ETTORE BASTIANINI, BARITONE, SEPTEMBER 24TH, 1922

ETTORE BASTIANINI
24 September 2022

Today we celebrate the baritone’s baritone, the great Ettore Bastianini, born in Siena, Italy. His voice was first recognised and trained by Fathima and Anselmo Ammanati as a bass. It was when touring Egypt with another great baritone Gino Bechi and the soprano Maria Caniglia in the early 1950s, that one day Gino Bechi leaned over and whispered, ‘You’re really a baritone, you know. I’m a fool to say so as I don’t need more competition, but it’s true.’ As a bass, he had possessed a delightful timbre, but it was limited in volume and in the bass register soft and weak, he had trouble reaching the lowest notes, and, in Rigoletto, relied on choristers to supply the last “Fa” in Sparafucile’s aria.

Well before this, as a bass, he had won the sixth National singing competition at the Teatro Communale in Florence which brought with it an accompanying scholarship. But due to the war, it was a bad time in 1942 for artistic achievments, and he was drafted into the Airforce and unable to claim his prize. In 1945 he made his debut as Colline in La Bohěme at the Teatro Alighieri in Ravenna.

In 1946 he was able to finally able to take advantage of his scholarship to study with Maestro Flamino and his wife, singer Dina Manucci Contina at the Teatro Communale.

Until 1950 he sang successfully as a bass, but it was after his coach/teacher Luciano Betterini encouraged him to explore his baritone range, that he took time off from the stage to delve into this new voice category. Being very determined, competitive and diligent, it wasn’t long after making his debut as a baritone as Giorgio Germont in Sienna, that he was singing opposite Maria Callas as Enrico Ashton in Lucia di Lammermoor at the Teatro Communale and by 1953 he was making his Metropolitan debut as Giorgio Germant in La Traviata.

By 1954 he was singing opposite Renata Tebaldi and Giuseppe di Stefano in Eugene Onegin at La Scala.

Recording contracts with Decca ensued leaving opera lovers with a catalogue of some of the most iconic recordings of the post war era with an array of contemporary artists of equal fame, calibre and legend.

Reading of his work load, performances and yo-yo travelling from America to Europe and back again, is a dizzying experience. He ultimately succumbed to throat cancer in 1967 which was first diagnosed in1962. However, he refused to let this prevent him from singing in his last years on the stage, despite undergoing many rounds of radiotherapy.

His esteemed colleagues now have the final word.

‘Mario Del Monaco knew him as a great and dear colleague, the dearest and the best he had in his career: “E, con infinita nostalgia, Ettore Bastianini, una delle piu belle voci di baritono di questa scorcio di secolo, un raro esempio di dizione e di belcantismo espressi con una voce di eccezionale bellezza.” (“One of the most beautiful voices from this part of the century, a rare example of diction and belcantismo expressed with a voice of extraordinary beauty.”)

Carlo Bergonzi remembered him so: “A natural beauty of voice, evenness of timbre, elegance of phrasing and gesture, soundness of diction and expression, a sure technique and, not least, a deep seriousness and professional discipline: these were the fundamental characteristics of Ettore Bastianini, which made him a great baritone – perhaps the last real Verdian baritone .

RICHARD TUCKER, TENOR, AUGUST 15TH, 1913

On this day in 1913, the tenor, Richard Tucker, was born in Brooklyn, New York. His career was intimately linked to the city of his birth. It was at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, in a career that spanned over three decades, that he made an unforgettable mark in operatic history.

The esteem of his colleagues was such, that when Tucker suddenly died after collapsing in his hotel room, baritone, Robert Merrill, who was touring with him at the time, said quite simply, ‘He was the greatest tenor in the world,’

Only two other star singers in the company’s 90‐year history—Giovanni Martinelli, the tenor, and Antonio Scotti, the baritone—lasted longer in the cruelly competitive Metropolitan arena, Martinelli for 32 seasons and Scotti for 34.
Mr. Tucker’s operatic career was, in a sense, a felicitous result of his marriage to Sara Perelmuth. Sara was the sister of Jan Peerce, already a well‐known tenor. The Peremuth family did not consider the young salesman a great catch for their daughter, but soon, Richard found himself in a friendly rivalry with his borther‐in‐law. He decided that he too could become a famous singer, and began, taking voice lessons from the Wagnerian tenor Paul Althouse. Althouse, impressed with his student’s determination recalled that, ‘Tucker just came for his lesson, took off his hat, sang, put on his hat again and went’.

He made his debut as Alfredo in La Traviata in the Salmaggi Opera New York in 1943. He received the prestigious invitation to sing Radames in a recorded broadcast with Arturo Toscanini conducting in 1947 and he sang Enzo opposite the much written about debut of Maria Callas in the Verona Arena in La Gioconda.
He later appeared in Covent Garden, Vienna, La Scala and Florence.

Luciano Pavarotti, himself one of the Met’s leading tenors, said from Milan: “Richard Tucker was one of my gods. In my life… he has always been that great voice to use as an inspiration. I, as well as the world, mourn the death of this magnificent tenor.”

The soprano Joan Sutherland and her husband, the conductor Richard Bonynge, said in London: “One of the phenomenal voices of this century. It was always more and more amazing how fresh and young his voice sounded. The world of music will miss him very much.”

Richard Tucker was aware that his acting skills may not have matched his vocal ability. When Rudolf Bing arrived at the Met as general manager in 1950, however, Mr. Tucker wryly complained that his voice was no longer considered enough. “Being an opera star,” he said, “isn’t what it used to be. With Mr. Johnson, he wanted you to act, but with Mr. Bing you hafta act.”

Nevertheless, such was the power and beauty of his singing, that he was compared by critics with greats such as Caruso and Mario Lanza. The magnificent voice was well recorded and quoting The Grove Book of Opera Singers, ‘…he had few peers in the projection of Italianate passions, or in fervour, ease, evenness and vocal security.’

His funeral was held on January 10 on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera House, the only singer ever to be so honoured.
The memory and achievements of Richard Tucker are kept alive by the Richard Tucker Music Foundation.

EMMA CALVÉ, SOPRANO, AUGUST 15TH, 1858

EXTENDED FEATURE

The acclaimed enigmatic French operatic soprano of the Belle Époque Emma Calvé was born in Department of Aveyron in the South of France in 1858.

As a very young child growing up in the rocky treeless terrain, before the family moved to Spain, she once exclaimed to her playmates in jest that the Chateau on the hill at Cabrières would one day be hers. This prediction was to become true, as her great international fame and wealth allowed her to acquire the Chateau later in her life. It became her summer retreat where she claimed that

‘I truly believe that the extraordinary preservation of my voice is largely due to the long months I spend in that quiet spot, far from worldly gaieties and distractions. If I stay away too long, I become ill, like a plant deprived of water. My lungs crave the dry, bracing air of the mountain plains. I need my country, my home!

In her autobiography, she describes those early childhood years in Spain and her fascination with Gypsy culture. Interestingly, considering her later fame as being the ultimate interpreter of the role of Carmen, she recalls how she wandered off and her family searched for her, until ultimately her mother found her singing and dancing happily in a Gypsy camp.

At age seven the family returned to France and after acquiring enough French she was sent to a convent. She writes of this time.

‘Not long after this, when I was in my seventh year, my parents decided to go back to their native land. I spoke only Spanish, and they had the greatest difficulty in the world forcing me to learn French. When I had finally mastered my new language, I was sent to a convent at Millau, not far from the home of my father’s family.

‘The atmosphere of religion and mysticism in which I found myself in the convent made a deep impression upon me. I became extremely devout; and when I was confirmed, I was fully determined to become a nun. Apparently this kind of temporary “vocation,” or call to the religious life, is not unusual among singers and actresses. I know two very great artists who have been through the same experience.

Her vocal and musical talent was remarked by neighbours and friends, whose praises were enough to make her mother take notice, and pack up Emma and her two brothers off to Paris, to seek out the most famous and respected singing teacher there, the retired tenor Jules Puget . She had no money to pay for the tuition but promised to repay him,”Give my daughter a hearing. You yourself will judge what talent she may have. I am not rich, but you can have entire confidence in me. We will pay you as soon as she has succeeded!”

Puget taught her the principles of Bel Canto for three years before encouraging her to start to seek performance experience. It wasn’t long after that that she made her debut at the Theatre de la Moniaire de Bruxelles as Margarite in Gououd’s Faust, which apart from only knowing the Le Roi de Thulé aria from the opera, she had no knowledge of the role and had a mere two weeks to learn it in.

Before this the local butcher being entranced by Calvé’s voice and realising the family were facing financial hardship, offered to give food on credit to help build her up which could be paid later once she found employment with her voice.

“Your daughter has a pretty voice,” the butcher remarked, as he prepared her order. “My wife and I think she is a wonder!”
“It’s very kind of you to say so,” my mother answered. “She works very hard, and I hope some day…”
“Yes, she’s a fine singer,” he interrupted, “but she’s too thin. Much too thin! She ought to eat lots of beefsteaks and cutlets!”
My mother was taken by surprise at what appeared to be a rather crude way of increasing trade. Before she could answer, however, the astonishing man continued’
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “To prove to you how much confidence I have in your daughter’s future, I’ll open an account for you at this shop. You can pay me when she makes her debut !”

After the death of her teacher Puget, she continued her studies with Madame Marchesi in Paris for six months, and during this time she met and was able to observe and learn from great artists, such as the soprano Madame Gabrielle Krauss and Victor Maurel the French baritone who engaged her to sing opposite him in the opera Aben-Hamet by Theodore Dubois. She attributes Maurel in giving her invaluable lessons in lyric declamation which influenced her artistic career.

She was then engaged to sing at the Opéra Comique in Paris, where she for two years and was deeply influenced and befriended by Madame Marie Caroline Carvalho who was at this time at of her end of her career having created leading roles in many of Jules Massenet’s operas.

It was her ambition to sing in Italy and this wish came true in an engagement to sing and create the leading role of Flora in Mirabilio by Samara at La Scala in Milan which had disastrous consequences but gave her the resolve to perfect her shortcomings and art.

In her words, ‘I went to Milan with all the faults and all the advantages of my youth. My seasons at the Opera Comique had taught me nothing, I seemed only to have acquired a new timidity which paralysed my faculties at the most crucial moment. In spite of the burning fires within me, I gave the effect of being cold, for I was unable to communicate with my audience, or in any way to express my emotions.

The night of my debut at the Scala, I was horribly frightened. I sang out of tune and lost my head completely. The audience hissed me, and quite rightly ! How often, since then, have I blessed that fortunate hissing which made me realise my shortcomings and spurred me to undertake the serious studies which I so much needed!’

The well known publisher M. Hugel came to her rescue by introducing her to Madame Rosina Laborde, who was to transform her into the accomplished singer and artist she became. Laborde had been a member of the Paris Opera for many years and had known Madame Malibran, La Pasta, La Sontag, La Frezzolini, Grizi, Mario, Tamburini, Lablache.

‘She would describe to us their way of singing, their gestures and stage craft, all the traditions of the fine old Italian school.’

She also was a hard task master as Calvé recounts. ‘She had a truly phenomenal patience with her pupils. I remember on one occasion she made me repeat a phrase from the mad scene of Ophelia eighty separate times. I was ready to cry with nervousness and exhaustion, when she finally allowed me to rest. “That will do very nicely,” she remarked tranquilly, at the end of the ordeal. “You are worthy of being my pupil, for you are beginning to learn patience!”

Calvé also attributes great suffering and illness to bringing the required mental acuity and ability to convey her feelings to her audience which had eluded her up until then.

Her progress was rapid and after one year of study with Laborde she was reengaged to sing in Italy at San Carlo in Naples, where she sang Ophelia with Victor Maurel as Hamlet, and appeared in Bizet’s “Pecheurs de Perles” with the tenor Fernando de Lucia, with whom she was later to create Mascagni’s “Amico Fritz.

Longing to return and put her first experience right at La Scala, it was arranged for her to sing Ophelia with the celebrated Italian baritone, Mattia Battistini. After an initial cold response from the audience in the first acts she rose to the occasion, triumphantly dazzling with her cadenza literally almost mad herself with terror. In her words, ‘Determined to win a complete triumph, I attacked a cadenza which I had never before attempted in public. It was an extremely difficult piece of vocalisation, going from low A to F above high C. Once up on that dizzy pinnacle, I was like a child on a ladder, afraid to move or come down! The conductor was terrified. I held the note as long as I could; but when my breath gave out, I had to descend the chromatic scale. I did it with such brio, such perfection, that the audience burst into a thunder of applause. Seldom have I had such an ovation! I can truly say that it was the greatest moment in my operatic career. What intense, what triumphant joy filled my young heart that night !

In those years in Italy she gives great credit to the influence of the Italian actor Eleanor’s Duse, known as La Duse, to her artistic development taking on her realistic acting style that might have been the beginnings of method acting.

Calvé investigated and studied all the historical literature and artistic and cultural material pertaining to the roles she played and immersed herself where possible in situ in the culture. After my successes in Italy, I was eager to return to Paris. When Carvalho engaged me to create “Cavalleria Rusticana” at the Opera Comique, I went hack to the scene of my early endeavours, filled with ambition and enthusiasm. Yet in spite of the experience that my years in Italy had brought me, I felt myself out of place in this conventional theatre, where tradition and established customs were blindly venerated.
My interpretation of the role of Santuzza astonished my comrades. My spontaneous and apparently unstudied gestures shocked them. Even the costume which I had brought with me from Italy, the clothes of a real peasant woman, coarse shirt, worn sandals and all, was considered eccentric and ugly. I was unmercifully criticised and ridiculed. At the dress rehearsal, I heard one of the older singers pass judgment upon me.
“What a pity!” he exclaimed. “She has a lovely voice, and she has really made astonishing progress. But such acting! In this part of the world we do not bang on the table with our fists when we are singing. At the rate she is going, she will be ruined!”

Calvé is known for learning earthy Spanish dancing and wearing authentic gypsy clothing to portray the role of Carmen, which until then had been sanitised by a theatrically imagined interpretation of the subject matter, at the time accepted as represented by her predecessor Célestine Galli Marie. At first this realism was considered a step too far, but Galli Marie herself admired Calvé and gave her approval.

Then a very interesting operatic historical event occurred when Calvé was visiting the Vatican to listen to the Sistine Chapel choir under the direction of the last of the castrati, Mustapha, a Turk, She was struck by ‘his exquisite high tenor voice, truly angelic, neither masculine nor yet feminine in type deep, subtle, poignant in its vibrant intensity. He sang the classic church music admirably, especially Palestrina. He had certain curious notes which he called his fourth voice strange, sexless tones, superhuman, uncanny!
I was so much impressed by his talent that I decided to take some lessons from him. The first question I asked was how I might learn to sing those heavenly tones.
“It’s quite easy,” he answered. “You have only to practice with your mouth tight shut for two hours a day. At the end of ten years, you may possibly be able to do something with them.”
That was hardly encouraging!
“A thousand thanks!” I exclaimed. “At that rate, I will never learn! It takes too much patience!”
Nevertheless, with the tenacity which is a fundamental part of my character, I set to work. My first efforts were pitiful. My mother assured me that they sounded like the miawing (sic) of a sick cat! At the end of two years, however, I began to make use of my newly acquired skill; but it was not until the third year of study that I obtained a complete mastery of the difficult art.
These special notes, which I have used since then with great success, are rarely found in the ordinary run of voices.’

For more about the Fourth Voice we will present a specific article in High Notes, www.voicedetective.com Stay tuned!

She sang every season for many years at Covent Garden in London, ‘appearing there in all the operas of my repertoire. I also created several roles at this theatre, notably
“La Navarraise” by Massenet, in 1894, and “Amy Robsart,” the first production of its author, de Lara, whose “Messaline” I sang some years later.’

‘Each year, during my engagement in England, I was summoned to Windsor Castle to sing for Queen Victoria.’

Calvé became a favourite guest of Queen Victoria who would converse with her in perfect French and even knew and could recite many poems in the Provençal dialect. She honoured Calvé by commissioning a bust of her as Santuzza for her private collection, which after the Queen’s death, this was displayed in a room of her personal possessions.

She made her debut at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, on November 29, 1893, in the role of Santuzza in
Cavalleria Rusticana.

“The American public did not care very much for the opera at that time. It was severely criticised in the newspapers, but I myself had a great success.
The next morning, the directors sent for me. They wished to change the bill immediately, and asked me to sing “Carmen,” not in French, as I had always sung it, but in Italian. I refused! The effect of my French dictation would be lost, and the whole opera would be thrown out of focus. It was an impossible demand. One of the directors was particularly insistent, and not entirely courteous.
“You have no choice in the matter!” he said curtly.”‘Cavalleria’ has not been the success we expected. We must make a change immediately, and there is nothing more to be said.”
I was in despair. I could not make the directors realise what I myself saw so clearly, that this work of art, conceived in the mind of a Frenchman, Prosper Merimee, put to music by a French composer, must be sung by me, a Frenchwoman, in French. In no other way could it be given its full value, its true flavour and quality. It seemed to me both inartistic and impracticable to attempt anything else. If the directors wished to replace “Cavalleria” with a success, they would not achieve their object by putting on an ineffective “Carmen.”
In my agitation and helplessness, I appealed to the elder Coquelin, who was acting in New York at the moment. I told him my troubles. He sympathised entirely with my point of view, and with his usual kindness went to the directors himself and used his influence to persuade them to give up the idea. They told him that they had no French tenor to sing the role of Don Jose, and that, therefore, I would have to sing in Italian ! Undaunted by this rebuff, he determined to succeed where they had failed. He would find a tenor. He went to Jean de Reszke, and laid the case before him. Although it was not in de Reszke’s repertoire, he promised Coquelin that he would sing the role. What a triumphant success the productions of “Carmen” were!” From then on, it was the drawing card at the Metropolitan. We gave it again and again, to packed houses. The box receipts were astounding! In the succeeding seasons, its popularity never waned. There was no further question as to how it should be sung.”

What unforgettable casts, what glorious evenings! Jean de Reszke, Melba, Plancon, and myself ! The public was wildly enthusiastic. After each performance, we would be recalled a thousand times. It was said that “Carmen” became epidemic, a joyful contagion’

Revisiting her early leanings towards spirituality she was introduced to Swami Vivekananda at a time in her life when as she says ‘she was greatly depressed in mind and body.’ It has been my good fortune and my joy to know a man who truly “walked with God,” a noble being, a saint, a philosopher, and a true friend. His influence upon my spiritual life was profound. He opened up new horizons before me, enlarging and vivifying my religious ideas and ideals, teaching me a broader understanding of truth. My soul will bear him an eternal gratitude.
This extraordinary man was a Hindu monk of the order of the Vedantas. He was called the Swami Vivekananda, and was widely known in America for his religious teachings. He was lecturing in Chicago one year when I was there; and as I was at that time greatly depressed in mind and body, I decided to go to him, having seen how greatly he had helped some of my friends.
An appointment was arranged for me, and when I arrived at his house I was immediately ushered into his study. Before going, I had been told not to speak until he addressed me. When I entered the room, therefore, I stood before him in silence for a moment. He was seated in a noble attitude of meditation, his robe of saffron yellow falling in straight lines to the floor, his head, swathed in a turban, bent forward, his eyes on the ground. After a brief pause, he spoke without looking up.
“My child,” he said, “what a troubled atmosphere you have about you! Be calm! It is essential.”
Then in a quiet voice, untroubled and aloof, this man, who did not even know my name, talked to me of my secret problems and anxieties. He spoke of things that I thought were unknown even to my nearest friends. It seemed miraculous, supernatural!
“How do you know all this?” I asked at last. “Who has talked of me to you?”
He looked at me with his quiet smile, as though I were a child who had asked a foolish question.
“No one has talked to me,” he answered gently. “Do you think that is necessary? I read in you as in an open book.”
Finally it was time for me to leave.
“You must forget ” he said, as I rose. “Become gay and happy again. Build up your health. Do not dwell in silence upon your sorrows. Transmute your emotions into some form of external expression. Your spiritual health requires it. Your art demands it!”
I left him, deeply impressed by his words and his personality. He seemed to have emptied my brain of all its feverish complexities, and placed there instead his clear and calming thoughts.
I became once again vivacious and cheerful, thanks to the effect of his powerful will. He did not use any of the ordinary hypnotic or mesmeric influences. It was the strength of his character, the purity and intensity of his purpose, that carried conviction. It seemed to me, when I came to know him better, that he lulled one’s chaotic thoughts into a state of peaceful quiescence, so that one could give complete and undivided attention to his words.

The Swami taught me a sort of respiratory prayer. He used to say that the forces of the deity, being spread everywhere throughout the ether, could be received into the body through the indrawn breath.

After her last performance at the Metropolitan Opera in 1904 she turned to the concert stage and embarked like so many of her colleagues of the time on a world concert tour. She also travelled extensively before this time with Swami Vivekananda’s entourage. Her travels took her, as the title of her book suggests, ‘I have sung under every sky’ to all four corners of the world where she dazzled, was honoured and adored.
In Melbourne, Australia, she was overwhelmed by the crowd that turned up at a welcoming reception.

‘When the day came, I was conducted to a hall where I expected to find not more than a couple of hundred people. What was my alarm when I found myself in a huge, barn-like place, where at least four thousand of Melbourne’s citizens had gathered to greet me!’

Her tales of her travels and the wonders she saw and experienced make fascinating reading, as is her life story where she recounts her career path and anecdotes so vividly. It is a glimpse into the bygone years of opera, where the stars were paid lavishly and were accorded godlike status by the public. The type of interest they generated was akin to Beatlemania.

What comes across in her autobiography though is Calve’s humility, kindness, and keen intelligence, which never ceases to explore, learn, and break boundaries.

She was known as the ultimate interpreter of Carmen and Santuzza. There are recordings made between 1902-1920 available, to try and imagine what must have been an incredible artist.

In America and France she gave benefit concerts for the war effort during the First World War, and tended, nursed and consoled the wounded soldiers in France.

‘In 1915 and 1916 I went again to America, and sang in over forty concerts for the benefit of the Lafayette Fund and other war organisations. One night, in June, 1916, I sang at the Bazar des Allies in New York. There must have been ten thousand people in the great hall of the Armory. A platform had been built in one corner, and the orchestra and chorus of the Metropolitan Opera House were engaged to accompany me. I remember that the platform was very high and that I had to climb up to it on a ladder a rather alarming proceeding!
As I looked out over that mass of people, I was deeply moved. Never before had I sung for such an assembly. I was almost frightened, but, summoning my courage, I began the “Marseillaise.” The refrain was supposed to be taken up by the opera chorus, but suddenly the whole huge audience burst into thunderous song.’
‘I do not know whether I was any better as a nurse than as a farmer. At any rate, I did what I could and served a certain length of time in the hospitals. It is all so terrible, so cruel a memory, that even now I cannot bear to dwell upon it.’

‘I sang a great deal for the convalescent soldiers. They loved the old French ballads, the folksongs of Brittany and the Pyrenees, and of my own part of the country. One day I was in a hospital that cared for German as well as French wounded. After I had sung several songs to the French soldiers, one of the Poilus asked if I would permit the door to be opened into the prisoners’ ward.
“The poor fellows in there ought to have the chance of hearing your heavenly voice!” he said.
“No! No!” I exclaimed. “I could not sing for them! They have hurt us too much!”
The boy looked up in surprise. I noticed, for the first time, that his right arm was missing.
“How about me?” he asked. “Don’t you suppose that they have hurt me, too?”
I was shamed by such generosity, and told the orderly to open the door. I sang, after that, standing on the threshold between the two wards, but I kept my eyes tight shut. I could not bring myself to look at them!’

After retiring from the stage she returned to her beloved Midi in France where she would open her Chateau’s doors to young singers to pass on her knowledge to future generations.

She died in Montpellier on January 6, 1942

Swarmi Vivekananda wrote of Calvé.

‘She was born poor but by her innate talents, prodigious labour and diligence, and after wrestling against much hardship, she is now enormously rich and commands respect from kings and emperors. … The rare combination of beauty, youth, talents, and “divine” voice has assigned Calve the highest place among the singers of the West. There is, indeed, no better teacher than misery and poverty. That constant fight against the dire poverty, misery, and hardship of the days of her girlhood, which has led to her present triumph over them, has brought into her life a unique sympathy and a depth of thought with a wide outlook.’

GIUSEPPE DI STEFANO, TENOR, JULY 24TH, 1921

The golden voice of Giuseppe di Stefano, so admired and hero-worshipped by his tenor successors such as Luciano Pavarotti, and Jose Carreras, was born in the little village of Motte Sant’Anastasia on the outskirts of Catania in Sicily.

His family moved to Milan when Giuseppe was six years old. Here, he spent his formative years, and even for a brief period of time, he considered entering the priesthood whilst he was being educated in a Jesuit College.

It was during a card game at age 16, when Giuseppe spontaneously burst into song after losing, that his opponent commented that he should get his voice trained. It took two years before his vocal training started in earnest, but his two teachers both baritones Luigi Montesanto and Mariano Stabile instilled in him the importance of clear diction. The clarity these teachers emphasised, became a hallmark of di Stefano’s singing throughout his career. This clear diction combined with the beautiful vocal sweetness, his natural musicality and a generous interpretative style, ensured that di Stefano enraptured fans. As a singer, Di Stefano was admired for his excellent diction, unique timbre, passionate delivery and, in particular, for the sweetness of his soft singing. He was considered the natural successor to Beniamino Gigli, who was Giuseppe’s favourite tenor growing up .

Fate stepped in once again as di Stefano was drafted into the army during the second world war. His commanding officer declared him the worst soldier ever, but recognised the great singer within him. Not wanting to deprive the world of this great gift, the officer decided he would better serve his country by leaving the forces and singing.This scenario may have been the inspiration, or at least is similar to that in the Mario Lanza film ‘Because You Are Mine,’ where Lanza encounters an opera loving army commander who helps the famous ‘operatic soldier’ sing rather than do his training when he is drafted into the army.
During the war years di Stefano performed under the name of Nino Florio. When Italy was defeated he was able flee to Switzerland. After a period of internment he was eventually allowed to perform on Radio Lausanne. He gave the first of many Nemorinos in l’elisir d’amore in a broadcast from Lausanne. His voice was also captured on recordings with interpretations of his native Sicilian songs which began to arouse the attention of discerning ears from outside of Italy in the late 1940s.

His official debut was in Reggio Emilia in 1946 as Des Grieux in Massenet’s Manon. The following year he repeated the role at the Rome Opera. A major recording contract with EMI was forthcoming.

In 1948 he made his Metropolitan Opera debut as the Duke in Rigoletto, and he subsequently captured the hearts of the Met audience with his beautiful tone, musicality and exuberance in the roles of Faust, Alfredo, Nemorino, Des Grieux and later Cavaradossi and Rodolfo.

In his Metropolitan debut in Faust, he attacked the high C forte and then softened to pianissimo. Sir Rudolf Bing said in his memoirs, “The most spectacular single moment in my observation year had come when I heard his diminuendo on the high C in “Salut! demeure” in Faust: I shall never as long as I live forget the beauty of that sound”.

His recording with Maria Callas in the 1953 Tosca with Victor de Sabato conducting, has become a benchmark interpretation. The 1955 live recording in Berlin of Lucia di Lammermoor with Herbert von Karajan conducting captured both artists at the peak of their powers.

Ten complete operas with Maria Callas were recorded for EMI between1953 and 1957 and they were the other dream team of the time to rival Renate Tebaldi and Mario Del Monaco on the stage, in fame as celebrities, and in recording sales.

Di Stefano certainly lived life to the fullest. Just as in his roles, he didn’t hold back his generosity, warm-heartedness and zest for life. He was seen as maybe enjoying the finer things of life a little too much, and later his voice lost some of its glory. Di Stefano insisted this was because his vocal cords were being damaged and inflamed due to an allergy to synthetic fibres.

In later years he lived in Kenya. During an attempted robbery he was badly bloodied, battered and left unconscious by the assailants, as he was defiant in not releasing the medal he wore around his neck given to him by Arturo Toscanini in appreciation for his talent.

“He adored me,” says the tenor without a trace of pomposity. “His supposed rigidity was nonsense. He told me once, ‘I’ll follow you, but you’d better sing well.’ And I did.”
The injuries proved to be far worse than originally thought and despite three operations, being transferred to Milan and eventually waking up from a coma, his health never recovered and he died three months after the attack.
But to help us recover from and dispel this horrible story of the end of such a great man and singer we leave you with a few quotes from the man himself from the LA Times interview of 1988 with Walter Price.

‘Asked which singers he admired, he smiles with a wicked charm that has surely gotten him into trouble in the past and replies, “Only the great ones.”
In the same interview asked if he would retire, he responded, ‘I don’t know. I told you I have never made plans. Del Monaco told me once he would kill himself when he couldn’t sing anymore. I told him I’d kill myself if I couldn’t stop.’
Grazie Giuseppe!

KIRSTEN FLAGSTAD, SOPRANO, JULY 12, 1895

Kirsten Flagstad was born in Hamar, Norway. Like so many outstanding singers, she grew up in a musically gifted family and indeed this soprano would be hailed the ‘voice of the century.’ Raised and nurtured in Oslo by her father Michael a conductor, her mother Maja a pianist and with her future musician siblings, brothers Ole a conductor and Lasse a pianist and her sister Karen- Marie also a Wagnerian soprano.
Flagstad made her debut in 1913 as Nuri in Eugen d’Albert’s Tiefland at the National Theatre in Oslo. Early recordings of her voice were taken at this young age between 1913 and 1915.
After singing opera and operetta at the Opera Comique for over a decade, which interestingly was co-directed by Alexander Varnay, the father of another Wagnerian soprano Astrid Varnay. It is also worth noting that at this time, Flagstad sang Desdemona to Leo Slezak’s Otello. As her career progressed she gravitated towards the heavier more dramatic soprano roles. Apparently it was the role of Aïda that unleashed the potential to ultimately find her true calling when she took on the role of Isolde in Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde in 1932.
A fellow Scandinavian soprano Ellen Gulbranson brought Flagstad’s voice to the attention of Winifred Wagner who hired Flagstad to initially sing minor roles at Bayreuth in 1933. In the following season she sang Sieglinde in Die Walküre and Gutrune in Die Götterdammerung opposite Frida Leider as Brünnhilde.
A year later she was auditioned and engaged immediately by the Metropolitan Opera in New York who were looking for a replacement to sing the same repertoire as Frida Leider. Her svelte youthful appearance was an added bonus to her obvious vocal abilities and talent.
Her Metropolitan debut was a sensation, and almost overnight she had established herself as the pre-eminent Wagnerian soprano of the era. Her sometimes three or four performances a week in early days at the Met sold out weeks in advance and donations from her nationwide radio appeals during the intermission at Saturday matinees helped the Metropolitan Opera coffers from impending bankruptcy at this time. In 1935 she performed the three Brünnhildes in the Ring Cycle for San Francisco Opera. In 1936 and 1937 she performed the Wagnerian roles of Senta, Isolde and Brünnhilde at Covent Garden where she achieved the same fame and respect as she did in New York
Despite advice from friends and colleagues and even pleas from former President Herbert Hoover she returned to German occupied Norway in 1941 before the United States entered World War Two. TShe took this step to be reunited with her husband. The decision was certainly made more difficult as her 20 year old daughter was married to an American and living in Montana.
During this time she only sang in the non-occupied countries of Switzerland and Sweden. But the tide of public opinion damaged her reputation and she fell out of favour with the public.
After it reopened in 1947, Covent Garden despite being in dire financial straits, hired Flagstad for four consecutive seasons from 1948 to 1952, where she performed her Wagnerian roles, including Kundry and Sieglinde.
Back in America, public sentiment had not changed towards her. The new director of the Met, Rudolf Bing was lambasted for his decision to re-hire Flagstad in for the 1950-1951 season: “The greatest soprano of this century must sing in the world’s greatest opera house”, he retorted.
Well into her fifties, and feeling that she no longer possessed her previous stamina or health for the arduous Wagnerian roles, these appearances at the Met were to be her last. She gave her farewell performance at the Met in April 1952, though not as a Wagnerian heroine, but in the title role of Gluck’s Alceste. Her final public performance in the role of Purcell’s Dido from Dido and Aeneas was in London on the 5 July 1953.
She was a guest on the BBC’s radio show Desert Island Discs in 1952 and chose knitting needles and wool as her luxury items. Not dissimilar to another grand voice prima donna, Joan Sutherland who occupied herself with embroidery backstage.
Kirsten Flagstad’s vast recording catalogue and existing live recordings from the Metropolitan continue to be classic benchmarks and pay tribute to her greatest roles, even though some of her most enduring recordings were recorded after her prime. She immortalised Richard Strauß’ Vier Letzte Lieder (Four Last Songs) which Strauß himself had intended her to premiere, although he did not live long enough to hear the performance.
The recording label Decca had plans to record her singing the mezzo-soprano Wagnerian repertoire of both Fricka roles in Das Rheingold and Die Götterdämmerung. Brahms Alto Rhapsody and Vier Ernste Lieder (Four Serious Songs) were also planned to be recorded, before she died in 1962, giving testament to her recording company’s respect for her and quality of a still consistent and extraordinary voice.
In his obituary, the New York Times opera critic, Harold C. Schonberg, wrote, “That voice! How can one describe it?” “It was enormous, but did not sound enormous because it was never pushed or out of placement. It had a rather cool silvery quality, and was handled instrumentally, almost as though a huge violin was emitting legato phrases.”
Incredibly, Flagstad sang the role of Isolde 70 times on the Met stage from 1935 to 1941, making Tristan and Isolde one of the greatest box office attractions in Metropolitan Opera history .
( Nine of those performances were Saturday matinee radio broadcasts.not cited)

The Kirsten Flagstad Museum in Hamar, Norway (https://kirsten-flagstad.no/en), contains a private collection of opera artifacts. Her costumes draw special attention, and include several examples on loan from the Metropolitan Opera Archives. Her portrait appeared on the Norwegian 100 kroner bill and on the tail section of Norwegian Air Shuttle planes.

Kirsten Flagstad painted on a Norwegian Air Shuttle airliner.

LUISA TETRAZZINI, SOPRANO, JUNE 29, 1871

Luisa Tetrazzini

Coloratura soprano Luisa Tetrazzini was born on this day in 1871 in Florence. It is a lesser known fact, that she had two older sisters who were also sopranos, albeit they did not achieve her level of celebrity.

After initially studying with her sister Eva, who was nine year’s senior to Luisa, she proceeded to have lessons with Eva’s teacher, Professor Ceccherini at the Instituto Musicale of Florence.

As is the case in so many lives of famous singers, she received her big break making her operatic debut in1890, at the age of only 19 years, by standing in for the prima donna in Meyerbeer’s L’Africaine at the Teatro Paglione in Florence.

In her autobiography, My Life in Song, she recalled that, “The pavements from the theatre to my home were lined, even at that late hour, with large numbers of people, all of whom seemed to be shouting congratulations to me.”

It was just 2 months after that she was engaged to repeat the role in Rome for the King and Queen of Italy.

The tenor Giacomo Lauri Volpi described her as ‘having a scintillating voice with a brilliant timbre and a range and agility well beyond the norm…” Her voice has been described as possessing ‘warm, clarinet-like beauty’.

But it was claimed that her middle voice was rather thin and child like, (though reportedly it grew with maturity in warmth), this aspect of her voice did not please another tenor of renown John McCormack, who compared it to ‘wailing like a cross infant.’ Nevertheless, Tetrazzini herself had only words of praise for McCormack’s ‘God-given gift’, noting generously, ’I found that his rich voice went so well with mine that I took him back with me to America, and he sang with me both in New York and in the other big towns when the Hammerstein company went on tour.’

Later it was written ‘Tetrazzini possessed an extraordinary vocal technique that enabled her to surmount any vocal challenge with joyful ease. She had complete mastery of runs, trills, staccati and vocal ornaments of all kinds.’

She established herself in Latin America and Europe where in St Petersburg she sang her favourite role in Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor with Enrico Caruso. This marked the beginning of a firm friendship and later even a collaboration in a book on vocal technique between the two.

Though she was still relatively unknown to English opera audiences. But this was all about to change when the opportunity arose for her to stand in for Nellie Melba as Violetta in La Traviata at Covent Garden. She garnered twenty curtain calls and she was critically acclaimed by E.A. Baugham in the Daily News writing,“I do not think I am exaggerating when I say that Mme Tetrazzini has the voice of the century and stands out from even the great Italian singers we know…”

Her superstardom lay just around the corner when reviews compared her to her idol Adelina Patti. Patti being from the opera generation before, attended a performance and later invited her to lunch. The two sopranos became firm friends and Patti was often seen making a point of clapping loudly at Tetrazzini’s performances. Likewise Tetrazzini wrote about a letter she had received from Patti, “Praise from a mixed audience is very gratifying after one has given it of her best. But, praise, and such praise, from Patti is far more than the passing pleasure of a public ovation.”

Engagements in America ensued and recording contracts with Victor Recording Company captured her voice for posterity between 1904-1920.

One very famous event she is known for, is her defiance against Oscar Hammerstein who held her to her contract not to sing in San Francisco. Hammerstein, was her agent whom she admired for his entrepreneurship and business acumen. She exclaimed ‘I will sing in San Francisco if I have to sing there in the streets, for I know the streets of San Francisco are free.” With this declaration she won her legal case, and her new agent W.H. Leahy announced she would sing in the streets of San Francisco. So on a clear Christmas Eve in 1910,Tetrazzini climbed a stage platform in a sparkling white gown, surrounded by a throng of an estimated two to three hundred thousand San Franciscans, and serenaded the city she loved.

As well as this early taster of coming mega-star’s open air benefit performances, she has also been remembered in the culinary world. Whether it be called Turkey or Chicken Tetrazzini, the dish has worked its way into the ubiquitous list of food favourites.

After the First World War she mainly devoted her work to concerts and recitals. Tetrazzini was married three times and was embroiled in legal battles with her third husband which diminished her enormous wealth. Nevertheless, she was well known for her generosity.

In her retirement she taught in both Rome and Milan and her vocal technique, was apparently stunning and remained so until her end in 1940.

JOHN MCCORMACK, TENOR, JUNE 14, 1884

John McCormack

Could any singer have ever received so many accolades, titles and fame in their lifetime? Maybe Beniamino Gigli did…

John McCormack’s life seemed charmed being interwoven with fame and fortune from its very beginning. Born in Westmeath, County Athlone in Ireland, his musical leanings were nurtured by singing in the church choir and no doubt also, by his Scottish parents who incidentally possessed fine singing voices.

Later when the family moved to Dublin he joined the St. Mary’s Pro Cathedral Choir. There his talent was recognised by the choir master and composer Vincent O’Brien.

One year after training he won the coveted medal Feis Ceoil for his singing. The following year he encouraged his friend, also a tenor who would later be famous in his own right, the author James Joyce, to enter the singing competition. Joyce, received 3rd place. One wonders what career path Joyce may have chosen had he won!

Fund raisers enabled him to train with Vincenzo Sabatini in Milan. Sabatini did not find his voice at all wanting and concentrated on teaching him a breathing technique which was to become a hallmark of McCormack’s singing. Famous for his extraordinary breath control, he could sing sixty four notes on one breath in Mozart’s “Il mio tesoro” from Don Giovanni, and his singing of pieces by Händel was just as impressive in this remarkable ability.

He made his operatic debut under the name of Giovanni Foli in Mascagni’s L’amico Fritz in 1906. Engagements in America followed and at the height of his career he toured Australia as the star tenor for the Melba Grand Opera season of 1911. From 1908 to 1914 he performed regularly at Covent Garden with either NELLIE MELBA or LUISA TETRAZZINI.

From 1912 his interest turned more and more in the direction of concert performances which brought his voice to the masses – and the masses adored him.

He became the Victor Talking Machine Company’s most popular ‘Red Seal’ recording artist after Enrico Caruso. Apropos Caruso, after hearing Caruso’s performance in the front row as Rodolfo in La Boheme at Covent Garden, McCormack said: “It was the best lesson, up to that moment, I had ever received and a stimulus which cannot be described. The sound of Caruso’s voice that night lingered in my ears for months.”

Or from another account, “as to this schooling he was prompted by hearing a Caruso at Covent Garden in 1904. McCormack was twenty then, and just beginning a career as a professional singer. ‘I will never rest’ he said to a friend after that performance.I will work and train and pray and someday there will be two men singing like that. Caruso and me.”

Two years later he was singing in London himself, becoming the Covent Garden’s youngest leading tenor in Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana.

He continued to receive praise as his unstoppable star ascended. The famous violinist, Jan Kubelik, remarked in paying him one of the greatest compliments after hearing him in Prague: “That man must have a Stradivarius in his throat”.

Possibly because he didn’t quite enjoy the acting side of performing opera, or that he realised he could reach more people and make more money from his voice whilst performing with the likes of Fritz Kreisler, he decided to pursue concert performing and the popular music recording artist path. During the catastrophe of the First World War, in 1917, he also decided to become an American citizen. McCormack’s biographer, Gordon Ledbetter, believes the tenor was the last singer to successfully bring together such divergent styles.

Another biographer attempting to convey McCormack’s widespread fan base to contemporary audiences said he was like Pavarotti, Madonna and Johnny Carson all rolled into one!

Certainly his wartime hits appealed greatly to the Irish population in America as they could show pride in both Ireland and the United States. McCormack became a radio megastar and donated to the U.S war effort and catholic charities generously.

Some of his hits at the time were ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ ‘Mother MacCree’ and for the Hollywood film ‘Song o’My Heart’ where he was paid half a million dollars to sing eleven songs for the soundtrack.

He became a very wealthy man and by all accounts enjoyed his wealth to the fullest, giving back to the public in the form of many benefit concerts and donations.

Not many opera singers are created Papal Counts – not so for John Count McCormack as seen engraved on his headstone where he is buried in his birth country of Ireland. Earlier in his life he had also received three Papal Knighthoods in addition to being a Knight of Malta. He died at the age of 61 of bronchial pneumonia seven years after giving his farewell performance at the Royal Albert Hall. Despite the farewell performance in 1938, during the Second World War, he came out of retirement in support of the Red Cross. Quite a life!

ROBERTO ALAGNA, TENOR, JUNE 07, 1963

“I have never particularly believed in astrology, but experts have always stated that I have all the characteristic of Gemini: very sociable, also very adaptable. So it was preordained from my birth that I would be capable of all the twists and turns, all the roles!”

“Je n’ai jamais particulièrement cru à l’astrology, mais les spécialistes ont toujours affirmé que j’ai toutes les caractéristiques des Gémeaux : très sociable, aussi très adaptable. Il était donc écrit dès ma naissance, que je serais capable de tous les rebondissements, de tous les rôles !

Singing is in the Franco-Sicilian tenor Roberto Alagna’s blood. His illustrious maternal great-grandfather Jimmy sang for the great Enrico Caruso when the the maestro happened to drop by one day in his wallet shop in New York City, U.S.A., and Enrico was so impressed that he suggested Jimmy audition for the Metropolitan Opera Chorus! What a complement! (although Jimmy declined the suggestion of the maestro—or the “Commendatore”, “the Commander” as Jimmy endearingly liked to call him—as he preferred to focus on his business.)

Roberto ’s vocal mentor Rafael Ruiz, was a direct student of the legendary Italian tenor Aureliano Pertile (1885-1952). It was that fact that caught the attention of Luciano Pavarotti when Roberto met him at an LP signing event at the Printemps department store in Paris. A year later, without knowing it, Roberto was invited to audition in the first round of the the Pavarotti International Voice Competition in Pesaro, Italy, the birthplace of legendary nineteenth century composer Gioachino Rossini (1792-1868). He sang his good luck song ‘La Danza’ from Rossini for Luciano and thought that he’d been disqualified as Luciano didn’t permit him to sing a second piece for him as did all the other participants. Au contraire, Luciano loved his voice and he was qualified to the next round. Indeed years later, Saimir Pirgu, an Albanian tenor, who studied with Luciano told Roberto something he didn’t know about Luciano: “every time we took lessons with Luciano, he spoke of only one tenor, Roberto, and he would say ‘here take this LP and sing like this”.

After winning the Pavarotti International Voice Competition in Philadelphia—the hometown of Mario Lanza—in 1988, Roberto’s career really skyrocketed.

He made his debut with the Glyndebourne Touring Company in the role of Alfred Germont in Verdi’s La Traviata. From 1990 onwards, he has performed a series of major roles, respectively at the leading opera houses; La Scala, Covent Garden and the New York Metropolitan.

In 1995 he won an Olivier Award for his performance of Roméo in Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette which was singled out for its diction and fine nuances, and was a turning point in his career giving him his place with the the greats of the French repertoire. Alagna also has sought out long neglected repertory to perform, and has from his lyric tenor beginnings has as his voice matured, ventured into the heavier spinto roles such as Samson in Samson et Dalia, Canio in I Pagliacci, Mauricio in Adriana Lecouvreur and Des Grieux in Manon Lescaut.

Roberto is known for his charismatic stage presence and has obtained widespread popularity through his recording a variety of diverse music genres, not to mention, his appearances in films and music videos. His album ‘Sicilian’ released in 2008 was a huge success and reached the popular audience with sales over 350,000.

Roberto Alagna was appointed a Chevalier de la légion d’honneur in 2008.

Happy birthday Roberto! We wish you happiness, health and success! Thank you for your willingness and determination to continue bringing joy to your audiences around the world!

Joyeux anniversaire Roberto! Nous vous souhaitons bonheur, santé et succès! Merci de votre volonté et enthousiasme de continuer à apporter de la joie à votre public du monde entier!

GEORGE LONDON, BASS-BARITONE, MAY 30, 1920

George London was born in Montreal to Russian U.S émigrés parents, and was brought up in Los Angles. He possessed a dark and resonant bass baritone voice with an easy resounding upper register which he used masterfully from the finest pianissimi to the most resounding fortes. He was also known for his imposing stage presence and fine portrayal of his roles.

One interesting aspect of his career to note is, that before he found international acclaim he performed as a member of the Bel Canto Trio with Mario Lanza and Francis Yeend in 1947-48 (1).

It was not long after his trio days that his international career took off, starting after his debut in Vienna in 1949 (2). A Bayreuth Festival debut followed in 1951 as Amfortas in Parsifal resulting in return seasons for him in the role and the title role of the Flying Dutchman.

At the Metropolitan Opera in New York, he sang over 270 performances and became one of the most famous exponents of the five signature bass baritone roles of Don Giovanni, Amfortas, Wotan, Scarpia and Boris Godunov. It was no small feat and testimony to his singing that he was given the honour of being the first non Russian singer to sing the title role of Boris Godunov at the Bolschoi Theatre at the height of the Cold War years in 1960 (3). Quite simply, he was able to encompass all styles of singing from Mozart, through French romantic and modern, to Verdi, Wagner, Mahler and Richard Strauß, as well as many performances of Broadway tunes and American songs and Lieder.

Both the Beatles and Maria Callas owed their exposure to a larger popular audience through their appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show. On November 25,1956, Maria Callas made her national television debut singing Floria Tosca in an abridged Act 2 from Puccini’s Tosca. Fewer people remember, that it was George London’s Baron Scarpia, that proved the perfect foil to Callas, with his vocal prowess and stage presence (4).

Another classic London recording, where he sings Baron Scarpia in Puccini’s Tosca, is with the other leading prima donna of the day, Renate Tebaldi and with Mario del Monaco to complete the star-studded team.

Although due to ill health, he never managed to perform the role of Hans Sachs in the Meistersinger von Nürnberg, nevertheless, there exist recordings of Sachs’ monologues from recital performances and a private recording exists of his portrayal of Wotan in Das Rheingold as part of the complete Cologne Ring Cycle he performed.

It was unfortunate that at the height of his career, George London retired from the stage due to vocal health decline which was caused by a paralysis of one of the vocal chords. Treatments proved inadequate to restore his voice back to its former prowess and so, consummate artist that he was, he declined to take further engagements.

He later became the artistic administrator for Kennedy Centre in Washington and general director of the Opera Society of Washington.

He and his wife created the George and Nora London Foundation for Singers in which an annual singing competition for young Canadian and American singers is held where of the 15 finalists, 5 receive $12,000 and the remaining 10 $2,000 in encouragement awards.

DAME NELLIE MELBA,SOPRANO, MAY 19TH 1861

The famous Nellie Melba, who was born in 1861, was a woman on a mission. After a modest start to her career as a lyric coloratura soprano in her home town of Melbourne Australia, she packed herself off in 1886 to pursue her career in London. She made…