The inconvenient thing, though, is that slapdash and rash though they sometimes are, “This Is Opera’s” arguments are, broadly speaking, correct. And as they observe, it’s not just a matter of Opolais “deciding” on a reserved, quiet interpretation (which, as TIO suspects, did not grab us by the throat in the Met auditorium). It’s a matter of her not having other options, because her voice was not sturdily enough structured to begin with, especially in the matter of chest-register development, and the mind won’t go where the body can’t respond.(I) And it is not necessary to compare hers with big spinto or true dramatic soprano instruments. Dorothy Kirsten, whose voice was of no greater calibre than Opolais’, will do (there’s a splendid studio version of this scene with Richard Tucker); and Lucrezia Bori, a lyric soprano of delicacy and refinement, but one with a proportionately developed low range, sang this part opposite Caruso and Martinelli. By the same token, while Carlo Bergonzi’s suave, controlled portamento up to the B-flat on “Tu m’appartieni” in the L’Africana aria strikes me as a peculiar object of contempt (and there’s no tenor now who could stand comparison with him, vocally, in his roles), it is true that Bergonzi’s upper range at forte could be rather disappointing relative to the format of his midvoice, and this did indeed relate to his manner of “dropping out” some of his full-throated engagement for the sake of retaining control and safety.(II) So here, too, TIO’s point, however crudely made, is not off the mark.
With this as cautionary background, let me turn to the work of Nézet-Séguin with the Juilliard singers, all striving for the best without greatvoiced models before them. The teaching sequences I’d been alerted to by my friends, and then TIO, deal with the soprano’s great last-act monologue in Don Carlo, “Tu che le vanità“; Fiordiligi’s daunting “Come scoglio” (Così fan tutte); and the beginning of the Count’s recitative, “Hai già vinta la causa!” (Le Nozze di Figaro). On my own recognizance, I added the Wedding Scene from Roméo et Juliette, the Ottavio/Anna duet from the opening scene of Don Giovanni, and a Q & A session conducted with a masterclass audience. First, to stipulate: N-S is an extremely accomplished musician. He seems to be a sincere believer in tireless work on craft, on detail, as the route to freedom with performing material. He has valid insights on musical interpretation, a few of which I’ll take note of as we go along. He is clearly a dedicated artist, devoted to the operatic mission. He is also friendly and respectful with his young charges, and not on a power trip with them. All this, though, does not make him a keen analyst of singing technique, or, as suggested above, of the relationship between aesthetic preferences and vocal function. And it is in those capacities that our interest lies here.
Footnotes
↑I | For my own take on Opolais and some of her onstage sisters, see my Il Trittico post of 12/14/2018. |
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↑II | Bergonzi was not infrequently swamped by orchestra and/or partners at climactic moments, e.g., the Aïda, Ballo, or Forza duets, or the end of Act 1 of Butterfly. So, despite his many virtues and points of lyrical superiority, he was hard to prefer in the more dramatic parts to such contemporaries as Tucker, Del Monaco, Corelli, Labò, or, briefly, Kónya. I’ve always attributed Bergonzi’s careful grooming of the upper range to his origin as a baritone and a concomitant fear of driving chest voice too high. His earliest recordings (as Adorno and Canio, for Cetra) were made just after the transition, and show a more headlong approach—though the recordings’ relatively compressed dynamic range may play a role in the impression. We should note that he sang the whole Italian repertory very well for a very long time, so there was much more right than wrong with his functional technique. |
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