range, extending into a glorious treble register that finished with a gigantic high D natural. Filippeschi, like Escalais, O’Sullivan, Lauri-Volpi, Soler and others, belonged to that rarest of vocal categories— the true heroic tenor. While a dramatic tenor often has a weighty, dark voice and vast sound, (Giacomini, Vinay) the heroic tenor is more what is sometimes called a “super-lyric.” Although large, the voice is brighter and more notable for power of incision than for weight. A dramatic tenor can easily make a career without an extensive upper register, but for a heroic tenor, singing notes like the C and C-sharp must be easy and effortless.

 

Filippeschi was an exemplar of all these qualities. His high notes, and not just the very highest C-sharp and D, but lower notes as well, were cast into the theatre like a blast of molten gold. This stream could be modulated a piacereto a fine pianissimo. The staging of Faust at San Carlo, with Tebaldi, in 1951, was particularly memorable. Although only a young man, I remember going with my father to speak to Filippeschi before the opera. I recall that during these years, it was Di Stefano’s high C diminuendo that had captured much attention among the opera-going public, so we were most interested when Filippeschi told us that “Di Stefano is not the only one to make that little trick of "suffocation.”*** And sure enough, that night, during the cavatina, the great tenor sang a fortissimo high C, bringing it slowly down to a floating pianissimo.

 Callas attained great prominence as a reviver of Rossini and other bel canto composers. The Maggio Musicale Fiorentino performance of Armida, in 1952, is still well remembered. Less well known, outside Italy, is the role that Filippeschi played in reviving bel canto, especially Rossini. Always a generous performer, giving his best to the audience, he gave his voice with the unselfishness of a blood donor to old Rossini and his final operatic creation, William Tell, in the formidable role of Arnoldo. Singing it is not just a matter of pulling out a C — although this is important. No, Arnoldo must be sung by a voice of the right color, texture and power: it is no role for a tenorino. **** Filippeschi sang this role all over Italy and overseas as well, more than fifty times between his début of the role in 1949 and his last performance of it in 1959—a record that is unlikely ever to be equalled.

Upon hearing the cruel tessitura Verdi had demanded of the heroine of Nabucco, Rossini called him a "composer in a helmet." In the writing of Arnoldo's role, we could say the same of Rossini! Filippeschi, however, with a voice naturally suited to these heights, and harnessed with solid nineteenth-century technique, passed through these Alps of opera without a single mis-step. Here he is, singing the big scene of Act IV, O muto asil del pianto, and the cabaletta, Corriam! Voliam!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TgPNa5dyio

 Prior to his vocal training, Filippeschi studied the clarinet, which no doubt helped to form his musicianship and above all refine his legendary breath control. His extraordinary singing was always well-presented in another of his best roles: that of Manrico in Il Trovatore. Here, he sings Di quella pira, the big aria that the audience always waits for.  A real showpiece, requiring an extraordinary voice if it is to be done well, and pity the tenor who does not do it well!  Only first-class singers need apply!

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

Such incredible high Cs! There is a time for romantic and realistic characterisation in Manrico’s character,but  this comes in other places in the opera: during the cavatina to this cabaletta, earlier in "Mal reggendo," in the first act serenade, and of course in the final act in the "Miserere" and the duet "Ai nostri monti." "Di quella pira," however, is all about excitement and militaristic abandon.

 Arturo, in I Puritani, was another role with which Filippeschi was closely associated. He provided not only the high notes (always singing "A te, o cara" and "Credeasi misera" in the original key), but sustained the high tessitura of the role effortlessly. Additionally, and very importantly, Filippeschi also sang Arturo with a certain feeling for Bellini’s long, long melodic line that he is frequently accused —outside Italy—of lacking. In any case, readers can judge for themselves. Here Filippeschi sings the great warhorse, "A te, o cara."

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

Finally, let us look at Filippeschi in his signature role--The Duke, in Rigoletto.  Filippeschi's Duke was an edgier, darker figure than that portrayed by many tenors. During his career, his Duca was extremely pleasing to me and audiences at San Carlo, and now, listening to old recordings, I find them refreshing. Today there is a great obsession with forcing the Duke to be sung in a way which creates a sympathetic character that endears him to the audience. Nothing could be further from Verdi’s vision, which, we must remember, in fact depicts no less a personage than King Francis I of France: a sovereign emperor who needs no sympathy. Certainly his second-act aira  "Ella mi fu rapita," performed in  its correct context as an interior lament, reflected this darker character, and one can hear resonances of that more powerful, inforgiving, autocratic nature even in a passionate love song such as "E il sol dell'anima": 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRnNB4HXOK4&feature=plcp

What a top voice!  This hardly sounds like a lovesick and impoverished student.  It sounds more like a Roman emperor! 

The versatility and stamina of Filippeschi was incredible, from the very beginning of his career in 1937, when he made his début as Edgardo, and then the very next day was called upon to sing the Duke, a role which served him well for more than twenty-five years and which he presented for his final performances. His retirement when he was only in his mid fifties was certainly not caused by any vocal problems, but by a desire for a more tranquil life with his wife and daughters. Filippeschi was, from the beginning, in high demand, frequently travelling the length of Italy between Palermo and Trieste, crossing the sea to sing in Spain, and above all, always having to hurry across the Atlantic Ocean to sing in Mexico and South America, where he was, like everywhere, a great favorite.

The quality and success of his career is reflected in the artists he performed with: names such as Maria Callas, Renata Tebaldi, Maria Caniglia, Gertrude Grob-Prandl, Lina Pagliughi, Antonietta Stella, Adelina Cambi Fedora Barbieri, Ebe Stignani, Aldo Protti, Carlo Tagliabue, Giuseppe Taddei, Tito Gobbi, Boris Christoff, Giulio Neri, as well as the great conductors Gabriele Santini, Vincenzo Bellezza, Tullio Serafin. One person with whom Filippeschi did not have an easy relationship was Victor de Sabata: when singing at La Scala in 1949 as Alvaro, he and de Sabata clashed severely, with the result than the only later association the tenor had with La Scala was collaborating with the orchestra and chorus after Serafin asked him to be Pollio to Callas’ Norma on the famous recording. To an outsider, such a conflict might seem disastrous, for it is a common assumption that La Scala enjoys status as primus inter pares. But Italy is a land of many towers, and during the `40s and `50s, nothing could be more deceiving. Naples and Rome enjoyed great prestige, and Filippeschi’s reputation as tenor of the capital probably did not help him at La Scala, still recovering from the war.

Fortunately, Filippeschi’s legacy is secure thanks to the many recordings of this work that survive, and thanks also to the two opera films he sang and acted in (Rigoletto, Lucia di Lammermoor), his studio output, and numerous live and RAI broadcast recordings, which capture him in all his best roles, such as Arnoldo, Calàf, Chénier, Duca, Manrico, Don Carlo, and Arturo. Regrettably, no document exists of his interpretation of Fernando in La Favorita, one of his best roles, which served as his farewell to the stage in Spain, where the news that it would be his last caused tears in the audience.

 
Now I thank this noble facilitator, Professor Edmund St Austell, for this wonderful opportunity to showcase the King of Tenors on his blog. Like Filippeschi, he is a gentleman of great learning and great perception and the Internet is a better place for his vast contribution.

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*spadavoce "A voice that cuts like a sword"

 

** Mario il mito "the mythical Mario," or "the Legendary Mario"

 

*** "Smorzando," gradually slowing down and softening the note

 

**** A modest, light-voiced tenor

 

Giuseppe Anselmi: The Triumph of Elegance

Sicilian tenor Giuseppe Anselmi was born in 1876, and achieved a great reputation throughout Europe in the early years of the twentieth century.  He was also quite popular in St. Petersburg, at the Mariinski, and he also  sang in Warsaw.  Unlike some other singers of his era, he never came to the United States, possibly because Caruso had debuted here in 1903, and was, virtually from the beginning, a very popular tenor, actually one of the first superstars of opera.  That was a matter of small consequence, however, because Anselmi was an entirely different kind of tenor, one more characteristic of the 19^th than the twentieth century.  He was at least something of  a bel canto tenor, in the same approximate school as Alessandro Bonci. 

He had a very good career in Europe, and the basis of his fame was the elegance of his singing.  His predilection for bel canto—while not reflected so much in his repertoire choice –made possible some very refined singing, and opened the door for older works.  He sang the bigger Italian roles quite consistently (Canio, Turridu,Cavaradossi,Il Duca, for example),  so while some might loosely call him a "bel canto" tenor, that did not rule out for him the heavier Italian roles.  The divisions between voice types and roles barely existed at that time, and singers often sang a very wide repertoire.  Anselmi sang Ottavio and Almaviva as well as Canio and Turridu, and would also sing Handel and Richard Strauss. He even recorded one song in Russian. 

Anselmi's reputation for elegance came not only from his bel canto training and his linguistic abilities; he was an excellent musician, having studied both piano and violin at the Naples Conservatory as a young man.  His debut was in Genoa, in 1900, when he was very young indeed, and he quickly became popular.  His next move, the following year, was to Covent Garden, and subsequent debuts at San Carlo, La Scala, Monte Carlo came quickly.  From there, it was Brussels, Germany, Vienna, St. Petersburg, Poland and Spain; everywhere a success. While he did not travel to North America, he did travel to South America, and  sang at the Colón in Buenos Aires.  He was not in very robust health, it seems, and by 1910, he was waning, and, sadly, died of tuberculosis in 1929, only 53 years of age.

While Anselmi sang a lot of the "bread and butter" Italian roles, he was no stranger to more modern and more refined music, witness this recording of R. Strauss' "Morgen":

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YnI4yUXK78

I think you will agree that this is beautiful and musically elegant.  This is not a "trendy" or "occasional" thing that he was doing.  His singing reveals both an understanding of  and control over the style of the song.

Here is an example of bel canto training as reflected  in his handling of Loris' famous aria from Fedora.  We are used to hearing this done by some very robust tenors, but this is another approach to the song that works very well:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loCS7lVehlQ&feature=related

How about that!?  Talk about elegance and bel canto technique!  That is absolutely beautiful singing, and the stylistics and musicality are inspiring.  It is not hard to see why he was revered throughout Europe.  That kind of singing is close to being a lost art among tenors.

Here is an Anselmi rarity.  He recorded a soprano aria from Handel's Xerxes, "Va godendo," only recently posted.  This is a real treat:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoiLX4Xxkvs&feature=related

 Just lovely!  We can say exactly the same thing about this aria that we can say about the first two selections:  purity, elegance, musicality, control of style, tone and phrasing.  All the arts of beautiful singing.  And as for recording a soprano aria from Handel, that just wasn't done by tenors in his day.  There are clearly resonances of a very much earlier time here.

Finally, and I present this because it is linguistically very  rare,  a recording of an Italian tenor singing in Russian.  I suspect, as I point out in the description I put on this video when I posted it,  that this is something he learned in St.Petersburg, where he was exceptionally popular:  (I wrote the first half of the description on this video in Russian, for my Russian audience, but scroll down a bit, I also posted it in English.):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS3Y0otgRNU

An unusual tenor, a golden age, and arts now largely lost, but there is always the possibility of recovering the essence of the lost arts, if not the actual techniques.

 

 

Juan Diego Florez: Revival Of The Tenore Contraltino

[Today I am pleased to offer to readers another in our series of guest commentaries, this one by Mr. Darren Seacliffe, from Singapore. Darren is by far the youngest guest writer we have had in what I consider to be an excellent series generally.  He is an undergraduate student in his early 20's pursuing a degree in a private university in Singapore.  His interest in opera spans a wide variety of genres, from Rossini to 20^th century opera prior to 1945. His areas of greatest interest are Rossini, bel canto, Verdi, and German operetta.  I will only add that Mr. Seacliffe's knowledge of opera history—especially for one so young, is truly extraordinary!  Here is a blossoming music critic if ever I saw one, and that is a happy sign indeed, for all kinds of reasons! Edmund StAustell .]

 

There are two opera composers without whom Italian opera would be much different: Mozart and Rossini.  It was Rossini who elaborated upon and further developed the innovations which the great Mozart had previously made in Italian opera with respect to its musical structure and theatricality. Unlike Mozart, whose artistry has been given due recognition and whose works have been periodically revived following his death,  Rossini was originally dismissed as a composer of farcical comedies, and—even worse—his works eventually faded out of the repertoire into neglect and oblivion. It has only been in recent years that Rossini has been recognized as a great composer who built on Mozart's work by facilitating Italian opera's transition from baroque opera to the genre we see and recognize today, largely through the opera serie he composed for the virtuosi at the Teatro San Carlo in Naples; works which had earlier been dismissed as contributing little to the development of opera.

Much credit has to be given to the pioneering generation of Rossini tenors Rockwell Blake, Chris Merritt, Bruce Ford, William Matteuzzi and Ernesto Palacio (Juan Diego Florez' teacher,manager and mentor) for re-introducing these serious operas to the public after years of neglect and oblivion. Despite the retirement of most if not all of the tenors mentioned above, Rossini has not faded away. Many major opera houses continue to revive his comic and tragic masterpieces and there has been at least one major Rossini Opera Festival at Pesaro. One tenor deserves more credit for this than any other, and that is superstar Juan Diego Florez.

Juan Diego Florez was born in 1973 in Lima, Peru. He entered the Conservatorio Nacional de Música in Lima at the age of 17.  He studied under Andrés Santa María, with the original intention of singing popular and folk music.  However, a classical voice soon emerged. Even so, he had not found where his strength lay until a chance meeting with his great predecessor Ernesto Palacio, who mentored him in becoming a Rossini tenor. His professional debut took place in the Rossini Opera Festival of 1988 when he stood in for an ailing Bruce Ford in a historical revival of one of Rossini's latter operas, Matilde di Shabran. From there on, there was no turning back and he began to attain to greater and greater heights as the years went by. Many performances were especially noteworthy, including the Barber of Seville, La Cenerentola, La Donna del Lago, Zelmira, and La Fille de Regiment.  

Just as Pavarotti was the first to excel at roles Bellini had originally composed for the great Rubini, Florez excelled, through his amazing technique, in singing the stratospheric coloratura Rossini had composed for the virtuosi of the Teatro San Carlo— Andrea Nozzari, Giovanni David and Adolphe Nourritt. However, this alone does not place him at the head of the many bel canto tenors we are blessed with today like Lawrence Brownlee, Antonio Siragusa, Colin Lee and Barry Banks. What makes Florez the undisputed best of these tenors is the additional factor of the light and fresh beauty of his voice. Here is a video of Florez singing an aria from Rossini's La Donna del Lago; one which clearly shows these qualities which he possesses in abundance. The aria has a long orchestral introduction.  I recommend you advance the radio button to 2:20 to start:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh9hAzU5qRE

To my knowledge, Florez is one of the few Rossini tenors who not only has the technical skill to perform this aria without problems but is also able to perform the aria with the grace and lightness that the first Uberto—Giacomo David—might have brought to his performance. This is one achievement that cannot be underestimated, considering how previous Ubertos—Rockwell Blake and Dalmacio Gonzalez—were unable to bring the role to its fullest potential: Blake due to the raw nature of his voice and Gonzalez due to technical issues.

As mentioned, Florez's big break came in 1996, when he was asked to substitute for the ailing tenor Bruce Ford in a revival of Rossini's Matilde di Shabran at the Rossini Opera Festival, on 2 to 3 weeks' notice. Can you believe that he was able to give a performance of this quality, having had so little time to prepare a role that had not been performed in more than 100 years? He is truly extraordinary. Turn your volume up full for this performance, recorded at a certain distance from the stage:

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

Florez' star began to shine in the opera world from that moment on! Blessed with great talent and technical skill, all joined to a beautiful voice overflowing with freshness, he has consolidated his place as one of today's greatest bel canto tenors. Additionally, he maintains a high performance standard in his acting and conducts himself with exemplary professionalism.  Here you will see what I mean:  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTpkqExMd5g

This performance took place just hours after Florez's wife gave birth in a New York hospital—a shining example of his professionalism!

Not only does Florez sing beautifully, but he has become an accomplished actor. Toward the beginning of his career, he had been criticized by some for his acting, but he showed his true professionalism by taking the negative press seriously and working hard on all aspects of his acting, to the point that he is now praised.  Given the hard work and professionalism he continues to show, Florez' future prospects seem bright indeed.  Some predecessors, such as Kunde and Lopardo, moved on into heavier roles as they got older, and one wonders what roles Florez might next attempt in the bel canto repertoire. Perhaps Roberto Devereux, Percy, Gennaro or even Edgardo? Before Pavarotti passed away, he acknowledged Florez as his successor. Not yet, certainly, but given the amount of progress he is making, I for one believe it is a distinct possibility.

-Darren Seacliffe

 

Ballet Break! Darcey Bussell

Dear Readers:  Today, unusually, I'd like to take a brief  break from the world of great opera singers, past and present, to celebrate one of ballet's greatest ballerinas, Darcey Bussell, the pride of Great Britain.  I know that many of you are also ballet fans, and I hope you enjoy this piece on Bussell, a great favorite of many ballet lovers, myself included!  Thank you!  Edmund StAustell

 

The great British ballerina Darcey Bussell, OBE, CBE, D.Litt., was born in London in 1969.  Elevated to the rank of Principal Dancer at the Royal Ballet at the tender age of 20 [the youngest ever at that time],  she quickly went on to become generally recognized as one of the greatest British ballerinas of all time; for many the greatest.

Bussell was trained originally at the Arts Educational School in London, a dance and theater school for children.  Moving on to the Royal Ballet's Lower School at 13, she passed her exams and was permitted to move on the Upper School at age 16.  By this time, she had begun to attract attention to herself.  Certain individual qualities were beginning to appear.  She was developing into a bold dancer, very much at home with classical technique, but with a certain strength and boldness of attack that was eventually going to attract the attention of choreographer Sir Kenneth MacMillan, who was to do more than anyone else to launch her career, and at a very high level at that.  He saw her strength and impulsiveness of attack as being, at least to his eye, almost more American than British.  This both impressed and pleased him.  She moved into the Sadler's Wells Royal Ballet in 1987, and began to appear both in school productions and some productions with the London Royal.  It was then, at a crucial moment,  when she was still a student, that  MacMillan decided  he wanted her to take the leading role in The Prince of the Pagodas, which he was in the process of setting to Benjamin Britten's music  This was in spite of her relatively untested youth and her unusual physique.  While extremely beautiful, Darcey was very tall for a ballerina.  (Around 5'9'')  Many thought this would seriously limit her career at best, and ruin it at the worst.  But MacMillan was nothing if not daring.  He had already started to bring down the wrath of the ballet world upon himself for his insistence on modernizing his choreography in the direction of movies and method acting, a treacherously difficult thing to do in the hyper-conservative world of London ballet at that time.  Where some saw Bussell's thin, tall, almost lanky body as a drawback, MacMillan saw the promise in those seemingly endlessly long arms and legs.  And so, Darcey Bussell, 19, started working with him on Prince of the Pagodas. It was virtually unheard of for a girl to have a ballet composed on herself  at so tender an age, especially one destined to be presented by one of the world's major ballet companies.  It opened in 1989, to considerable acclaim for the girl ballerina.  As she left the stage, after the final applause, Anthony Dowell, then the acting manager of the company, took her aside and said he was promoting her to Principal Dancer of the London Royal Ballet.  Every girl's dream come true!  Thus began the career of one of the greatest dancers in the history of British ballet.

First, here is the Pas de Deux from Prince of the Pagodas, with Jonathan Cope, Darcey's main partner for many of her early years.  He was himself  tall, and, in a modern ballet, she spent correspondingly less time on point (where she soared well over six feet).  This helped with the height "problem" (which in fact never turned out to be a problem):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUSdhU5fOGc&feature=plcp

The lanky frame, thin arms and legs, in combination with the little girl apperance (she looks about 14 here) were in fact irresistible. And her technique, from this age on, was stunning. 

Another aspect of being a tall ballerina is that with the height  there comes a certain amount of weight, even for a thin person.  This in turn means that in addition to the aesthetic problem of being taller than many male dancers, she was not so easy to lift.  Irek Mukhamedov to the rescue!  Russian principle dancers are generally recognized for their strength and virility, from the very earliest days of Russian ballet, when the mighty and (by today's standards) fat Vasily Tikhomirov shepherded ballerinas of the day from step to step.  It was quite a sight:-) 

Mukhamedov, who admired Bussell, was one of her very best partners.  Even though she often towered over him when on point, there was something about his virile Russian masculinity that was a perfect match for Bussell's marked, almost demure femininity, witness this beautiful pas de deux from MacMillan's Winter Dreams:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx9ad-TgKoA&feature=plcp

Isn't that beautiful?  They worked so well together, and in the magic of their dancing all considerations of body type were obliterated.  What comes thorough is simply a masculine/feminine match that is breath-taking.

We really need to take just a moment, in a short video, to see Bussell's classical technique at work.  Here is an abbreviated version (very short) of the Variation and Coda from La Bayadère, Act I, Scene 3:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQbj7RKjrOU&feature=plcp

Those fouettes en tournant are just spectacular!  Absolutely perfectly executed to the great delight of the audience, as you heard.  Also very much in evidence is how beautiful a woman Darcey was (and remains!)  Just an amazing performer.

Darcey today?  Retired from ballet, but very much in evidence, at age 43.  Here is an extremely attractive jive from the British dance program Strictly Come Dancing, where she is now a judge:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1P-8OOgtZAI

THE ONE AND ONLY!

 

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.