ARTS

Opera

Not yet the fourth tenor

Michael Scott believes that despite the 'hype' Roberto Alagna has not yet reached the top The success of the 'Three Tenors' has record companies ever more diligent in their search for at least one new young suc- cessor. EMI has just published a CD of a recital of the young Frenchman of Sicilian parentage Roberto Alagna (EMI 5 55477 2). The 'hype' invites comparison with other great lyric tenors who have left recordings this century. We now have a legacy of them preserved, fresh-minted on CDs: Caruso, Gigli, Bjorling, di Stefano and others.

On the Alagna CD only one selection is of an aria composed after recordings began: 'A travers le desert', from Rabaud's Mdrouf. First performed in 1914, it sounds as if Ravel had written the 'Desert Song'! We understand Alagna venturing to do it. It points up a predicament opera singers face today. They would like to sing new music. But, in search of the 'new', they can only dare dig up forgotten ephemera. They are reluctant to risk their voices on any- thing as unvocal as modern opera.

How different it once was. Today, it may be hard to appreciate but Caruso, in his day, was famous as a proselytiser of mod- ern opera. He sang principal roles in the world premieres, or for the first time when they were less than five years old, of Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana, Leoncav- allo's Pagliacci, Cilea's L'arlesiana and Adriana Lecouvreur, Puccini's Manon Lescaut, Boheme, Tosca, Butterfly and La fanciulla del West. He was fortunate. We can say that, even though he died at the early age of 48. His recordings are all pre- electric. In the days before amplification, he had it both ways: only an opera singer, one whose voice was supported naturally by the breath, could be heard by large numbers; and the acoustic gramophone advertised his voice widely. It caused the American public to flock to see him at all sorts of places — sometimes as many as 25,000 — at bull rings, speedway tracks and stadiums. It made him as popular a singer of new songs as he was of modern opera. He contributed to the success of the first world war recruiting song 'Over there' by George M. Cohan (`Mr Yankee Doodle Dandy').

It was not until four years after Caruso's death that the microphone was introduced and began separating opera singers from popular singers. The first years of the inter- national career of Gigli — Caruso's succes- sor — were spent in New York, based at the Metropolitan. When the slump came and singers' fees were cut, he declined to accept any more engagements and returned home. It was in Mussolini's Italy that he came to develop many of the devices of the later verismo style — sob- bing, intrusive aspirates, marcato and so on. With them he sought to revivify the opera repertory, suiting the fascist concep- tion of nationalist art. During the 1930s, Gigli established himself with the aid of recordings of complete operas and appear- ances in many films. In 1939, the Met swal- lowed its pride and he returned to New York singing Radames in Aida, easily and eloquently. So as to keep his art vigorous he kept one ear, as it were, tuned on the popular singers of the day. What charac- terises his singing on records is his ravish- ing mezza voce, so effortlessly poised is it that it sounds as if it is unsupported — it was the age of the crooner.

Bjorling, a Swede, became a leading tenor after 1930, by which time the popular opera repertory was dead. Not being Ital- ian, however, for him that did not signify; unlike Gigli, he turned to the score and was content to sing what was written to the maximum advantage. His career began as a boy alto, and so he acquired his vocal facili- ty before puberty, like the castrati (the male sopranos). It was not a big voice but, when I heard him at the old Met in 1960, it rang out easily above the orchestra — the brilliant ring on his tone gave it such poten- cy. When he sang at La Scala, Milan, critics complained his style was cold and alien; he made no attempt, as Gigli had, at revitalis- ing it. Time has now replaced nationality as the alienating factor. Tenors, like Pavarotti, Domingo and Carreras, having shed most of the traditional mannerisms, bear a stronger stylistic resemblance to Bjorling than to Gigli.

Di Stefano is alive today, but he lost his voice years ago. Early in his career, he recorded some popular songs under an alter ego, as did Bjorling — although the microphone was separating popular singers from opera singers, it was still possible for one singer to manage them both although only just. In the early 1950s, before the revival of bel canto operas, the

Hulton Deutsch

Enrico Caruso

Hulton Deutsch

Jussi Bjorling Luciano Pavarotti Roberto Alagna effect of the later more forceful post-verisi- mo style encouraged the competitive instincts of Italian tenors. Di Stefano became preoccupied with the macho desire to make more out of his voice than nature put in. In 1959, when I saw him first in Chicago as Riccardo in Ballo in maschera, although past his best he had, appropriate- ly, a cavalier charm and nonchalant air like Bing Crosby in High Society.

Di Stefano's unfortunate example encouraged Pavarotti not to take too many chances. After 1983 — and appearing before audiences of at least 10,000 people — he started poaching on the preserves of pop singers: using a microphone. Inevitably, his example encouraged others, irrespective of whether their voices were as technically assured. Alagna began singing in bars with a microphone so it is not sur- prising his singing is amateurish. No voice teacher is mentioned in the CD booklet. This accounts for what is right about his singing — the natural quality of his voice. His instrument has been left to develop unforced.

It also accounts, however, for what is wrong with it. A singer will only be able to show how good a musician he is with suffi- cient technique. Much of this CD shows him being too ambitious. In Federico's lament from Cilea's L 'arle siana, for exam- ple, by relying on the microphone, he becomes lugubrious — too many piano effects, and his tone collapses. To sing piano he needs to support his tone; this involves using not half as much breath, but twice as much.

Compare him with Bjorling in Romeo's air. `Salut tombeau!' when Romeo comes upon Juliette — la voila! c'est elle!' Alagna interpolates into the line an affect- ing catch in his voice; Bjerling is content to colour his tone, and make an effect through the music. This is typical of the dif- ference. Like Alagna's, Bjorling's voice was not big but, because his tone is so limpid, he colours each vowel spontaneously. Alagna may be French, but his diction is not as clear as Bjorling's, and the vowels are not as pellucid.

Here we come to the nub of the matter — Alagna's voice is slightly throaty. It remains to be seen whether he will be able to get it sufficiently forward on the breath to be fully responsive. With hard work and concentrated skill he should be able to, yet the temptations besetting a first-class tenor these days are manifold, with the dearth of talent. At La Scala, Milan, next season, under Muti, he is to sing Manrico in II trovatore. There is, of course, nothing wrong with a lyric tenor undertaking that role — so long as his voice is as brilliant as Bjorling's was. However, it is to be hoped that Muti has told Alagna that some dis- creet miking will be permitted.

Michael Scott is the author of books on Caruso and Callas and is currently writing one on Pavarotti.