In writing about Brahms Ein deutsches Requiem, I mentioned how that inevitable event (death) had occasioned so much beautiful music. Hence, facing the depth of winter, I decided to assemble some of the most profound examples of macabre music.

Henry Purcell (1659-1695) remains Britain’s greatest composer. His Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary is a Baroque masterpiece composed for the 1695 burial of Queen Mary II. Renowned for its solemnity and innovative use of brass, it has become a staple of royal state funerals in England. Tragically, the music was performed again in Westminster Abbey just months later for Purcell’s own funeral in November 1695. Mary was 32 when she died, Purcell was 36.

Ich habe genug (BWV 82) is one of J.S. Bach’s most celebrated and intimate sacred cantatas. Composed in 1727 for the Feast of the Purification of Mary (Candlemas), it reflects on the biblical story of Simeon, an elderly man who is ready to die peacefully after finally seeing the infant Jesus.

Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau Bass
Munchener Bach Orchester
Karl Richter Conductor

Someone said that Schubert could do in three minutes what it took Verdi or Wagner to accomplish in three hours, more like five for Wagner. Schubert wrote more than 600 songs in his achingly short life. Collectively, they are the greatest compilation of songs ever written. Three of the greatest are about death.

Der Erlkönig was written in about two hours. He revised the song three times before publishing his fourth version in 1821 as his Opus 1. Set to a poem by Goethe, the song has four characters -a narrator, father, son, and the Erlking. The piano part is famous for its relentless, “devilishly difficult” octave triplets that represent the galloping of a horse through a stormy night. The piano accompaniment was so difficult that Schubert couldn’t play it. He was a mediocre pianist. He made a simplified revision of the song that allowed him to accompany the singer of the piece.

The narrative follows a father riding a horse through a dark forest at night, holding his feverish son. The child begins to hallucinate the Erlking, a malevolent spirit who tries to lure the boy away with promises of games and beauty. The father tries to calm the boy, dismissing the visions as mist or the wind. When they finally reach their destination, the father discovers the child has died in his arms. The music clearly delineates which of the four is speaking. The dramatic narrative is beyond brilliant.

Der Tod und das Mädchen (Death and the Maiden) was written in 1817 when the composer was 20. The song is based on a poem by Matthias Claudius. It is a brief, dramatic dialogue between two figures. The Maiden begs the “fierce man of bones” to pass her by because she is still young. Death responds with a somber, steady melody in a low register. Death consoles her, claiming to be a friend who comes to bring peaceful sleep rather than punishment. The music is characterized by its dactylic rhythm (long-short-short), which mimics a funeral march or a steady, inevitable knock.

In 1824, Schubert used the song as the basis for the second movement of his 14th String Quartet. The quartet, the middle one of the composer’s last three, is known as Death and the Maiden. These final three are among the greatest compositions in the genre.

Schubert’s Die Winterreise (The Winter Journey) was written in 1827, the year before Schubert’s death. He corrected the final proofs when on his deathbed. It is a song cycle of 24 Lieder for voice and piano set to poems by Wilhelm Müller. It is one of the bleakest – and greatest – works in all of Western music. A rejected lover leaves the town at night and wanders through a frozen landscape. But this isn’t really a travelogue – it’s a psychological journey. It moves from alienation to obsession to bitterness to numbness and finally to intimations of death. There is no redemption, no return, no consolation. The last song, Der Leiermann (The Hurdy-gurdy man), is one of the eeriest endings ever written; it depicts stasis, emptiness, and a question with no answer.

Over there beyond the village
stands a hurdy-gurdy man,
and with rigid fingers
he turns it as best he can.

Barefoot on the ice
he totters back and forth;
and his little plate
always remains empty.

No one wants to hear him,
no one looks at him;
and the dogs snarl
around the old man.

And he lets it go,
everything as it will,
he turns, and his hurdy-gurdy
never stands still.

Strange old man,
shall I go with you?
Will you turn your hurdy-gurdy
to my songs?

‘The Liebestod’ (Love Death) is the aria that ends Wagner’s epochal Tristan und Isolde. Why does it feel overwhelming? Musically, there is endless melodic ascent, orchestral waves that erase and pulse. The voice is carried by sound, not standing against it. Isolde doesn’t sing over the orchestra – she is submerged in it. Death is not a tragedy. Unlike Die Winterreise, there is no emptiness, no stasis, no silence. This is erotic transcendence, not existential negation. If Schubert ends with a man turning a handle in the cold, Wagner ends with the universe breathing itself through a human voice. The soprano is Birgit Nilsson, the definitive Isolde of the second half of the last century.

Verdi’s depiction of the end of the world, the day of judgement, is filled with cosmic terror. God can get very, very, very angry. The music says everything about what might await us. While it is the second movement, the Dies Irae theme recurs throughout the work, including in the final ‘Libera me’ section, to remind the listener of the looming judgment. Verdi’s conception defines genius. How did he ever conceive this? The video below repeats the section several times. By its end, you should be scared witless.

Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder is a setting of five poems by Friedrich Rückert, who wrote over 400 such poems following the deaths of two of his own children from scarlet fever. Mahler’s choice of text was eerily prophetic; though he wrote the cycle while his own children were healthy, his eldest daughter, Maria, died of scarlet fever just a few years after its completion in 1907. The texts of the five poems are here.

The Four Last Songs (Vier letzte Lieder), for soprano and orchestra, were composed in 1948 when Richard Strauss was 84. They are – except for the song Malven (Mallows), composed later the same year – Strauss’ final completed works.

The songs are ‘Frühling’ (Spring), ‘September’, ‘Beim Schlafengehen’ (When Falling Asleep) and ‘Im Abendrot’ (At Sunset). The title Four Last Songs was provided posthumously by Strauss’s friend Ernst Roth, who published the four songs as a single unit in 1950 after Strauss’s death.

Strauss died in September 1949. The premiere was given at the Royal Albert Hall in London on 22 May 1950 by soprano Kirsten Flagstad and the Philharmonia Orchestra, conducted by Wilhelm Furtwängler. All of the songs but ‘Frühling’ deal with death, and all were written shortly before Strauss himself died. They are suffused with a sense of calm, acceptance, and completeness. Towards the end of ‘Im Abendrot’, after the singer’s intonation of “Ist dies etwa der Tod?” (“Is this perhaps death?”), Strauss quotes his own tone poem, Death and Transfiguration, written 60 years earlier. As in that piece, the quoted seven-note phrase (known as the “transfiguration theme”) has been seen as the fulfillment of the soul through death.

The title of this article includes ‘Rebirth”. Regardless of tone – hopeful or desolate – the great music that the subject has birthed justifies the word.

‘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!

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.

So many different outsiders have controlled Sicily that if an alien power were to conquer Earth, it would likely start on that island. Among the temporary rulers of the place are the Greeks, the Carthaginians, the Romans, the Vandals, the Ostrogoths, the Byzantines, the Muslims, the Normans, the Angevin French, the Bourbons, and now the Italians. I’ve probably left some passersby out, but what’s a conquest or two among a people who outlasted all of them?

Verdi’s next opera after the blockbusters of Rigoletto, Traviata, and Trovatore was written for Paris with a libretto by the omnipresent Eugène Scribe. Les vêpres siciliennes (I vespri siciliani in its Italian version) took the composer two years to complete because of a variety of snafus. Despite being a big hit at its premiere, it quickly dropped out and is the most infrequently performed of Verdi’s mature operas. It succeeded with a French audience despite depicting the French as bad guys and ending with their massacre.

I find it very hard to understand its relative neglect. It’s a masterpiece on a par with Verdi’s other great operas. Berlioz, music’s greatest critic wrote: “In Les vêpres the penetrating intensity of the melodic expressiveness, the sumptuous, wise variety of the instrumentation, the vastness and poetic sonority of the concerted pieces, the hot color that shines throughout … communicate to this opera an imprint of grandeur, a species of sovereign majesty more distinguishable than in this composer’s earlier products.”

Its story is built around the rebellion in 1282 on Easter. It started in Palermo and led to the death or expulsion of 13,000 French men and women. Hélène is a fervent revolutionary, as is her lover Henri. But things get complex when Henri discovers that Montfort, the leader of the French, is his father. He’s torn between passion and revolutionary zeal on the one hand and filial duty on the other. Hélène is similarly torn. She decides to break with Henri. Procida (the revolutionary leader) is furious at her lack of zeal, as is Henri for her lack of romantic commitment. Then Montfort arrives, takes the couple’s hands, joins them together, and pronounces them married as the bells begin to ring. This is the signal for the Sicilians to rush in and hurl themselves upon Montfort and the French.

Wagner’s Ring Cycle ends as it started. The ring forged from the gold stolen from the Rhine Maidens is returned to them. Brünnhilde, in a stunning solo, sums up much of what has happened in the light years of music drama that have preceded this final scene. Siegfried’s corpse is before her. He’s been stabbed in the back earlier in the opera. After she takes the ring from his lifeless finger and throws it in the Rhine, she mounts a horse and rides into the flames. Valhalla catches fire, as does the hall of the locals. All the gods die, as do most of the mortals. There are a few survivors.

The cycle is a generous smorgasbord of leitmotifs. The opera and the cycle end with the redemption-through-love motif. It’s not clear what has been redeemed by love as only a bit of property has been returned to its rightful owners, but that’s the story and Wagner’s sticking to it. Kirsten Flagstad is the soprano and Wilhelm Furtwängler is the conductor.

The title role of Verdi’s Rigoletto is the greatest role ever written for a baritone. That’s saying a lot, given that the composer wrote more great parts for the baritone than any other composer of opera. Of his 26 operas, five have the baritone’s name as their title. All the rest of the composer’s operas have major baritone parts that are among the most challenging and important in the genre.

Rigoletto is the story of a man brought down not by a flaw but by a virtue – his love for his daughter. The opera’s most demanding and dramatic scene is when Rigoletto realizes that his daughter has been kidnapped by the Duke of Mantua’s courtiers and then given over to him. Rigoletto first demands and then pleads for her release. They thought she was Rigoletto’s mistress and are horrified when they find that she was his daughter, but it’s too late for them to rectify their error, especially to a man they hold in contempt.

‘Cortigiani, vil razza dannata’ is an aria (an inadequate noun for a scene of such overwhelming dramatic impact) that makes extraordinary vocal and histrionic demands on the singer. It takes a great baritone to fully express the dramatic power Verdi put into this inspired writing. Most baritones run out of operatic gas before it’s over.

Here are a dozen recordings of Cortigiani sung by 12 baritones active in the previous century. These are followed by a video of one of the leading baritones of today performing the scene. Below the video is the text in Italian and English. They are not presented in chronological order, but according to my arbitrary preference.

The first is by Leonard Warren, the greatest Verdi baritone I ever heard in performance. It’s taken from a 1956 Met performance. Note both the power and subtlety of his singing.

Next is Warren’s younger contemporary Robert Merrill. Merril had a distinctive sound unlike that of any other baritone I know of. His only flaw was occasional difficulty with the very high notes Verdi wrote for his baritones.

Lawrence Tibbet was the first in a succession of great American baritones. In addition to being a regular at the Met, he appeared in films and on radio.

Cornell MacNeil in his prime, the first half of his career, was a singer capable of volcanic explosions and high notes of extraordinary intensity.

The remainder of the baritones are Europeans. Matteo Managuerra was French, though of Italian ancestry. He was a regular at both the Met and in Chicago where I heard him several times. His performances were always at the highest level.

Giuseppe Taddei was active in the post World War II era. His career was noted for its length. He sang with effectiveness until he was in his late sixties.

Domenico Viglione Borghese was a baritone active in the first part of the 20th century. Those who heard him said he had the biggest baritone voice they had ever heard. After his singing days were over he had a successful second career as a character actor in the movies.

Tito Gobbi was one of the 20th century’s greatest singing actors. Though his voice was not the magnificent organ of some of his coevals it had a distinctive sound and he used it with the greatest skill and expression. He was an outstanding artist.

Ettore Bastianini is one of opera’s saddest stories. He had a bright baritone that was effective and well focused. He died at age 44 from throat cancer. He sang Rigoletto at the Met only one time out of the 89 performances he gave with the company.

Renato Bruson was one of the world’s leading baritones during the last third of the 20th century. He appeared in all of the major houses, though only 19 times at the Met. I don’t know what limited his New York appearances. He was particularly known for his portrayal of Rigoletto.

Renato Cappuccilli sang everywhere, but only one time at the Met. I heard him several times in Chicago. He was known as a Verdi baritone. He appeared in 18 of Verdi’s operas.

Leo Nucci has had one of the longest careers of any singer within living memory. Only Placido Domingo can boast similar durability. Now 82 Nucci sang Rigoletto in 2016 at La Scala. He is said to have performed the role 500 times.

The video below as promised above shows Quinn Kelsey’s interpretation of the great scene. You can judge for yourself whether he meets the standard of past perfomers who excelled in the role.

Jonas Kaufmann and Ludovic Tézier recorded nine tenor-baritone duets, released on a Sony Classics disc in June 2022. Insieme translates from Italian as together. The two singers are friends who have often performed together hence the title. The master of the tenor-baritone duet was Verdi. Accordingly, seven of the selections are by him.

The CD starts with the Act 4 duet from La bohème between Rodolfo and Marcello; it’s the only such duet Puccini ever wrote. He was much more interested in the interactions of his sopranos and tenors. The two men bemoan the sad state of their love life.

The second duet is from the first act of Ponchielli’s La Gioconda. The villainous Barnaba, a precursor to Iago, ostensibly offers to help the tenor, Enzo Grimaldo, elope with the wife of one of Venice’s inquisitors. When Enzo leaves Barnaba denounces him to the Inquisition.

The remaining seven duets are from Les vêpres siciliennes (2), Don Carlos, La forza del destino (3), and Otello. The Otello excerpt starts from ‘Ora per sempre addio’ and moves to ‘Era la notte’, concluding with the blood oath duet.

The level of performance is very high though some of the sheen has worn off from Kaufmann’s voice – he’s now on the downside of 50. When he sings in full voice the sound is not as rich as it was before the vocal crisis he had from a bleeding vein on one of his vocal chords in 2016. He also tends to shade his dynamic range more than is necessary. He’s very good at modulating his dynamics but does it more often than the music requires or than he did earlier in his career. Sometimes he gets close to crooning. See the example below.

Tézier has a beefy baritone which he uses to great effect. Though not as big a star as Kaufmann he’s good enough to add distinction to any performance in which he appears.

Antonio Pappano conducted the Orchestra of the Accademia di Santa Cecilia, Rome. His conducting was idiomatic and sensitive. He’s a maestro who is always aware and responsive to the singers’ needs.

Who is this disc for? If you’re a fan of Kaufmann’s singing you’ll likely want this recital. Also, it’s nice to have the great Verdi tenor-baritone duets available in one place. If you subscribe to a music streaming site like Spotify listening to this program is a no-brainer.

I wrote above that I thought Kaufmann was overusing his admitted skill at piano singing. This is mostly a matter of taste, but here’s Kaufmann singing ‘Che gelida manina’ from a 2021 performance. It’s followed by Giuseppe Di Stefano’s 1951 recording of the same aria. Di Stefano was a master of piano singing. I think Di Stefano’s soft singing is seamless and better integrated into the flow of the music. Listen to both and see if you find a meaningful difference between the two interpretations and if you agree or not with my criticism.

Kaufmann Che gelida manina
Di Stefano Che gelida manina 

Verdi’s Macbeth was his 10th opera. It was his favorite of these 10 and the first of his three operas based on Shakespeare’s plays. It is clearly the masterpiece of his pre-Rigoletto works. The tenor role of Macduff is a minor part; he has little to do except sing the great aria that is the subject of this piece.

Verdi knew that the opera could never attract a star tenor, because of the brevity of the role, who could fully realize the beautiful aria he had created and said it would not make the great effect it should without a leading tenor. That problem still plagues the aria when it is part of a staged performance. On recordings, however, it is frequently sung by a leading tenor. An exception to this practice was the first run of the opera at the Met in 1959. The young Carlo Bergonzi sang Macduff.

The aria is Macduff’s lament over the murder by the Macbeths of his wife and children while he was in hiding. He vows revenge. Below are 12 recordings of the aria. The Italian text followed by an English translation is at the end of the article.

Enrico Caruso recorded the aria in 1916. His version is particularly good. His rich voice and dynamic shading realize the emotion contained in the number. It’s music that calls for finesse rather than tenorial athleticism. Caruso Ah, la paterna mano

As I mentioned above Carlo Bergonzi was the first Macduff at the Met. This recording is taken from a 1959 Met performance. The tenor was a Verdi specialist. His rendition is very good though it would get even better over the ensuing years. Bergonzi Ah, la paterna mano

Jose Carreras had one of the most beautiful lyric tenor voices of the last century until overuse and acute leukemia (from which he recovered after a bone marrow transplant) lessened his vocal power. His singing of the aria is very good. Carreras Ah, la paterna mano

Franco Corelli needs no introduction. He was one of the last century’s greatest tenors. His singing here is sensitive especially coming from a very big voice. Corelli Ah, la paterna mano

Dimitri Pittas is a lyric tenor who started out as if there was no limit to how high he could go. But while he sang at many of the world’s leading houses including the Met, his career was not what I thought he might achieve. I heard him as Nemorino in Santa Fe about 15 years ago. He was first-rate. He was Macduff in the Met’s 2008 telecast of Macbeth. Between 2005 and 2016 he sang 64 times with the company in both leading and secondary roles. He currently teaches in New York and is the Artistic Director of a company in Charleston SC. Pittas Ah, la paterna mano

Placido Domingo has recorded everything including the 1982 Mexico City telephone directory. His singing of the aria is at the highest level as expected. Domingo Ah, la paterna mano

Giuseppe Filianoti started his career as if the opera world were in his breast pocket. But after a few years, he was singing secondary roles. His website lists no performances after 2018. He did appear at the Met in 2019 in Macbeth but as Malcolm. In 2022 he was Don Basilio In Le Nozze di Figaro. His singing of the aria is from the start of his career and is very well done. Filianoti Ah, la paterna mano

The great Australian tenor Donald Smith was the subject of a previous article here. He was an outstanding singer who is not better known outside of his native country because he preferred to stay home rather than travel the world. All the major companies, including the Met, sought unsuccessfully to hire him. Smith Ah, la paterna mano

Jonas Kaufmann has been the world’s leading tenor for the past dozen years. He sings a wide variety of Italian, French, and German roles. His full throated yet nuanced reading is very effective. Kaufmann Ah, la paterna mano

Mario Del Monaco was a full fledged dramatic tenor. He was the definitive Otello of his era. This performance taken from a 1969 concert in Tokyo was relatively late in his career. Nevertheless, the huge voice is still intact. Del Monaco Ah, la paterna mano

Luciano Pavarotti would never have sung Macduff in a full performance. But as a recital piece, the aria fits his voice perfectly. Pavarotti Ah, la paterna mano

Salvatore Fisichella is a Sicilian tenor who now devotes his time to teaching. He had a superb voice that was especially noted for its acuti. Fisichella was a wonderful singer who for some opaque reason sang only five performances at the Met. Originally known as a bel canto tenor he added larger roles as his career progressed. His voice remained intact well into his 60s. This excerpt includes the duet with Malcolm and the chorus that follows the aria. Fisichella Ah, la paterna mano

MACDUFF:
O figli, o figli miei! da quel tiranno
Tutti uccisi voi foste, e insieme con voi
La madre sventurata! Ah, fra gli artigli
Di quel tigre io lasciai la madre e i figli?
Ah, la paterna mano
Non vi fu scudo, o cari,
Dai perfidi sicari
Che a morte vi ferir!
E me fuggiasco, occulto,
Voi chiamavate invano,
Coll’ultimo singulto,
Coll’ultimo respir.
Trammi al tiranno in faccia,
Signore! e s’ei mi sfugge,
Possa a colui le braccia
Del tuo perdono aprir.

MACDUFF:
Oh, my children! You have all been killed
by that tyrant, together with
your poor mother! Ah, did I
leave a mother and her children in the clutches of that beast?
Alas, a father’s hand was not there
to shield you, my dear ones,
from the treacherous assassins
who put you to death.
And in vain you called on me,
a fugitive, in hiding,
with your last gasp,
with your last breath.
Lord, bring me face to face
with this tyrant, and if he escapes me
let your merciful arms
open to him.

The Metropolitan Opera’s new staging of Verdi’s La Forza Del Destino has caused much comment about the performance of one of the composer’s great soprano roles by a singer (Lise Davidsen) best known for her performances of the heroic German roles. Many reviewers felt that her performance was an outstanding effort. Others, including me, thought that while she had a great instrument, it was not best suited for Verdi.

For the dramatic parts l heard in performance, the finest Verdi soprano was Zinka Milanov (1908-89). Her great strengths were threefold. She had the perfect timbre for Verdi. Her voice was smooth, without a hint of stridency, and was rich and lush. Second, she had the powerful high notes. required for Verdi’s depiction of moments of extreme emotional intensity. Lastly, she could float a pianissimo high note that though fully supported took on a life of its own as it seemed to come from all parts of the auditorium. I have heard many great sopranos who could sing high notes in alt with delicacy and beauty, but none who could match Milanov in this type of singing. Here she was unique. She worked very hard for a long time to reach the level of excellence that characterized her best years, which were from about age 45 to 50.

Davidsen’s voice is large and powerful. She can sing softly, but it’s not the strongest part of her vocal apparatus. She is reminiscent of Birgit Nilsson. Whether she’ll add the title role of Puccini’s Turandot to her repertory is uncertain, but it’s likely the Italian role that’s best suited for her voice.

I thought it would be of interest to compare the two singers’ rendition of the great aria ‘Pace, pace, mio Dio!’ from Forza’s final scene. I heard Milanov sing Forza in two performances in the 50s. Davidsen I have yet to hear in the theater.

Milanov: Pace, pace, mio Dio!
Davidsen: Pace, pace, mio Dio!