Medicine & Opera

‘Invano Alvaro’ is the last of three tenor-bartitone duets that grace Verdi’s La Forza Del Destino. All three are excellent, but the final one is likely the best such duet ever written by the composer. It’s in the same class as ‘Quando al mio sen per te parlava’ from Act 3 of I Vespri Siciliani and ‘Si, pel ciel’ from Otello. What sets the Forza duet apart is that it moves the plot while being both beautiful and dramatic. Indeed, it is the plot. It starts at the end of the opera’s penultimate scene and runs into its final one.

The duet is found in several places on this site. But I’ve never devoted an entire post to it. Below are 11 interpretations of it sung by noted artists. Most of these selections have not appeared here before. The Italian text with an English translation is at the end of this article.

From a 1943 recording Giacomo Lauri-Volpi is joined by Gino Bechi. The tenor enjoyed a remarkably successful career that spanned 40 years. He appeared to great acclaim at all the world’s great houses. Yet I’ve never cared for his voice. I find it unattractive and somewhat shrill and forced. Given the success and acclaim he enjoyed my opinion must be an outlier. Baritone Gino Bechi had a very successful career based mainly in Italy. He had a big and virile voice which can be heard on numerous recordings.

In 1953, in New Orleans, Mario Del Monaco and Leonard Warren participated in a staged performance of Forza. This excerpt is from that show.

Two duets featuring Giueppe Di Stefano are from 1955 and 1960. The ’55 excerpt is from a La Scala performance. Di Stefano’s partner is Aldo Protti. I’ve recently written about him. Note how good he is in this duet. This period was at the tail end of Di Stefano’s peak. He’s in terrific form. Of course, Alvaro is a role he shouldn’t have sung, but his emotional commitment is so palpable that it’s easy to understand why he and his conductors and directors wanted him to stray from the roles best suited to his beautiful lyric voice. By 1960, he was well on the downward path; yet, in this performance in Vienna, he managed to pull himself together and deliver an outstanding performance. It was perhaps the last time he was at his best. First 1955, then 1960. The baritone in the second clip is Ettore Bastianini.

Net two featuring Luciano Pavarotti. He never sang the complete opera in performance. He felt it was a bad luck opera. Leonard Warren had died in the middle of a performance of it in March 1960. These two excerpts are from recitals. The first is with baritone Piero Cappuccilli. The second is with the very young Dmitri Hvorostovsky. It was made several years before the Russian singer made his first Met appearance.

The next duet is from a Met performance featuring Giuseppe Giacominini and Leo Nucci.

This selection is taken from the complete performance of the opera featuring Jonas Kaufmann and Ludovic Tezier.

Jose Carreras and Piero Cappuccilli recorded the duet in 1981 before Carreras was stricken with leukemia. He recovered and returned to singing, but his voice was never again at the standard it reached before his serious illness.

More recently, tenor Jonathan Tetelman and baritone Adam Unger recorded the duet. It’s with an organ accompaniment which sounds okay. Tetelman recently made his Met debut.

Finally, a recording that’s appeared here before. The now legendary version sung by Richard Tucker and Robert Merrill at the 1972 Gala in honor of Sir Rudolf Bing. It features Merrill’s cosmic finalmente.

Of all Verdi’s mature works (ie, post Rigoletto), his The Sicilian Vespers in either its French or Italian versions is the least performed. This neglect is hard to explain as the opera is a splendid work exhibiting all the characteristics that make its composer the master of the lyric theater.

The bass aria ‘O tu Palermo’ is sung by Procida at the beginning of Act 2. He has returned from exile to lead the Sicilians in revolt against their French occupiers. In it he expresses his his joy at returning to his native land and city.

The eight versions below are all sung in Italian. They include the recitative that precedes the aria. It is one of the finest solos for bass written by Verdi.

Ezio Pinza sang 879 performances at the Met between 1926 and 1948. He then went on to become a Broadway star creating the role of Emile de Becque in Rogers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific.

Boris Christoff was the mid 20th century bass whose dramatic impact came closest to Chaliapin’s. In 1950 he was invited to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City but was refused entry into the USA as a result of the McCarran Immigration Act, which banned citizens of Eastern bloc countries from entering the country. This refusal was ordered despite Christoff’s opposition to communism. He refused any further invitations to the Metropolitan and never appeared there. His dark sound was ideal for the most intense parts such as Verdi’s Philip II and Mussorgsky’s Boris Godunov. His recording includes some of the dialogue that follows the aria.

Cesare Siepi took Christoff’s place in Rudolf Bing’s first production at the Met in 1950. He was Philip II in Don Carlo. He takes a very lyrical approach to the Vespri aria. It was this type of singing along with his good looks that made him an ideal Don Giovanni. He was a regular at the Met giving 491 performances between 1950 and 1973. He left the company because of a dispute with management while he was still at the peak of his vocal powers.

Bonaldo Giaiotti was a leading basso cantante of the middle of the last century. He was a regular at most of the world’s leading opera houses. Between 1960 to 1989 he appeared 414 times at the Met.

Giorgio Tozzi (born George John Tozzi in Chicago) sang 528 performances with the Met between 1955 and 1975. He appeared at virtually all of the world’s major opera houses. After dubbing the singing voice for the character of Emile de Becque (portrayed by Rossano Brazzi) in the 1958 film version of South Pacific, he spent many years playing the role of de Becque himself in various revivals and road tours of the show, including one at Lincoln Center in the late 1960s. After his singing career ended he taught at the Juilliard School, Brigham Young University, and Indiana University.

Nicolai Ghiaurov was one of the world’s greatest basses. He was especially known for his Verdi and Mussorgsky roles. Married to soprano Mirella Freni they frequently sang together. In Ghiaurov’s obituary in Opera News, Martin Bernheimer remarked: “He commanded a remarkable vocal instrument, strikingly generous in size, warm in timbre, dark in color. He rolled out the resonant tone at his command with generosity, and with special ease at the burnished top.”

Ferruccio Furlanetto has been one of the most successful basses in recent memory. Though 76 years old, he is still performing. He made his Met debut in 1980. In 1982 he sang the role of Procida with the company. His last appearance at the Met was in 2022. Thus far he has appeared 228 times with the company.

Ildar Abdrazakov is a Russian bass who is in the middle of a very successful career. He has appeared 177 times with the company.

The Sicilian Vespers has only been done 45 times by the Met. Its last appearance at the New York house was in 2004. Given the expensive stuff the Met has been feeding a reluctant audience, the reappearance of a neglected Verdi masterpiece is way overdue.

O patria, o cara patria, alfin ti veggo!
L’esule ti saluta
Dopo sì lunga assenza;
Il tuo fiorente suolo
Bacio, e ripien d’amore
Reco il mio voto a te, col braccio e il core!
O tu, Palermo, terra adorata,
a me sì caro riso d’amor, ah!
Alza la fronte tanto oltraggiata,
il tuo ripiglia primier splendor!
Chiesi aita a straniere nazioni,
ramingai per castella e città;
ma, insensibil al fervido sprone,
dicea ciascun: siciliani, ov’è il prisco valor?
Su, sorgete a vittoria, all’onor!

O fatherland, dear motherland, I see you in the end!
The exile greets you
After such a long absence;
Your flourishing soil
Kiss, and love again
I give my vote to you, with the arm and the core!
O you, Palermo, adored land,
Of my green years – laughter of love,
Raise your forehead so outraged,
Your recovery – premier splendor!
I asked to foreign countries,
I wandered through castles and cities:
But, insensitive to fervid spurs,
Respond with vain pity! –
Sicilians! Where is the ancient valor?
Come on, rise to victory, to honor!

Neil Shicoff (b 1949) is an American tenor who has attained great success both in America and Europe. A native of Brooklyn, he is the son of the cantor Sidney Shicoff. The younger Shicoff trained as a cantor as well as studying singing at Juilliard. He made his operatic debut in the title role in Verdi’s Ernani conducted by James Levine in Cincinnati in 1975.

He made his debut at the Metropolitan Opera as Rinuccio in Gianni Schicchi also conducted by Levine. He went on to give 208 performances at the Met. He also regularly appeared at the Vienna State Opera. His Met career was interrupted for seven years (1990-1997) due to personal issues combined with severe stage fright, which led to numerous cancellations at other companies. He is now retired and devotes much of his time to teaching.

Shicoff’s voice at his peak was a beautiful lirico-spinto that was best employed in the standard Italian and French repertoire. His vocal mechanics were excellent and he was able to convey the full emotional content of the music he sang. He had a major career and was clearly one of the best tenors of the last quarter of the previous century. Were it not for the personal problems, which need no further discussion here, he might have ranked as high as Richard Tucker among American tenors.

I only heard him in performance one time – as Eleazar in La Juive. He was outstanding as he is on the excerpts below. First, three arias from Massenet’s Werther. The role was especially suited to Shichoff’s voice; he sang it often.

‘O Nature, pleine de grâce’ is in Act 1. Werther expresses his feelings of love and wonder by addressing nature in a moment of deep, romantic contemplation.

‘Oui! Ce qu’elle m’ordonne’ is in Act 2. It is part of a passionate monologue where the poet Werther declares his love for Charlotte and his willingness to do anything for her, despite her being married.

‘Pourquoi me réveiller?’ is the opera’s most famous number. Every tenor sings it in recital or recording, even if the opera is not part of the repertoire. The aria addresses unrequited love, despair, and death. It expresses Werther’s intense emotion and his feeling of being broken by love.

Another Massenet aria – ‘Ah! Fuyez, douce image’. The Chevalier Des Grieux has taken religious vows in despair over losing Manon to a richer and older man. He relives memories of her.

Gounod’s Faust was the first opera ever performed at the Metropolitan Opera. It was done there so often that the house acquired the nickname the Faustspielhaus. It’s not done as frequently by the New York company as it was in the past and has dropped to eighth place on the list of most frequently performed operas. ‘Salut! demeure chaste et pure’ occurs in Act 3. Faust idealizes Marguerite as a pure child of nature.

The last French selection is from La Juive. It was recorded in performance in Vienna. It was this production that the Met borrowed for its revival of the opera with Shicoff in the leading role. The great aria ‘Rachel, quand du seigneur’ is the main reason to attend a performance of Halevy’s five act French grand opera. In the aria the Jewish goldsmith Eleazar does not want to sacrifice his adopted daughter Rachel to his hatred of Christians, and renounces his revenge. She’s really the long-lost daughter of the Cardinal Brogni. However, when he hears the cries from a pogrom in the streets, he decides that God wants him to bear witness in death with his daughter to the God of Israel. Shicoff’s singing gets everything there is from the aria.

The only reason a production can cast a star tenor as Macduff in Macbeth is the Act 4 aria ‘Ah, la paterna mano’. It’s one of Verdi’s finest. Apart from this number the tenor doesn’t have a whole lot more to do.

‘Fontainebleau forêt immense’ is the tenor aria in Act 1 of the original French production of Verdi’s Don Carlos. In versions in which Act 1 is omitted, the tenor aria is moved to the new first act.

The last Verdi aria is ‘Parmi veder le lagrime’ from Act 2 of Rigoletto. Shicoff sings the deceptively difficult aria with ease and style.

Finally, the two tenor arias from Tosca. ‘Recondita armonia’ followed by ‘E lucevan le stelle’.

Aldo Protti (1920–1995) was a fine Italian baritone active in the middle of the last century. His prime coincided with that of a host of other outstanding Italian and American baritones. That is the reason he is not as well remembered as he deserves. But at his best he was a consummate artist who fully realized the great Verdi baritone roles as well as those of the verismo composers. His specialty was Rigoletto which he sang 425 times during his career.

Born in Cremona, Protti studied in Milan before making his professional debut in 1948 as Giorgio Germont in La Traviata. In 1950 he debuted at La Scala. Over the ensuing years he sang in all the major houses of Europe. Though he often sang at La Scala, he appeared most frequently at the Vienna State Opera – about 380 performances.

He sang with the New York City Opera during the 1956 season in Rigoletto, Tosca, and the company premiere of Il trovatore. He sang a single season at Chicago’s Lyric Opera in 1957as Barnaba in La Gioconda and Marcello in La Bohème.

He did not appear with the Met until 1985, shortly before he retired. He gave a single performance as Rigoletto in the New York house and eight more on tour.

He also appeared on numerous complete opera recordings for Decca/London – Verdi’s Otello twice. First under Alberto Erede’s baton and then under Karajan’s.

Protti had a rich and powerful voice which he used to great effect. His top was secure and his dynamic control was equally secure and was used appropriately. He was sometimes compared unfavorably to his Italian contemporaries, Tito Gobbi and Ettore Bastianini, though after listening to his recordings it’s hard to understand why. Below are 10 examples of his singing that show his art to great effect.

First, the two arias from his signature role as Rigoletto. ‘Pari siamo’ is followed by ‘Cortigiani, vil razza dannata’. Protti’s Rigoletto was as Verdi conceived him. Angry at a lifetime of insults and harsh treatment. – about to lose the only thing in his life he valued, his daughter.

The baritone’s great moment in La Traviata is the second-act duet between the elder Germont and Violetta. The aria that follows a little later is there to give a leading baritone a big number. Without it the role would not be able to attract a top-of-the-line singer. It gets the job done. ‘Di Provenza il mar, il suol’ is very well sung by Protti.

‘Il balen’ from Il Trovatore captures the essence of the Count di Luna. Every fiber of his being is consumed by his unfulfilled love for Leonora. It is also one of the most beautiful melodies ever conceived. Protti’s dynamic shading at the piece’s end is admirable.

Iago’s ‘Credo’ at the start of Act 2 of Otello is one of Verdi’s most inspired and insightful creations. It defines Iago as the distillation of evil. It’s not in Shakespeare’s play; rather it’s the invention of Verdi and Boito.

The duet that concludes Act 2 shows the success of Iago’s plan to drive Otello murderously mad with jealousy. ‘Si pel ciel’ is sung by Protti and Mario Del Monaco. The two often appeared together, both in performance and on recordings.

I don’t think Protti ever sang the title role of Verdi’s Falstaff, but he did sing the role of Ford. (There is a website that lists Falstaff among his roles, but it doesn’t say where or when.) He had the right sound for Ford’s ‘E’ sogno’. The aria in Verdi’s mercurial comedy is a throwback the the dramatic exclamations of his earlier period.

Protti’s singing of ‘Largo al factotum’ from Rossini’s Barber shows that he had comic ability in addition to the heavy dramatic parts that made up the bulk of his repertoire.

Finally, a couple of arias by verismo composers. First, the Prologue from Leoncavallo’s Pagliacci. This is followed by Carlo Gérard’s aria ‘Nemico della patria’ from Act 3 of Giordano’s Andrea Chénier. The latter is from a live performance in Tokyo in 1961.

Protti was an outstanding singer of the first rank. His presence graced any stage on which he appeared. That America, and New York in particular, saw so little of him was a big loss to America’s opera goers. We are fortunate that he left a rich legacy of recordings.

The photo above the title shows Mario Del Monaco, Herbert von Karajan, and Protti. It was taken at a recording session of Verdi’s Otello.

I recently read a review of a movie that involved historical events. The review was generally favorable; its only criticism was that the history was not accurate. I didn’t think about this for very long. I watched the movie and enjoyed it. I quickly forgot the film (and its name) as well as its supposed historical inaccuracies. Then I started to think about the interplay of history and art.

A work of art, or one that aspires to that category, is under no obligation to be historically accurate. Its task is to be good, interesting, emotionally apposite. Not only is it free to depart from history, but it can also deviate from whatever source inspired it. A few examples of both successful and unsuccessful works that deviate from the underlying facts:

Macbeth is a good place to start. Macbeth was a real Scottish king who reigned from 1040 to 1057. He came to power after killing King Duncan I in battle (not by murdering him in his sleep, as in Shakespeare’s play). Banquo, Macbeth’s friend-turned-rival in the play, likely did not exist at all. He was invented or embellished to provide an ancestry for King James I of Scotland, who was on the throne when Shakespeare wrote the play. The witches are, obviously, pure invention, as is the Sleepwalking Scene. But the play works because it is imbued with genius; its historical accuracy is irrelevant.

Verdi made a great opera out of Shakespeare’s play. He changed the story further. Instead of three witches, he used three groups of witches – about 18 choristers divided into three equal groups. Verdi changes the knocking at the gate in Act 2, Scene 2 of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The Macbeths have just murdered King Duncan. Macbeth is horrified by what he has done, his wife less so. Lady Macbeth takes the daggers that he has neglected to leave at the scene of the crime to “gild the faces of the grooms” to make them seem responsible for the murder. She leaves and a knocking is heard. She returns and more knocking is heard. Just before the scene ends still more knocking. The next scene moves to the drunken Porter complaining about the knocking. After a succession of knockings at the gate, he opens it and admits Macduff and Lennox.

In Verdi’s version the knocking occurs just twice, first in triplicate and then in two pairs. They initiate the end of the first act rather than being in the second as in the play. There is no scene with the Porter who does not appear in the opera. Thus, there is no explanation for the knocking other than its dramatic effect as there is no one at the gate, nor is there a gate. Banquo and Macduff enter after the Macbeths have left. The former discovers Duncan’s corpse. The Macbeths return and feign horror at the bloody deed along with the chorus. The act ends in a glorious ensemble that captures the impact of the murder on the Scottish court and the cynicism of the evil duo responsible for the crime. Here, the knocking is not a relief from murder, but rather an awful comment on it. Its effect is like a sledgehammer of doom.

Verdi changed Shakespeare to meet the needs of the lyric theater. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t adhere to the original version. Artistic truth trumps other accuracies. The emotional impact of Verdi’s setting of King Duncan’s murder reaches a creative height rarely achieved in art; that it has no relationship to Shakespeare’s play is irrelevant.

Macbeth Knocking at the gate and Act 1 finale

Verdi’s other operas based on historical events such as Giovanna D’Arco and Don Carlos succeed or fail on their musical merits. Both depart widely from history, but the former fails while the latter is one of Verdi’s greatest works. Giovanna is arguably the weakest opera in the composer’s canon.

Back to Shakespeare. His historical plays. All of them adhere loosely, if at all, to the actual events that they purport to depict; some are masterpieces, others are very badly made. Examples of the latter are Henry VI Part 1 and King John. Richard III is also distorted to make the Tudor usurpation look legitimate and necessary. But it’s brilliantly made and offers a portrait of villainy among the great list of literary evildoers, irrespective of its adherence to the facts.

Henry IV (both parts 1 and 2) are historically inaccurate in their specific details and portrayals of characters. Shakespeare dramatized and invented events to serve his artistic and political purposes, drawing heavily on the biased and often inaccurate Holinshed’s Chronicles. Shakespeare used a historical foundation as a starting point for dramatic effect. The core political tensions are largely accurate, but the detailed timeline, character relationships, and personal motivations are heavily altered or invented. His great creation, Sir John Falstaff is entirely invented.

So popular a dramatic figure was Falstaff that Shakespeare brought him back in another, and much weaker, play The Merry Wives of Windsor. Verdi used The Merry Wives as the source of his last opera, Falstaff. The opera is one of the supreme masterpieces of the genre. Verdi and his librettist, Arrigo Boito borrowed Falstaff’s Honor Monologue from Henry IV, Part 1. Here’s Shakespeare’s version.

Well, ’tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no. Or an arm? no. Or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he hear it? no. ’Tis insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it: therefore I’ll none of it. Honour is a mere scutcheon: and so ends my catechism.

The text of the Verdi/Boito Honor Monologue is below. It’s followed by an English translation.

L’Onore!
Ladri! Voi state ligi all’onor vostro, voi!
Cloache d’ignominia,
quando, non sempre, noi
Possiam star ligi al nostro.
Io stesso, sì, io, io,
Devo talor da un lato
porre il timor di Dio
E, per necessità, sviar l’onore, usare
Stratagemmi ed equivoci,
Destreggiar, bordeggiare.
E voi, coi vostri cenci
e coll’occhiata torta
Da gatto pardo e i fetidi sghignazzi
avete a scorta
Il vostro Onor! Che onore?!
che onor? che onor! che ciancia!
Che baia!
Puï l’onore riempirvi la pancia?
No. Puï l’onor rimettervi uno stinco?
Non puï.
Nè un piede? No. Nè un dito?
Nè un capello? No.
L’onor non é chirurgo.
Che é dunque? Una parola.
Che c’é in questa parola?
C’é dell’aria che vola.
Bel costrutto!
L’onore lo puï sentire chi é morto?
No. Vive sol coi vivi?…
Neppure: perchè a torto
Lo gonfian le lusinghe,
lo corrompe l’orgoglio,
L’ammorban le calunnie;
e per me non ne voglio!
Ma, per tornare a voi, furfanti,
ho atteso troppo.
E vi discaccio.

Honor!
Thieves! You stay in your honor, you!
Sewers of ignominy, when, not always, we
We can stay in ours. I myself, yes, me, me,
On the one hand I must ask God’s fear
And, by necessity, clear the honor, use
Stratagems and misunderstandings,
Go away, tack.
And you, with your rags and your cake look
From serval and and the fetid sneers you have to escort
Your Honor! That honor?! what honor? what an honor! that chatters!
What a bay! – Can the honor fill your stomach?
No. Can the honor put a shin back on you? He can not.
Not a foot? No. Nor a finger? Nor a hair? No.
Honor is not a surgeon. What is it then? A word.
What’s in this word? There is air flying.
Nice construct! Can the honor hear him who died?
No. Do you live alone with the living? … Not even: why wrongly
The flattery swells, the pride corrupts him,
The slanders plague him; and for me I do not want it!

Another example of inserting an artistic truth instead of a factual one is Tolstoy’s portrait of Napoleon in War and Peace. It is not historically accurate; rather it is a literary and philosophical tool designed to serve his theory of history. He portrays Napoleon as a self-important, ineffective figure, which directly contradicts the widely held historical view of Napoleon as a brilliant military strategist. For Tolstoy, Napoleon represents the flawed “Great Man” theory of history, which he sought to debunk.

How successful Tolstoy is with Napoleon depends on your view of his lengthy historical digressions in the novel. I’ve always thought that the novel would be better without the author’s historical meanderings. But who am I compared to Tolstoy?

The point of the current meanderings is that when art contradicts fact, it’s of no matter if the art is first rate. Artistic truth overrides the record of the past with decisive rigor. To a real artist the past is no more than a source of inspiration.

Verdi’s A Masked Ball has been both popular and in the standard operatic repertory since its premiere in 1859. The opera is virtually perfect; its composer was at the peak of his formidable powers. It has everything: great arias for high soprano, dramatic soprano, contralto, tenor, baritone, and wonderful ensemble pieces. Though I’ve written about the work several times, I thought it would be useful to collect a few of the best numbers from the work in one place. There’s no method to my selection process other than personal taste.

‘La rivedrò nell’estasi’ depicts Riccardo’s (I’ll use the nomenclature of the Massachusetts setting of the opera rather than the Swedish) joy at seeing Amelia again at the upcoming ball. Luciano Pavarotti is the tenor.

In Act I, Oscar (Verdi’s only trouser role) defends Ulrica against the accusation of witchcraft. ‘Volta la terrea’ is sung by Kathleen Battle. The music continues until the end of the scene. Pavarotti and Renato Bruson are the featured singers here.

In the second scene of Act 1 Ulrica, the fortune teller, summons her magical powers: ‘Re dell’abisso, affrettati’. The contralto is Marian Anderson, who was the first black singer to appear at the Met and in this role. She should have been at the house at least 20 years earlier. By the time she made her debut she was in her late 50s, and though her voice was still impressive, it was less than it had been at her peak.

At the end of the scene, Ulrica tells Riccardo that he will be killed by the next man who shakes his hand. He laughingly dismisses her prophecy and offers his hand to the courtiers, who refuse to take it. Renato arrives and shakes Riccardo’s hand in greeting. Richard Tucker leads the ensemble in what he thinks is a joke.

Act 2 is set outside of town, Boston in the original setting. It’s where the gallows is located. Amelia has come here alone to pick the herbs which Ulrica told her would free her of her guilty love for Riccardo. ‘Ma dall’arido stelo divulsa’. Two versions follow. The first is sung by Birgit Nilsson in German.

The second interpretation of the aria, sung in the original Italian, is by Leontyne Price.

She is then surprised by Riccardo, who has come to meet her, and the two finally declare their love for each other. The duet that ensues is one of the most passionate in the entire operatic literature. It is by turns agitated and then surging with emotion. Nilsson and Tucker sing the duet. It’s impossible to find heroic voices like this today.

The conclusion to Act 2 is one of the most remarkable scenes in all opera. Renato is escorting his wife back from a chaste assignation with his boss and best friend Riccardo. She is veiled, and he doesn’t realize who she is. The conspirators arrive, led by Sam and Tom, who want to assassinate Riccardo. They confront Renato; in the struggle, Amelia’s veil drops. Renato, horrified, assumes that Amelia and Riccardo have been involved in an adulterous love affair. He asks the two leaders of the conspiracy, Samuel and Tom, to meet him the next day when he will join their murderous plot. Josef Metternich is the aggrieved husband. Zinka Milanov is his wife. The mixture of rage (Renato), fear (Amelia), and macabre mirth among the conspirators is unique in opera.

Renato has resolved to kill Amelia for the dishonor she has brought on him. He changes his mind and declares that it is Riccardo, not Amelia, who deserves to die. Renato’s aria ‘Eri tu che macchiavi quell’anima’ is as great a baritone aria as ever written. Its depiction of marital betrayal and desire for vengeance is unequalled. It’s worth more than one performance.

First, the great Italian baritone Mattia Battistini. Known as ‘The King of the Baritones’, he never sang in North America because of an intense aversion to trans-Atlantic travel.

Cornell MacNeil was one of a succession of great 20th century American baritones. His interpretation of the great aria has more bite and anger to it compared to Battistini who seems most concerned with elegance of line and beautiful singing rather than reaching to swirling emotional core of the piece.

Riccardo, torn between love and duty, has resolved to renounce his love for Amelia and send her and Renato back to England: ‘Ma se m’è forza perderti’ is another of Verdi’s great tenor arias. Alfred Piccaver was a British-American tenor who made the bulk of his career in Vienna. Though he sang in Chicago, he turned down an offer from the Met.

At the eponymous ball, Riccardo tells Amelia of the decision he has made. As they say goodbye, Renato stabs Riccardo. The wounded Riccardo discloses that though he loved Amelia, she never broke her marriage vows. He pardons all the conspirators, bidding farewell to his friends and his country as he dies. Placido Domingo is Riccardo in this recording of the opera’s conclusion.

Don Giovanni needs no further praise from anyone; it is one of opera’s supreme masterpieces. It has been the subject of more interpretations than sin. Leporello, the Don’s put upon servant, is as interesting a character as is the Don. His Act 1 ‘Catalog Aria’ (Madamina, il catalogo è questo) is as famous as anything in the opera. Interestingly, Leporello gets a full fledged aria, while the Don does not.

The’ Catalog Aria’ occurs in Act 1 immediately after Donna Elvira has confronted the Don bitterly complaining about his desertion of her after he had seduced her. He used the promise of marriage to have his way with her. Giovanni departs, leaving his servant to deal with the spurned woman. He proceeds to present Elvira with a staggering list of the Don’s seductions. He informs her that his master has seduced more than two thousand women across Europe: 640 in Italy, 231 in Germany, 100 in France, 91 in Turkey, and an astonishing 1003 in Spain.

The aria, which is essentially a list, reverses the usual slow-fast order of an Italian aria and cabaletta, taking the piece far beyond the enumeration of the Don’s conquests. It wittily and cruelly depicts the compulsive nature of Giovanni, calling to mind Freud’s dictum that a man who can’t find what he’s looking for in a 1000 women is looking for a man. Leporello’s catalog goes further than counting; it describes the kinds of women the Don pursues: young, old, rich, poor, beautiful, ugly, tall, short. In other words, every female. From today’s vantage, we can’t be sure that there aren’t as many men as women on Leporello’s pages.

The aria reveals a lot about Leporello. On the surface, he’s having a good time humiliating the poor Donna Elvira, who must be stricken beyond horror by Leporello’s seemingly gleeful depiction of Giovanni’s rampant sexuality. But the servant is almost a slave to the Don’s monomania. The catalog is both a boast and a reproach to Leporello’s complicity in the Don’s sordid behavior. The aria is a great set piece that encapsulates both the humor and the darkness that pervades Mozart’s dramma giocoso.

The aria’s words, along with an English translation, are at the end of this piece.

The first interpretation is so good that it sets an almost impossible bar for any later Leporello. Feodor Chaliapin was by all accounts the greatest singing actor of the last century. His version of the Catalog Aria is full of mirth with a hint of menace. Leporello and Don Basilio in Rossini’s Barber were the two comic roles the great Russian basso included in his repertoire. Chaliapin Catalog Aria

Ildebrando D’Arcangelo gives a spirited rendition of the great aria, but he fails to make the first section into the patter song that Chaliapin delivers.

Adam Plachetka portrayed Leporello in a Met performance Oct 22, 2016. It was his role debut with the company. Malin Byström is the horrified Donna Elvira.

Sir Bryn Terfel has sung both Don Giovanni and Leporello onstage. This performance is from an outdoor recital in 2009. He adds a few words that Da Ponte didn’t write.

Leporello is one of Ferruccio Furlanetto’s signature roles. He has sung the part is many of the world’s great houses. This performance is from the Met in 2000.

Luca Pisaroni was Leporello in another Met telecast – 2011. He’s particularly good as he injects the menace inherent in the aria at just the right time. The aria is not a jolly affair.

Even after two and a half centuries, Mozart’s ability to make a list into a sublime work of art still dazzles audiences.

Madamina, il catalogo è questo
Delle belle che amò il padron mio;
un catalogo egli è che ho fatt’io;
Osservate, leggete con me.

In Italia seicento e quaranta;
In Alemagna duecento e trentuna;
Cento in Francia, in Turchia novantuna;
Ma in Ispagna son già mille e tre.

V’han fra queste contadine,
Cameriere, cittadine,
V’han contesse, baronesse,
Marchesane, principesse.
E v’han donne d’ogni grado,
D’ogni forma, d’ogni età.

Nella bionda egli ha l’usanza
Di lodar la gentilezza,
Nella bruna la costanza,
Nella bianca la dolcezza.

Vuol d’inverno la grassotta,
Vuol d’estate la magrotta;
È la grande maestosa,
La piccina è ognor vezzosa.

Delle vecchie fa conquista
Pel piacer di porle in lista;
Sua passion predominante
È la giovin principiante.

Non si picca – se sia ricca,
Se sia brutta, se sia bella;
Purché porti la gonnella,
Voi sapete quel che fa.

My dear lady, this is the list
Of the beauties my master has loved,
A list which I have compiled.
Observe, read along with me.

In Italy, six hundred and forty;
In Germany, two hundred and thirty-one;
A hundred in France; in Turkey, ninety-one;
But in Spain already one thousand and three.

Among these are peasant girls,
Maidservants, city girls,
Countesses, baronesses,
Marchionesses, princesses,
Women of every rank,
Every shape, every age.

With blondes it is his habit
To praise their kindness;
In brunettes, their faithfulness;
In the white-haired, their sweetness.

In winter he likes fat ones.
In summer he likes thin ones.
He calls the tall ones majestic.
The little ones are always charming.

He seduces the old ones
For the pleasure of adding to the list.
His greatest favourite
Is the young beginner.

It doesn’t matter if she’s rich,
Ugly or beautiful;
If she wears a skirt,
You know what he does.

Every major opera company needs singers who, though they lack star power, can perform leading roles wth competence on a regular basis. They might not sell tickets, but when they’re on the bill with big attractions, they hold the show together and do so creditably and with some distinction. Mario Chamlee (1892-1966) was such a singer.

The tenor was born in Los Angeles as Archer Ragland Chamlee; he was the son of a physician. He graduated from the University of Southern California with a degree in science. He first studied voice with Achille Alberti in Los Angeles and later with Sibella and Dellera in New York City. He made his debut in Los Angeles in 1916 as Edgardo in Lucia di Lammermoor with the Lombardi Opera Company.

During World War I, he served in the Army. He was a member of the Argonne Players, a group of army soldiers who sang and entertained troops on the front line. General Pershing personally selected the tenor to perform with an ensemble for delegates at the 1919 Paris Peace Conference.

Following the war, he began singing at movie theaters, which, at the time, commonly featured live entertainment in addition to the film. He was discovered by the great baritone Antonio Scotti and joined the Scotti Opera Company. This engagement led to his debut at the Met on November 22, 1920 as Cavaradossi in Tosca, a little more than a month before the last appearance of Enrico Caruso.

Caruso’s death created a void that Chamlee and other tenors, such as Giovanni Martinelli, Beniamino Gigli, and Giacomo Lauri-Volpi, filled. That Chamlee was able to sustain a career at the Met from 1920 to 1939, during which he performed 219 times, speaks to his ability.

His roles at the Met were lyric or lirico-spinto. He was often cast in Rossini’s Barber, Verdi’s Rigoletto, and La Traviata. His Puccini roles were in La Bohème, Tosca, and Butterfly.

Away from the Met, he sang the lighter Wagner roles at the San Francisco Opera. He also appeared at the Vienna Volkoper, the Paris Opéra, and at the Deutches Theater in Prague. He retired at age 47 to concentrate on private teaching with his wife, soprano Ruth Miller.

He made numerous recordings during his career. Nine of these are below. His sound is well produced, though a little tight and forced at its top. His singing is professional and up to the standard of the Met, but not at a level that would warrant special trip to hear him.

‘E lucevan le stelle’ from Tosca, the opera in which he debuted at the Met, is well done, even allowing for the squeak at the end masquerading as emotion.

‘Che gelida manina’ is well done (I’m going to have to use the phrase a lot here). The voice is solid, the phrasing apt, and the climactic high note on pitch if a bit forced.

Chamlee sang only two performances of Ponchielli’s La Gioconda at the Met, both with Rosa Ponselle in the title role. ‘Cielo e mar’ is from Act 2. Again, his singing is well done, even good. His voice is focused and has the needed steely sound.

At the Met, Chamlee sang both Gounod’s and Boito’s Faust – the latter from Mefistofele. Chaliapin was the devil in several of these performances. ‘Salut demeure’ is from the Gounod version of the tale. His performance is ______, fill in the blank.

Carmen was not part of Chamlee’s repertory at the Met. I don’t know if he sang Don Jose at other houses. The “Flower Song” is from Act 2. Chamlee’s voice was clearly up to the demands of the part.

Chamlee sang Donizetti’s Lucia five times at the Met, but never did the composer’s ‘L’elisir d’amore’ either in concert or as a part of a complete performance in New York. His rendition of ‘Una furtiva lagrima’ is full throated, a little too much so.

Chamlee sang Massenet’s Manon eight times at the Met, all during the first part of his stay with the company. ‘Ah! fuyez, douce image’ is from the Saint-Sulpice scene in Act 3. Chamlee gives the aria a fine reading.

‘O Paradiso’ from Meyerbeer’s L’Africana gets a solid performance from the always reliable Chamlee.

Vesti la giubba from Pagliacci was never performed by Chamlee at the Met. He was always on the other half of the bill singing Turridu in Cavalleria Rusticana. His singing is competent, but lacks the emotional content needed to fully realize the famous aria.

Chamlee was a well known tenor during his years at the Met. That he has largely been forgotten does not take away from his skill, which was considerable. He was a second line performer who is needed to keep a big house like the Met going. When a company gives seven shows a week for most of the year, it cannot have a great star in every role for every performance. This why singers like Chamlee are essential.

Latvian tenor Mikhail Alexandrovich (1914-2002) was another 20th century cantor who sang more than liturgical music. Some of the others were Yossele Rosenblatt, Joseph Schmidt, and Richard Tucker.

Born in Bērzpils, Vitebsk to a very poor family, his extraordinary vocal gifts were recognized when he was six years old. In 1920 he was enrolled in the conservatory in Riga. When he was nine he started touring professionally as a boy alto. When his voice broke he managed the transition to tenor with Reya Ratner at the St. Petersburg Conservatory.

For a short time he had a part-time position at Manchester, England’s Central Synagogue. He then studied for a few years in Rome under Beniamino Gigli.

He toured throughout Europe as a concert performer. He returned to Riga where he worked as a cantor and appeared at the Lithuanian Opera. Only 5 feet 2 inches with an equally small voice, he limited his appearances to a handful of lyric roles.

After the Soviet Union took over the Baltic Republics, Alexandrovich became one of the most popular performers in the country, earning large fees and selling millions of records. For his wartime work he was awarded the Stalin Prize. But when he expressed a desire to sing abroad and applied for an exit visa, his fame and wealth evaporated. He was finally allowed to leave in 1971 at the behest of Golda Meir.

He officiated at Tel Aviv’s Ramat Gan Synagogue. He then toured the United States giving numerous concerts. He relocated to the US. In 1990 he made his last move to Munich, where he died in 2002 at the age of 88. His performing career had lasted more than 70 years.

As you can hear from the recording below, he had a very light tenor voice that was not noted for its vocal beauty, but rather was characterized by its exceptional vocal line and control. Its expressive powers were considerable. Alexandrovich sang a variety of popular, operatic, and religious music. It was in front of a microphone that he was at his best.

I’ll start with the recording that best shows his strengths and weaknesses. ‘Cielo e mar’ is from Ponchielli’s La Gioconda. Alexandrovich’s singing is exceptional in its expressiveness and for its bravura modulation of the vocal line from full voiced to a wisp of sound that never loses full support. But if an explosion of sound is needed, the tenor cannot fire a vocal cannon. Still, it’s a wonderful performance. The microphone is his friend. It’s a little jarring for a Westerner used to hearing standard operatic arias sung in Russian rather than Italian or French.

‘Rachel, quand du Seigneur’ from Halevy’s La Juive is the only music from the opera that is routinely performed. Having seen a complete staging of the opera at the Met, I can easily understand why the opera is aria is favored over the opera. Alexandrovich’s reading is sensitive and insightful.

The Bach/Gounod ‘Ave Maria’ is sung in Latin, though many of the words are hard to grasp. Doing the piece in Russian would have been a stretch. It’s a restrained version of the popular song.

This is how Google’s AI describes the Kaddish: A Jewish prayer, traditionally recited in Aramaic, that primarily focuses on praising and sanctifying God’s name, rather than directly mentioning death. It is most famously known as the Mourner’s Kaddish, recited by those grieving the loss of a loved one. While it doesn’t explicitly describe death, it is a central part of Jewish mourning rituals and is recited during various stages of grief and memorial services.

Alexandrovich must have recited the prayer countless times during his long career. This recording was made towards the end of that career. The effects of age can be heard; nevertheless, his performance is moving.

‘Pourquoi me réveiller’ from Massenet’s Werther is sung in Russian. Once you get by that incongruity, you can appreciate the beautiful phrasing.

‘Un furtiva lagrima’ is so often sung that it comes from the mouths of taxi cab drivers and auctioneers. The tenor’s voice and style are a perfect fit for the great aria.

‘Spirto gentil’ from the Italian version of Donizetti’s La Favorite is another aria just right for Alexandrovich’s lyric tenor.

Finally, a number called ‘Night Tango’. I know nothing about its provenance. As it’s in heavily accented Spanish, I assume it was made after he had left the Soviet Union.

Alexandrovich made many recordings, yet I can’t find a single one on Spotify or Amazon. The tenor deserves to be remembered. Perhaps some of his recordings will eventually be re-released.

L’Africaine was Giacomo Meyerbeer’s last opera. He started work on the project in 1852. Other activities, the unavailability of singers, and the death of his libretist Eugène Scribe delayed the completion of the opera. The full score was copied the day before Meyerbeer died in 1864. But a performing version done by the composer would have substantially differed from the score he left at his death.

The critic and musicologist François-Joseph Fétis produced an edition that was long the version performed. Its first staging was on 28 April 1865 by the Opéra at the Salle Le Peletier in Paris in the performing edition undertaken by Fétis. Fétis’ version has been frequently criticized as missing the subtlety of the interactions Meyerbeer intended.

The opera was immensely popular during the remainder of the 19th century. But like the rest of Meyerbeer’s operas, it virtually disappeared in the 20th century. There has been some increase in interest during the current century, but it’s still a rarity. It depicts a series of fictional events in the life of the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama.

What never went away was the tenor aria “O Paradis!” (O Paradise!). It’s in Act 4, da Gama is transported by the beauty of an island, somewhere east of Africa, on which he is scheduled for execution. He gets away in the 5th Act. The aria is often sung in Italian as ‘O Paradiso’.

Just about every tenor has a go at the aria both in recitals and on recordings. I’ll start with one taken from a live performance of the opera in San Francisco in 1972. Placido Domingo had what was likely the best day of his life. His rendition of O paradis is definitive. The aria can’t be done better than this. The audience’s reaction is appropriate to the worth of the performance.

Miguel Fleta was for a short time a tenor of extraordinary ability. But a life of dissipation and bad decisions prematurely ended his career and then his life at age 40. But while he lasted, he was a marvel. His pianissimo singing was miraculous.

Franco Corelli had the perfect sound for this aria. He belts it out of the park in this recording made in concert in Japan.

Mario Lanza is the only great tenor to make his career in the movies rather than in the opera house where he belonged. Both he and his audience suffered because of his seduction by the movie mogul Louis B Mayer. This excerpt is from the movie Serenade. It’s to a piano accompaniment. Lanza’s interpretation is sensational.

Jussi Björling needs no further comment here. One of the greatest tenors of any era. This recording was made in 1937 when the tenor was only 26 years old. The full Björling sound is completely formed. The voice is instantly recognizable.

Giacomo Lauri Volpi had a very long and distinguished career both in America and Europe. He was able to sing just about anything. I confess that I’ve never been a great fan of his vocal style. But this opinion is not shared by most opera aficionados.

Richard Tucker gives a full-throated reading of the famous aria. He was a full-fledged spinto when he made this recording.

Enrico Caruso recorded the aria in 1907. The sound is very good considering its age. The high note near the end is a bullet. It shows how the tenor changed the style of singing. Note how little vibrato is heard. This laser-like sound was largely unheard of before Caruso’s advent. After him, it became the norm and remains so to this day.

L’Africaine has received 71 performances at the Met. The last was in 1934. It’s hard to say if it will ever return to the New York company. If the Met were to return to Meyerbeer, my vote would go to Les Huguenots. But the composer’s last tenor aria appears to be immortal.