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Sunday, August 10, 2014

Martha Angelici





Martha Angelici (May 22, 1907 – September 11, 1973), was a French operatic soprano of Corsican  origin, particularly associated with the French lyric repertoire.
Angelici was born in Cargese. While still very young she moved with her family to Belgium, where she studied voice in Brussels with Alfred Mahy. She began singing for the Belgian, Dutch and Luxemburg radio in 1933, and gave her first public concert at the Kurzaal of Ostend in 1934. Her first stage performance was in Marseille, as Mimi in La bohème, in 1936.
She made her debut at the Opéra-Comique in 1938, where she had a long and successful career, and made her debut at the Palais Garnier in 1953, as Micaela in Carmen, other notable roles included Leila, Pamina, Nedda, etc. She made a few guest appearances at the Monte Carlo Opera and La Monnaie in Brussels. She was also much admired in French baroque music notably in Rameau's Les Indes galantes, and was much loved as a concert singer, especially of Corsican songs.
She was married to the director of the Opéra-Comique, François Agostini. She died in Ajaccio, aged 66.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDxHzNqW5VQ




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eq3LKfJgMk




Friday, August 1, 2014

Robert Weede, by James A. Drake


ROBERT WEEDE

 

 

"This place is worse than Hell," a frustrated Mario Lanza wrote to his manager from the steaming-hot Army Air Force base in Marfa, Texas, where the young tenor had been assigned for his stint as a draftee during the summer of 1943. “Oh, how I wish I could have Robert Weede here now," Lanza lamented.  "I could sure use some singing lessons."

 

The young Mario Lanza was not alone in seeking out Robert Weede for help with vocal technique.  "Bob was our 'voice repairman,'" said Jan Peerce of Weede's uncanny ability to pinpoint, analyze and, as Peerce put it, to "repair" other singers' vocal problems.  Other first-rank singers including Norman Treigle, Dominic Cossa, and John Alexander also sought Weede's help and advice at key points in their careers.  At no time would Weede accept any remuneration for assisting his colleagues when they were experiencing vocal problems. 

 

Jan Peerce had sought Weede’s help during the only vocal crisis that the otherwise-durable tenor ever experienced.  Weede helped Peerce regain his voice, and appeared with him in San Francisco on The Standard Hour radio series, where they sang the duet “Le minaccie i fieri accenti” from La Forza del Destino:

 

[Dear Readers:  address links are not working properly.  The simplest thing to do is just check out the videos on Google Youtube by the name of the video, such as " le minacci, Forza, Weede, Peerce. "  That usually works well.  Sorry for the hassle--been having a lot of trouble with Google lately, surprise, surprise!"]

http://youtu.be/6ESSpgn7ubM

 

Weede also appeared on radio with Peerce’s young brother-in-law, Richard Tucker, on The Squibb Hour, where Tucker had become a frequent guest artist after being signed by the National Concert Artists Corporation, an agency which secured radio appearances for both up-and-coming and well-established classical musicians. 

 

On The Squibb Hour, accompanied by Lynn Murray and his orchestra, the young Tucker and the already-established Weede sang “Within the Temple There,” an English version of “Au fond du temple saint,” the tenor-baritone duet from I Pescatori di Perle:

 


 

Although Tucker had not yet made his Metropolitan Opera debut when he appeared on The Squibb Hour, Weede was first-rank baritone by then.  Born Robert Wiedefeld in Baltimore, Maryland, on February 22, 1903, he studied voice at the Eastman School of Music in the mid-1920's, and subsequently went to Milan for additional study in 1929-1930.  Upon his return to the U.S., he began performing in regional opera companies, and by 1936 his growing reputation earned him a Metropolitan Opera audition. 

 

Weede made his Met debut on May 15, 1937, as Tonio in a double-bill performance of Pagliacci and Cavalleria Rusticana.  Not until the rehearsals were in progress did he realize that another promising young American baritone, Thomas L. Thomas, had been scheduled for his debut the same day, as Alfio in the Cavalleria performance.  The next day, both baritones were lauded in the New York press for their extremely impressive debut performances. 

 

In the wake of the success of Weede’s Metropolitan debut, he was offered a recording contract by Columbia Records.  One of his most successful Columbia disks was of “Si puo?,” the prologue from Pagliacci, with Frieder Weissmann conducting:

 Dear Readers:  The following address seems to work!

 

 

After his initial success at Tonio, Weede spent the the next three seasons at the Met performing in concerts and galas, usually singing one aria (typically, the Pagliacci prologue) and perhaps singing in a trio, quartet, or other ensemble, but garnering very little attention from the New York critics for these brief appearances.

 

All of that changed on the evening of February 27, 1941, when Weede first appeared in the title role in Rigoletto, in a cast that included Jussi Bjoerling as the Duke of Mantua, Hilde Reggiani as Gilda, and Bruna Castagna as Maddalena.  Amid this strong cast, it was the previously-unheralded Weede who netted the praise of all of the major critics. 

 

"It was not much of a Rigoletto at the Metropolitan for anybody but Robert Weede last night," wrote Irving Kolodin in the New York Sun. "However, what this American baritone accomplished in his first appearance at the opera house in this role was striking enough to make the occasion a memorable one, not only for him, but also for the audience."

"As a primary asset," Kolodin continued, "Mr. Weede has a voice—a big voice, moreover, which fills the opera house with ease and doesn't require the forcing to which he sometimes resorted.  But it has quality as well as size ... [and] he was entitled to the robust applause he received."

 

In the New York Post, critic Edward O'Gorman wrote that "Mr. Weede has an enviable baritone voice, one that is full and robust, capable of a wide range of expression and yet one that has none of the coarseness usually encountered in a voice of its type. Its chief characteristic is perhaps its pliability.  But the element that distinguished Mr. Weede's characterization of Rigoletto was neither vocal nor histrionic, although each was telling in its way, but an uncanny sense of theatre that balanced the two in a performance that was a personal triumph for the singer ...."

 

Writing in the New York World-Telegram, Robert Bagar said that "Mr. Weede's singing proved thoroughly compatible with the demands of the part.  His impersonation grew in stature as the evening wore on, and in the emotional give-and-take of the third act he dominated the stage."  Although Weede’s first appearance in Rigoletto was apparently not recorded, his performance of the demanding role during a Saturday matinee radio broadcast on January 31, 1942, was preserved in an off-the-air recording:

 


From 1941 to 1953, Weede added Amonasro in Aida, Manfredo in L' Amore dei tre re, Shaklovity in the Met premiere of Mussorgsky's Khovanshchina, and Scarpia in Tosca to his Metropolitan Opera repertoire.  It was as Scarpia that he sang his last performance with the Met, a matinee broadcast from Detroit on April 17, 1953, with an all-American cast including tenor Eugene Conley as Mario Cavaradossi and Dorothy Kirsten as Floria Tosca. 

 




 






 

 


 

 

 
 



 



                                                                                  JAMES A. DRAKE

                               

Robert Weede, By James A. Drake


ROBERT WEEDE

By James A. Drake

 I am both honored and pleased to be able to once again present Dr. James A. Drake as our guest author today.  A recently retired college president, James A. Drake is a distinguished author of seven books, four of which are biographies of great opera singers of the twentieth century.  Although not a musician (he earned a doctorate in philosophy and taught primarily in social-science disciplines before he became a university administrator), Dr. Drake earned the confidence of the legendary soprano Rosa Ponselle, with whom he collaborated on her autobiography for Doubleday and Company. With a foreword by Luciano Pavarotti, the Ponselle-Drake collaboration yielded excellent reviews and was named "Music Book of the Month" by the National Book Clubs of America in 1982.  The book was also promoted during a Metropolitan Opera broadcast in the 1982-83 season. By that time, Dr. Drake had been selected by Sara Tucker, widow of the celebrated tenor Richard Tucker, to write an authorized biography of the great singer, who had died in 1975 while at the peak of his career.  For the Tucker book, Luciano Pavarotti again contributed a foreword, and the biography was officially released at a special event hosted by maestro James Levine at Lincoln Center.  Once again, Dr. Drake's newest work received a "Music Book of the Month" award.

 
                                                         Robert Weede
 

"This place is worse than Hell," a frustrated Mario Lanza wrote to his manager from the steaming-hot Army Air Force base in Marfa, Texas, where the young tenor had been assigned for his stint as a draftee during the summer of 1943. “Oh, how I wish I could have Robert Weede here now," Lanza lamented.  "I could sure use some singing lessons."

 

The young Mario Lanza was not alone in seeking out Robert Weede for help with vocal technique.  "Bob was our 'voice repairman,'" said Jan Peerce of Weede's uncanny ability to pinpoint, analyze and, as Peerce put it, to "repair" other singers' vocal problems.  Other first-rank singers including Norman Treigle, Dominic Cossa, and John Alexander also sought Weede's help and advice at key points in their careers.  At no time would Weede accept any remuneration for assisting his colleagues when they were experiencing vocal problems. 

 

Jan Peerce had sought Weede’s help during the only vocal crisis that the otherwise-durable tenor ever experienced.  Weede helped Peerce regain his voice, and appeared with him in San Francisco on The Standard Hour radio series, where they sang the duet “Le minaccie i fieri accenti” from La Forza del Destino:

 


 

Weede also appeared on radio with Peerce’s young brother-in-law, Richard Tucker, on The Squibb Hour, where Tucker had become a frequent guest artist after being signed by the National Concert Artists Corporation, an agency which secured radio appearances for both up-and-coming and well-established classical musicians. 

 

On The Squibb Hour, accompanied by Lynn Murray and his orchestra, the young Tucker and the already-established Weede sang “Within the Temple There,” an English version of “Au fond du temple saint,” the tenor-baritone duet from I Pescatori di Perle:

 


 

Although Tucker had not yet made his Metropolitan Opera debut when he appeared on The Squibb Hour, Weede was first-rank baritone by then.  Born Robert Wiedefeld in Baltimore, Maryland, on February 22, 1903, he studied voice at the Eastman School of Music in the mid-1920's, and subsequently went to Milan for additional study in 1929-1930.  Upon his return to the U.S., he began performing in regional opera companies, and by 1936 his growing reputation earned him a Metropolitan Opera audition. 

 

Weede made his Met debut on May 15, 1937, as Tonio in a double-bill performance of Pagliacci and Cavalleria Rusticana.  Not until the rehearsals were in progress did he realize that another promising young American baritone, Thomas L. Thomas, had been scheduled for his debut the same day, as Alfio in the Cavalleria performance.  The next day, both baritones were lauded in the New York press for their extremely impressive debut performances. 

 

In the wake of the success of Weede’s Metropolitan debut, he was offered a recording contract by Columbia Records.  One of his most successful Columbia disks was of “Si puo?,” the prologue from Pagliacci, with Frieder Weissmann conducting:

 


After his initial success at Tonio, Weede spent the the next three seasons at the Met performing in concerts and galas, usually singing one aria (typically, the Pagliacci prologue) and perhaps singing in a trio, quartet, or other ensemble, but garnering very little attention from the New York critics for these brief appearances.

 

All of that changed on the evening of February 27, 1941, when Weede first appeared in the title role in Rigoletto, in a cast that included Jussi Bjoerling as the Duke of Mantua, Hilde Reggiani as Gilda, and Bruna Castagna as Maddalena.  Amid this strong cast, it was the previously-unheralded Weede who netted the   

All of that changed on the evening of February 27, 1941, when Weede first appeared in the title role in Rigoletto, in a cast that included Jussi Bjoerling as the Duke of Mantua, Hilde Reggiani as Gilda, and Bruna Castagna as Maddalena.  Amid this strong cast, it was the previously-unheralded Weede who netted the praise of all of the major critics. 
 

"It was not much of a Rigoletto at the Metropolitan for anybody but Robert Weede last night," wrote Irving Kolodin in the New York Sun. "However, what this American baritone accomplished in his first appearance at the opera house in this role was striking enough to make the occasion a memorable one, not only for him, but also for the audience."

"As a primary asset," Kolodin continued, "Mr. Weede has a voice—a big voice, moreover, which fills the opera house with ease and doesn't require the forcing to which he sometimes resorted.  But it has quality as well as size ... [and] he was entitled to the robust applause he received."

 

In the New York Post, critic Edward O'Gorman wrote that "Mr. Weede has an enviable baritone voice, one that is full and robust, capable of a wide range of expression and yet one that has none of the coarseness usually encountered in a voice of its type. Its chief characteristic is perhaps its pliability.  But the element that distinguished Mr. Weede's characterization of Rigoletto was neither vocal nor histrionic, although each was telling in its way, but an uncanny sense of theatre that balanced the two in a performance that was a personal triumph for the singer ...."

 

Writing in the New York World-Telegram, Robert Bagar said that "Mr. Weede's singing proved thoroughly compatible with the demands of the part.  His impersonation grew in stature as the evening wore on, and in the emotional give-and-take of the third act he dominated the stage."  Although Weede’s first appearance in Rigoletto was apparently not recorded, his performance of the demanding role during a Saturday matinee radio broadcast on January 31, 1942, was preserved in an off-the-air recording:

 


From 1941 to 1953, Weede added Amonasro in Aida, Manfredo in L' Amore dei tre re, Shaklovity in the Met premiere of Mussorgsky's Khovanshchina, and Scarpia in Tosca to his Metropolitan Opera repertoire.  It was as Scarpia that he sang his last performance with the Met, a matinee broadcast from Detroit on April 17, 1953, with an all-American cast including tenor Eugene Conley as Mario Cavaradossi and Dorothy Kirsten as Floria Tosca. 

Some of Weede’s most successful Tosca performances, however, occurred not in the U.S. but in Mexico City, where he sang Scarpia to the Floria Tosca of Maria Callas during the summer of 1950.  They were also cast together in Aida, and later, in Chicago, the two would sing together again in Il trovatore and Madama Butterfly.  But it was their pairing in Tosca that netted enthusiastic reviews from the critics and wild applause from the audience:


Weede also made successful debuts with other opera companies, chiefly in Rigoletto, beginning with the Chicago Opera in 1939, San Francisco in 1940, and at the New York City Opera in 1948.  There he reprised his success as Tonio in Pagliacci, but also sang in the world premiere of William Grant Still's short-lived Troubled Island, in a cast that included Robert McFerrin, Marie Powers, and Marguerite Piazza. 


In 1956, Weede left the opera stage to appear on Broadway as Tony Esposito in the original production of Frank Loesser's The Most Happy Fella, at the Imperial Theater in New York City.  Reviewing the opening performance, New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson praised Loesser’s musical adaptation of the “romance of a lovely waitress who marries a rich, ebullient vintner.” 

 

Singling out Weede’s performance as Tony, Atkinson wrote, “The music is beautifully sung.  Robert Weede, as the vintner, is a wide, artless-looking man with a powerful voice that can travelthe full range from romantic fervor to despair.  He sings the part with the authority of a professional.”

 

Weede was also seen on Broadway in Milk and Honey from 1961-63 (which was also recorded by Columbia Records) and Cry for Us All  in 1970.  But neither Milk and Honey nor Cry For Us All impressed critics and audiences to the same degree that Weede's Most Happy Fella had.  For that, Weede was nominated for, and received, the 1956 Tony award for "Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical." 

 

Because of his engaging personality, both onscreen and off, and his first-rate acting and nuanced characterizations, Weede's voice was only infrequently assessed by the same criteria that are applied to almost other operatic voices.  One who had no difficulty doing so was Max De Schaunsee, who had reviewed every major singer since Giovanni Martinelli arrived in New York in 1910. 


Speaking of Weede's voice at the time of his early success as Tonio in Pagaliacci, De Schaunsee described it "as a big voice, but not a beautiful voice in the usual sense of that phrase--not in the class of Lawrence Tibbett, or John Charles Thomas, or Leonard Warren and Robert Merrill.”

 

“Although he was definitely a baritone,” De Schaunsee said, “Weede’s singing often took on more of a tenor quality in his middle and upper range.  But it was not as a singer per se that he made his mark.  He was a superb actor, an actor who could sing, an actor who was an artist in the finest sense of that word."


Robert Weede died in 
Walnut Creek, California, on July 9,1972.  But through his numerous recordings and radio appearances, and the relatively few television appearances he made, he earned a form of immortality that few artists experience in their lifetimes.  


                                                                                  JAMES A. DRAKE

                               

 


                                                                                 

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Tancredi Pasero, The Great Bass












Tancredi Pasero, The Great Bass

 

Many thanks to my dear friend Françoise Crameri  for having introduced me to this wonderful bass some time ago.  Widely known in Europe,  Tancredi Pasero (1893-1983) is not as widely known in America as he should be.  La Scala, where he debuted in 1926, became his artistic home, and although he sang abroad, including at the Met during the early 30's, he was primarily based in Italy.  His first debut was in Turin in 1917, as Ramphis in Aida.  It is possible that to many Americans, Pasero sounds very "old-fashioned," having been trained in a traditional bel-canto technique, one of the characteristics of which (or in Pasero's case almost a trademark of which) was a rapid vibrato, very rare in the age of verismo.  I personally love it, and many Europeans also are fond of it, but it is an unusual sound in this country and many are simply unaccustomed to such singing technique, which is a pity, actually, because he was extraordinary.  Here is one of his best recordings.  If this is the first time you have heard Pasero, be prepared to be amazed; this is one of the great voices of the 20th century:


Isn’t that simply extraordinary!

I know of no other bass that has that sound.  And what about that amazing vibrato!!  Oh, how I wish that bel canto singing would return.  We have lost so much in the last 100 years.  It is such a pity.  Here is one of the most famous of all the great bass arias, “O Tu, Palermo”

 
Bring Back Bel Canto,  PLEASE!
 
 

 

Sunday, June 29, 2014

The Great Suzanne Balguerie


The Great Suzanne Balguerie

Born in Le Havre in 1872, Balguerie—easily one of the greatest of Frech sopranos, began her studies as a girl at the Conservatoire National de Paris. In spite of her early studies, her original appearances came late.  Part of the reason for this was that she was, almost from the beginning, most interested in contemporary concert music.  The result of this was a limited venue and a very small audience. She was greatly praised and much appreciated by such an audience as existed at that time, but in that period it was almost always opera that was the short and sure road to popular success, especially for a young and beautiful woman, with a voice as stunning as that of Balguerie.    This being the case, it was not until the early 1920’s that she appeared on the operatic stage, first at the  Opéra-Comique, home of so many great debuts,  as Ariane in Dukas’s Ariane et Barbe-bleu.  She remained a member of this opera house for more than twenty years—as well as at the Paris Grand Opéra, often in contemporary roles.  She also developed a reputation as a superb singer of Wagnerian roles.  Her voice was that of a dramatic soprano, with an upper register that was remarkably elegant for so dramatic a voice. She was very popular indeed in France, and—perhaps as a result—seldom sang outside France.  She sang until 1950, when she retired and became a successful voice teacher. She died in Grenoble in 1973.  Here she is in a Verdi aria, “O Patria Mia,” that clearly shows why she was also so successful in this repertoire:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-5doqJe24g

Isn’t that simply lovely!  The elegance and lyrical flow of the opening lines of music is simply remarkable.  Seldom if ever is so beautiful a tone joined to so remarkable a legato line.  The upper register is equally remarkable because is so restrained.  Still, it is there, with power a-plenty, simply waiting to be called upon!

It was within the Wagnerian repertoire, however, that this spectacular voice found so much of its early operatic acceptance.  Here is “La Mort d’Isolde.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIJ3peBRxI4 

Power, elegance, and style—but mostly elegance.  The building blocks of the voice of one of the greatest sopranos of the 20th century, without doubt!

 

 

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Edmond Clément, The Quintessence of Elegance


Edmond Clément was born in Paris in 1867.  As a young man, Clément entered the Conservatoire de Paris, where it quickly became apparent that he was possessed of a very beautiful high lyric tenor voice.  At the relatively young age of 22, Clément made his stage debut, as did so many artists, at the Opéra Comique, in Massenet’s Mireille.  He very quickly began to earn a reputation as a superbly elegant and polished singer.  He remained a leading tenor at the Opéra Comique for the next twenty years, until 1909.

During this crucially important period, Clément perfected what was going to become the core of his essential repertoire, including Ottavio, Roméo, Werther, Hoffmann, Almaviva, Tamino,and, perhaps most importantly, des Grieux.  Also, given the era in which he sang, he had the opportunity to take part in première performances, including Falstaff, Butterfly and Saint-Saëns’ Hèléne.

By this time, when Clément was in his early 40’s, he began to spread his wings, as it were, and appear outside Paris.  While today we assume that it is natural to move abroad as opportunities present themselves, this was not always the case in the early years of the 20th century.  For one thing, travel was expensive and difficult then, and there is nothing like a transatlantic trip by steamer to wear one out.  Not everyone is constituted to be able to tolerate long trips by boat and rail.  It was common enough for artists who lived in Paris to have their entire careers and never leave Paris, even then considered by many, if not most, to be the world’s greatest city.

However, for Clément it was off to Madrid, Monte Carlo and Brussels.  He did not sing at Covent Garden, but he did manage the big transatlantic trip to New York, to perform in the 1909-10 season at the Metropolitan Opera. This was, however, the heyday of Enrico Caruso, the star tenor of the Met’s roster, and verismo singers such as Enrico Caruso were all the rage at the time, and were basically polar opposites to elegant bel canto tenors such as Edmond Clément.  Clément and others certainly had their audience also, but it was not, shall we say, that of the Italophile Met and its New York Italian immigrant fan base.

He found a very much more appreciative audience in Boston, at the Boston Opera House, where his extremely elegant and polished singing, coupled with his equally refined stage presence,  were greatly applauded. He was a natural Roméo, and a good Don José.  It should be mentioned at this point that  Clément was a superb musician, and a very handsome man, with considerable acting skills.

The year following his Boston triumph saw the outbreak of WWI and Clément, a patriotic Frenchman,  returned to his homeland and joined the Army.  While he did survive, he was  wounded, and was never quite the same after the war.  While he did sing a little, it was nonetheless a period of decline.  He gave a recital at age sixty and died in 1927,the following year, in Nice.  He is remembered, even today, thanks to his records, as one of the most precious and elegant of tenors, the very exemplar of French elegance.

To begin, here is Clément in what may be his signature role, des Grieux in Massenet’s Manon:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dssGTDt7VuA

 

Talk about elegance!  That is certainly one of the finest recordings of “Le Rêve” to be found.  Clément scores at every important point in the aria: style, legato, precise enunciation, and simplicity, something often overlooked, which should not be, because it is the bed-rock foundation of elegance!  It is too easy to be excessive, but the true test of an artist’s ability to demonstrate with perfection the intentions of the author is to adhere to a clean, precise simplicity, and at this Clément excels.

Here is a piece that shows an uncommon breath control and command of legato singing, the tenor aria from Boieldieu’s La Dame Blanche, “Viens, gentile dame:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlkOBQokYLk

If we can imagine a very long string, or piece of thread, wrapped into a ball, unwinding from the first note of the aria to the last, we have a very reasonable visual image of the legato line extending from the beginning to the end of the aria.  It reminds me a bit of McCormack, but even finer.  This is an elegance that can only be called remarkable.

Finally, here is a song, and while it is not an operatic aria, it is what I always refer to as the oldest continually sung love song of them all, Martini’s “Plaisir d’amour.” Written in 1780 by Jean Paul E. Martini, “Plaisir d'amour” is a very good candidate for being the greatest love song ever written. It has been sung constantly from the moment of its creation until the present day, which is now over 230 years.  It has been sung by folk singers, great opera singers, pop singers, including Elvis Presley, and countless thousands of amateurs.  The song is an absolute classic of beauty, elegance, structural perfection, and essential text: “I loved her, she said she loved me, but she ran off with someone else, now I'm miserable.  The joy of love lasts only a minute, its pain is life-long.”  It doesn't get much more basic than that.  In a word, it is a song tailor-made for Edmond Clément:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juFNBovgSeI

 

 

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Dame Clara Ellen Butt, DBE


Clara Butt was a concert singer of note, with a truly extraordinary contralto voice that impressed major contemporary composers, including Saint-Saëns and Elgar, who composed a song cycle with her in mind. 

Her family moved to Bristol in 1880, and Clara began her education there.  Her singing talent was recognized early on, and she was permitted to study with bass Daniel Rootham, and began singing in the local festival chorus.  When she was 18, she received a scholarship at the Royal College of Music, where she studied voice and piano.  During her studies there, she received Royal sponsorship to go and study in France, Germany and Italy. Her professional debut was in 1892 in the cantata The Golden Legend (Sullivan).  She then appeared  as Orfeo in Orfeo ed Euridice, at the Lyceum Theater in what I take to be an oratorio presentation.  She was reviewed by Bernard Shaw, very positively.  (No small accomplishment, as Shaw was something of a professional curmudgeon capable of reviews that would not be publishable today.  But he liked Clara Butt!

Butt then studied with Jacques Bouhy in Paris, who had also worked with Louise Homer and Louise Kirkby Lunn, two extraordidnary deep-voiced singers. Her career increased exponentially, pretty nearly strictly as a concert singer.  She was not cut out for opera, (she only did a few performances, and was very ill at ease.) One of the reasons for this was her extraordinarily low voice, a delight to listen to, but rather role-limiting.  Also, she was reportedly 6 feet 2 inches tall!  That put her in a situation not unlike that of the great British ballerina Darcey Bussell, who, when she went up on point, soared above almost all male dancers, even her friend Irek Mukhamedov, with whom she was particularly fond of dancing!  And it certainly didn’t hurt HER career. But never mind, the concert stage and the recording studios were a perfectly adequate venue for Butt’s exceptional voice and singing.

Butt is well known, and good bios are easily found online.  I will only say a word about her personal life. In 1900 she married Kennerley Rumford, a baritone with whom she gave many subsequent concerts.  They had 3 children and made many appearances, (including a command royal performance), in several different countries.  During the First World War, Butt organized and sang in many concerts for service charities.  For such activity and dedication to her country she was appointed DBE (Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire) in 1920.  This is one of the highest honorary titles then bestowed.  Great sadness, however, attended her later life.  She lost two of her three children, and she herself developed cancer of the spine.  She made some of her recordings seated in a chair. It just never seems fair when this kind of thing happens! She died in 1936.

During Butt’s lifetime, it was the role of Orfeo (most especially the aria “Che farò senza Euridice”)that attracted many people, and it was this role that was pretty much her sole operatic experience.  It provides an excellent introduction to her voice, if you do not know Butt’s work, because it shows off what is without question one of the most extraordinary contralto voices of all time:


Now how about that! Some of those notes redefine the term “chest-voice”! It seems that a fair number of female singers designate their voices as “contralto” when in fact—and certainly compared to Clara Butt—they are mezzo-sopranos.  The simple truth is that a real contralto, of the Butt variety, is one of the rarest creatures in classical music!

Even as brilliant as “Che farò” is, however, it was not ancient operatic music that lay at the base of Butt’s popularity during her day, it was what might be called “Victorian” music, one of the most characteristic examples of which is Sir Arthur Sullivan’s “Lost Chord,” which was enormously popular, and was sung not only by concert singers, but by operatic singers also, even the Great Caruso, who has a notable recording of it.  Here is Butt’s much more authentic version.  Notice her extraordinary enunciation, one of her most outstanding stylistic qualities.  Seldom does one hear English singing this well enunciated:


Even if the concert stage is not the opera stage, however, it can still be the venue for highly dramatic presentations.  Here is Dame Clara in a very dramatic presentation of the kind that left many of her listeners spell-bound:


With her extraordinary physical appearance and equally extraordinary voice, attending a concert featuring songs like that must have been quite an experience!

Dame Clara’s emotional and vocal range was very wide, however, and here is a most unusual example of the opposite end of the dramatic and vocal scale, a song of pure froth and charm that is most attractive, and which I believe only went onto Youtube last week  when I posted Butt’s version for what I think is the first time. (There are a fair number of copies popping up, which is ok.) This is one of my favorites, and a good song to bid adieu with.  If you are listening to Butt for the first time, and want to hear more, just google her name on Youtube and enjoy the fair number of her recordings that are now available.  Please permit me to recommend the Youtube channel Curzon Road, one of the very best classical musical channels on Youtube, where you will find many Clara Butt recordings, in excellent condition:  Here is the utterly charming “A Fairy Went a-Marketing:


Dame Clara Butt!