Herbert Von Karajan and Toscanini
Derek McGovern
conductors -- especially of operas -- and I think it's safe to say
that he and Lanza could never have worked together. In fact, compared
with the ultra-autocratic Von Karajan, Curtis Bernhardt (the would-be
director of The Student Prince) would have seemed like a teddy bear to
Mario :-) Some have blamed Von Karajan for pushing the young Carreras
into taking on roles that were completely wrong for his voice (eg,
Radames in Aida in the late 1970s), while others have accused him of
far more sinister activities.
Here's a fascinating and provocative article on Von Karajan from
today's edition of The [British] Independent:
http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/norman-lebrecht-the-clappedout-legacy-of-karajan-that-impoverished-classical-music-805141.html
This is one article that definitely isn't celebrating the centenary of
Von Karajan's birth!
Armando
Karajan would have clashed instantly.
What Nicolai Gedda wrote in part about Karajan in his (Gedda's)
biography makes for some interesting reading.
" Karajan was never an easy person to deal with. He was
extraordinarily egocentric. He always saw himself as the great star,
beside whom there were no others......Karajan never saw singers as living
individuals but only as cogs in the machinery of his own music-making.
He never passed up an opportunity to humiliate a singer or a member of
the orchestra. "
Hardly a contender for the most charm award!
However, if I have to judge him purely on his work I must say that I
find some of his operatic conducting quite impressive.
Just off the top of my head things the 1962 Tosca, the 1972 Boheme,
the 1962 Trovatore, the 1979 Aida ( even though he should not have
used Carreras) and the 1973 Otello, are considerable achievements. I
particularly like his slow tempi as opposed to the frenetic ones of
the likes of Toscanini. I cannot say the same, though, about some of
his earlier conducting in the 50s.
Derek McGovern
about Karajan! Interestingly, though, Carreras admired him greatly,
writing that when he died, "He left an aching emptiness in theatres
around the world."
I haven't heard nearly as much Von Karajan as you, but generally I
find his tempi too slow (though Sinopoli was slower still -- his
Butterfly with Carreras & Freni is about 30 minutes longer than even
Puccini timed the opera to be!). Sometimes he creates exquisite
effects, eg, drawing out the beautiful chorus to the moon in Act I of
his 1981 Turandot with Domingo & Ricciarelli, but other times I find
his approach languid and uninvolved. I don't like his 1979 Tosca, for
example (with Carreras & Ricciarelli), and there's something "dead in
the water" about his 1982 Carmen with Baltsa & Carreras, though I must
admit it's interesting to hear the Flower Song taken so delicately.
But I agree with you about Toscanini and his "frenetic" approach! I've
always had the impression that he was overrated, as well as being more
than a bit of a madman :-)
Mike McAdam
definitive remark about the young Lanza as "the greatest natural
tenor voice of the 20th Century"?
M.
Armando
Yes, madness and genius and in Toscanini's case we can add a gigantic
ego. Karajan was not the only one!
The Toscanini remark has been quoted to death, but what I'd like to
know is when he said it and in what context.
Toscanini was renowned for naming favourite singers; among the tenors
Pertile, Peerce, Tucker, and Di Stefano were all favourites at one
time or another. I tend to think this was because they stood, or more
likely genuflected in front of the master, and did not dare to
contradict him.
As an operatic conductor Toscanini is grossly overrated in my opinion.
I also think that whatever he might have said about Lanza is of
relative significance as there are other far more reliable testimonies
available which are of greater importance.
>
> - Show quoted text -
Derek McGovern
you're aware of the Toscanini quote about Lanza being reported? Wasn't
it 1954? If so, that was three years before the old boy passed away --
therefore adding a touch more credibility to it. It would certainly be
interesting to track the quote back to its source. Then there's that
curious business (as you discovered a year or two ago) of Mario and
Toscanini being listed as guests on the same radio show (The Eddie
Cantor Show, of all things) in, I think, 1952. If they were really
were together at the same time (and that's a bit of a stretch), then I
suppose it's conceivable that Toscanini could have uttered his famous
declaration then.
But of course, you're right that, ultimately, the authenticity of the
Toscanini quote is neither here nor there. There is so much testimony
regarding Lanza from great singers and conductors that's been
*reliably* documented that, with or without Toscanini's endorsement,
nothing can alter the fact that he possessed a phenomenal gift.
Armando
on closer examination I realised that the 1954 date that I originally
gave you is wrong. Not by much, though. The undated document is a
photocopy published by the Magic Mario Club started by Elsie Kiss in
1956.
Since there is no mention in it of Seven Hills of Rome I can only
assume that said biography would have been included in what was
probably the first of the yearly Journals they used to put out under
the title of The Great Lanza.
The reason I date it as 1956 is because Licia Albanese is mentioned.
In fact this is what they wrote in the biography:
Mario Lanza has engraved his name in entertainment history as, to
quote Toscanini, Licia Albanese and others, "The greatest voice of the
20th century."
So there you have it!
The Eddie Cantor Show listing them as guests was in early 1952 but,
again, that is all that is known.
Derek McGovern
reading this -- could ask Elsie Kiss (now Sword) if she can recall
where she got the Toscanini quote from? Bob knows Elsie; in fact, he
transcribed her memories of meeting Lanza in 1957-58 for a recent
publication.
In the meantime I've just written an e-mail to an online Toscanini
site (http://www.toscaninionline.com/) asking if any of their people
can verify the quote -- or, for that matter, if they can clarify
whether Lanza and Toscanini actually ever met. I mentioned both the
alleged Verdi Requiem offer and the Eddie Cantor Show. (The site
offers a question & answer service provided by a panel of Toscanini
aficionados.)
It'll be interesting to see what response I get!
Lou
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?=voMiVlecCps), Herb Grossman, former
conductor of the Baltimore Symphony and later assistant to Toscanini,
recalls that Toscanini was present at an NBC Opera Series (?)
rehearsal which included Mario Lanza and George London. He doesn't say
whether Lanza and Toscanini were formally introduced but, if we can
take his word, Toscanini did hear Lanza sing live. It seems (from
another source) that Grossman is still alive, or at least he was as of
October 2007. It might be worthwhile tracking him down and asking him
what he knows, if any, about Toscanini's quote and the Verdi Requiem
offer.
Derek McGovern
missed.)
This is fascinating stuff as it confirms, once and for all, that
Toscanini did at least hear Lanza in person. We can definitely take
Grossman at his word because all the facts stack up: the NBC opera
rehearsal (he says it was in 1947 or 1948 -- true enough: it was in
June 1948), and the fact that both London & Lanza were there singing
part of Act IV of La Boheme.
We'd always known that some important musicians were present at that
session (eg, Jascha Heifetz and Artur Rubinstein), but what we didn't
know was that Toscanini himself was there. Nor did we know until now
that Grossman was the accompanying pianist on that occasion. Most
interesting!
If only the person interviewing Grossman had asked him what Toscanini
thought of Lanza's voice -- or, for that matter, what Grossman himself
thought of it. But it shouldn't be too difficult to track Grossman
down in the event that the Toscanini website people don't get back to
me.
Well done, Lou!!!!
Incidentally, here's a modified link to the Grossman interview (the
other one doesn't work): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voMiVlecCps
Armando
joking aside that's a great piece of research, as at last we have
concrete evidence that Toscanini heard Lanza, live!
The Tenor that Grossman is referring to is most likely Antonio Madasi
who sang Fenton in the Toscanini recording of Falstaff . I've never
heard either the recording (apparently one of Toscanini's better
efforts) or Madasi who, reportedly, was a mediocre singer.
Great work, Lou!
Lou
suffering Lanza forum withdrawal symptoms in that Internet-less neck
of the woods where I spent the last six weeks. (Mike, now you know why
I'd been silent while our Derek was ostensibly going through yet
another Hamlet moment. ;-) )
Thank you also for the modified link to the Grossman interview. I
couldn't cut and paste the original address so I hand-copied it,
inadvertently omitting one letter.
Lou
conducting so I know next to nothing about Karajan except for his
"almost instinctive affinity" with Carreras. About his conducting, all
I can say is that he cuts a mesmerizing figure on the podium. My
almost total ignorance notwithstanding, I venture to suggest that
Lebrecht's latest episode of Karajan-bashing be taken with a large
grain of salt. (Earlier this year he described Karajan as a monster
and "a moral and creative nullity.")Not for nothing is Lebrecht
regarded by his fellow critics as "a brilliant controversialist" and
his style of journalism provocative and sometimes "accuracy-
challenged." (His latest book, mentioned in the link provided by
Derek, has been withdrawn by the publisher following a libel suit.
Apparently, as one Lebrecht-watcher put it, the author was less
interested in checking facts than throwing custard pies.) Personally
I've always been leery of abusive articles because mean-spiritedness
and objective judgment don't mix.
If it's any consolation to the Von Karajan fans among us, Lebrecht's
venom-dipped pen didn't spare Mozart either. When the world was
happily celebrating Amadeus' 250th birthday anniversary, the "maestro
of vitriol" wrote, "Little in such a mediocre life gives cause for
celebration...Mozart is a menace to musical progress, a relic of
rituals that were losing relevance in his own time and are meaningless
to ours. Beyond a superficial beauty and structural certainty, Mozart
has nothing to give to mind or spirit in the 21st century."
But enough of Lebrecht. As Derek pointed out, Carreras admired Von
Karajan, whose favorite tenor he was. In contrast to Gedda's view of
the conductor, Carreras was fascinated by "how Karajan made you feel
like he was your father, that he was conducting for you alone." As for
his controversial casting as Radames when he was only 32 (Pavarotti
was 46 when he first took on the role), Carreras remarked tellingly,
"For artistic reasons, how can you say 'no' to Herbert von Karajan?"
He explained that Karajan wanted to try a new, more lyrical approach
to the opera, which shows Radames the man, not just the general. It
was also for this reason that he chose Freni, rather than Leontyne
Price or Tebaldi, to sing Aida. Armando and Derek, you both think
Karajan shouldn't have used Carreras in this opera. Is that because
you believe Radames was bad for his voice, the lyrical approach
notwithstanding?
Derek, I note that the Carreras' 1982 Flower Song under the baton of
Karajan rated no more than a perfunctory "interesting" from you. And
this is the interpretation Karajan said he had waited some 70 years to
hear! I've always wanted to listen to it myself so if you don't mind,
I'd like to take you up on your privately made offer to add it to our
file. A million thanks in advance!
Lou
subject was changed to "Herbert von Karajan" by Lou. How did I do
that? "Herbert von Karajan/ Toscanini" was and still is fine by me.
Derek McGovern
"My post prior to this is preceded by a note saying that the discussion subject was changed to "Herbert von Karajan" by Lou. How did I do that? "Herbert von Karajan/ Toscanini" was and still is fine by me."
To explain: I changed the subject heading from "Herbert Von Karajan" to "Herbert Von Karajan/Toscanini" a few posts back when the discussion veered away from Karajan and on to Toscanini. That meant that anyone replying to posts made after that subject heading change would see their messages come under the Karajan/Toscanini "banner". What you did, however, was reply to one of the *earlier* posts when the subject was only Von Karajan -- hence the change in the thread title.
With this post, the thread title is now reverting to "Herbert von Karajan/ Toscanini", so if you reply to this message, it'll stay that way :-)
Now to your earlier question:
"Armando and Derek, you both think Karajan shouldn't have used Carreras in this opera. Is that because you believe Radames was bad for his voice, the lyrical approach notwithstanding?"
In his autobiography, Carreras acknowledges that singing the role of Radames in the recording studio was quite a different kettle of fish from performing it on the stage. He also acknowledges the heavy orchestration in the trial scene and the dangerous tessitura of the role. Now I'm going by memory here, but the one time I heard the Carreras/Von Karajan recording (around 1980), I thought that José was struggling with the role. An essentially lyric tenor like him might get away with Celeste Aida (though the recitative alone is difficult, and really requires a most robust spinto sound), but elsewhere in the opera he needs true vocal heft. I remember thinking that Carreras was pushing his voice to its limit on the recording. Now if that's how he sounded in the studio with this role, then I'm sure he must have struggled even more on the stage.
It's the same thing with the role of Don José in Carmen. It's a spinto part, and although I found Carreras thrilling in this opera when I attended his two performances at the Rome Opera in 1987, I was very much aware that he was pushing his voice to its absolute limit. It was dangerous singing! (Incidentally, unlike his performance at the Met that same month, he didn't dare take the B-Flat in the Flower Song in mezza voce for the Italians; he sang it in full voice.)
Here's a link to his 1982 recording with Von Karajan (the interpretation that Herb waited his whole life to hear):
http://www.4shared.com/file/44097593/ff38da4c/La_fleur_que_tu_mavais_jete.html
Von Karajan certainly brings out qualities in the orchestration that one seldom hears in other versions. Carreras's voice sounds decidedly worn here and there, but he phrases beautifully and the soft ending is just exquisite. I didn't mean to sound "perfunctory" when I described this recording as merely "interesting" earlier!
Armando
Lebrecht's books including his latest, in fact I attended it's launch
last year in Melbourne. Lebrecht likes to shock and is often far from
accurate. At the book's launch, among other things, he gave a series
of statistics relating to the best selling classical recording
artists. Afterwards I asked him if he had any figures for Mario
Lanza. He replied that the statistics were based only on recordings
by what were termed classical label artists. I pointed out that Lanza
was an RCA red seal artist and therefore fitted the criteria. Short
reply from Lebrecht "His name was not on the list." I left it at
that.
As for Von Karajan, or anyone else for that matter, opinions will
naturally vary depending on individual experiences.
Lyric approach or not, it was wrong for Carreras to tackle Radames on
the stage. It's one thing to make a recording of it in the studio, but
quite another to tackle such a spinto role on the stage. Regardless of
Karajan, Carreras should have refused. For a lyric tenor to tackle
Radames at the age of 32 is sheer madness. Di Stefano also sang the
role in 1956 when he was 35, and look what happened to him! And isn't
it odd that Carrreras' vocal decline began around 1979. I heard him
in 1981, and while the voice was still unbelievably beautiful he was
already experiencing problems with his upper register.
Unfortunately the temptation to sing dramatically rewarding parts
coupled with the prestige of singing with big name conductors in
important theatres is difficult to resist, but ultimately one must pay
the price, as was the case with Carreras, Di Stefano, and quite a few
others.
Derek McGovern
on Opera-L and getting no response at all, I finally heard back last
night from the man who uploaded the interview with Grossman on
youtube. Hallelujah! I've just this minute written to Maestro
Grossman, and it'll be fascinating to see if he replies, and, if so,
whether he can shed any light on the veracity of Toscanini's
much-quoted declaration on Lanza. At the very least, he should be able
to tell us how Toscanini reacted to Lanza's singing that day in 1948 -
and, for that matter, what he (Grossman) thought of Mario's talent!
We may have to wait a while for Mr. Grossman's reply, though, as I
understand that he was recently in hospital. (In fact, he may still be
there.)
So fingers crossed....
Derek McGovern
First, the disappointment. Toscanini wasn't present at the session in which Lanza, Yeend and London (and two other singers) sang Act IV of La Bohème with Grossman at the piano. Toscanini was present only at one of the *later* sessions a year or so after this initial try-out, and by that stage both Lanza and London were no longer available. To the best of Grossman's knowledge, Mario and Toscanini never actually met. Toscanini definitely *heard* Lanza's singing, however, Grossman recalled: "especially through takes from The Great Caruso, and reputedly said that his was one
of the most beautiful voices he'd ever heard. [...] As I recall, he heard some takes on disc (sans picture) which were brought to him in Riverdale, specifically for him to consider for possible casting purposes."
Now I presume these takes from The Great Caruso were acetates that Peter Herman Adler (who knew Toscanini) had sent him. This is intriguing, since it establishes that Toscanini was certainly interested in casting Lanza in an opera. As for the story (perpetuated by Bessette & co) that Mario supposedly backed out of singing the Verdi Requiem for Toscanini a few years earlier, this was certainly news to Grossman.
Grossman's memories of Lanza, both as a man and as an artist, were delightful:
"There can be no question [...]: The voice had power and beauty, and except for the fact that he indulged in certain unfortunate vocal mannerisms that he doubtless learned from listening to others less talented than he, would have been a boon to any cast lucky enough to have him. It's also occurred to me that those mannerisms surely would have been shot down had he had the opportunity to work with Toscanini.
"I liked Lanza a lot. I'd met him earlier in Tanglewood when he came to visit an old pal, David Poleri [a tenor of some renown, exactly the same age as Mario, who later sang at Covent Garden and portrayed Cavaradossi to Leontyne Price's breakout debut in the NBC TV 1955 Tosca] for the day. The two of them were a riot and that sense of humor followed him right into our Boheme adventure. In the midst of all the fun, I, like everyone else, found that, along with a voice that only could have been a gift from God, he was, indeed, serious about his art."
The other interesting thing is that the five-minute extract we have of Act IV of La Bohème with Lanza, London and Yeend was only a portion of what was sung that day. Bearing in mind that the purpose of the rehearsal was to convince a highly sceptical David Sarnoff of RCA that these singers had the talent to make a televised performance of La Bohème (in English) a viable proposition, here is Maestro Grossman's touching account of that memorable occasion:
It took place somewhere late in '47 [actually, it was 1948], shortly after I'd met Peter Herman Adler. [...] The cast wouldn't be much of a problem since Adler had been working, without fee, with four young men who lived together in a cold water flat on 9th Ave. (and ate only when one or the other
had a job). He was certain they'd invest some time in a project like this. (The boys, incidentally, were Ed Steffe, who had a modest career thereafter, mostly doing commercials; Johnny Silver, soon to become the original Benny South street in "Guys And Dolls"; George London, about whom little need be said and Mario Lanza, about whom even less need be reported here. Two young
women, similarly in debt to Adler needed little or no persuasion to join the group. When Adler mentioned to Forrai that he was looking for a young pianist who would be willing to work on the come, she told him to come to her studio where she had a new, young graduate of Queens College who might very well fit the bill.
Needless to say, hardly 10 words were out of his mouth before I said, "Yes!!!"
The project was explained to the team. We were to do a semi-staged version of the Boheme last act in the large living room of Constance Hope (if you are too young to remember, the leading
artists' representative of the middle of the l20th c.) The audience would consist of one man, David
Sarnoff (not Toscanini - he was the object of the second part), who, though Chotzinoff's dearest friend, scoffed at the idea of opera on this virtually new [television] medium. After considerable
persuasion, he agreed to come to Hope's, but said flat out that he'd be checking his watch and could be expected to get up and leave at the fifteen minute mark, after we'd proved to him just how right he was.
I was 21 years old and completely in awe of this icon of the communication world. I never uttered a word, just sat at the piano and began this performance for one. Adler had coached and
staged the event (wisely sung in English, though not by any means in a particularly good translation - no matter) to a fare-the-well well and the brilliant talents on hand went for broke. When Mimi died and the final chords were played, we all slid our eyes towards our guest, only to see, much to
our complete astonishment, Sarnoff rising from his chair, tears cascading down his face, his left hand slowly being removed from his trouser pocket. He stretched it out towards Chotzinoff and said, "Here, my dear Chotzie, this symbolic gesture is by way of saying, you shall have whatever you need."
WHEW!
It took a year to get the logistics in place for a program which had no precedent. By the time we were ready to go, Lanza and London had begun to experience success in their budding careers and
were no longer available. Rodolfo And Marcello subsequently were played by Glenn Burris and Norman Young, two highly gifted young singing actors (though not quite at the altitude of Lanza and London - but then who is?).
**************
Fascinating, fly-on-the-wall stuff! What a wonderful raconteur Maestro Grossman is!
Muriel
it informative and fun, I can tell how pleased you are to be able to
pass your correspondence with Maestro Grossman along to us. If only
all your correspondents were this gracious and refreshing.
I suppose it really doesn't matter that Toscanini didn't hear Mario in
person. He obviously was interested enough to consider Mario's Great
Caruso recordings, and it's wonderful to know he did so with the
precise thought that he would have considered him for a future
project. That's praise right there!
Of course, we know Mario definitely was able to work in a professional
manner when surrounded by those whose talents he respected. We have
heard the fruits of those collaborations ourselves. Toscanini
certainly would have brought out the best in him..
How lovely that he remembered Mario's sense of humor: that's very
touching. Mario definitely made a good impression and it must have
been enjoyable to work with him on the Boheme assignment. You hinted
at something more than the short example we have on CD. Did they
record the whole fourth act? I liked that David Sarnoff reacted so
genuinely to their interpretation. I've never been fond of hearing
opera sung in English when it is originally written in another
language, as it takes away some of the beauty for me. But - it *did*
fulfill a purpose in this case. Too bad Mario became too busy for the
later work... Isn't it amazing there were too many near misses all
throughout his career? I had just been thinking of that very thing the
other day when I wrote about his not singing at La Scala in 1949/50.
Maestro Grossman sounds like a charming man. Couldn't we bottle him up
for a few future sessions? Bravo for engaging him....
Ciao, Muriel
Derek McGovern
was only too happy to give me permission to share his anecdotes, and,
as you say, he sounds like a most charming man. Although his glowing
assessment of Mario's ability was hardly surprising, it's gratifying
to read confirmation from a professional musician that he was both fun
to be with and, at the same time, serious about music. And coming from
someone like Grossman, who was both assistant to Toscanini and
conductor of the Baltimore Symphony, that's quite a compliment.
I was interested to learn that Mario knew the tenor David Poleri, and
that he actually travelled to Tanglewood to see him. Poleri, who died
in a plane crash in 1964 at the age of 43, was very talented according
to Grossman. Like Mario, he was a handsome fellow of Italian
extraction from the state of Pennsylvania -- and "crazy as a loon",
apparently (in a good way). In his short career he sang at both Covent
Garden and La Scala, but recorded very little. He's been briefly
mentioned at grandi-tenori, where I learned that he'd recorded
Berlioz' The Damnation of Faust for RCA. I've just heard a snippet
from this recording at Amazon, but it was hard to make much of an
assessment of his voice from the few bars they provided.
Yes, you're so right, Muriella, about the near misses (operatically
speaking) in Lanza's career: Bohème, La Traviata, Andrea Chenier, etc.
The Bohème would have been a fantastic opportunity for him with such a
supportive group around him. I think he would have had a ball, and the
experience he'd have gained from working with the likes of Adler would
have done wonders for his confidence.
Incidentally, Grossman's description of the four young men (Lanza
included) living together in a cold water flat on 9th Ave -- and
eating only when one or the other had a job -- sounds like something
straight out of La Bohème! (But it does beg the question: where was
Betty during all of this?)
I assumed they sang most, if not all, of the 4th act of Bohème because
of Sarnoff's reaction when Mimi died. Now whether they actually
recorded more than what we have is something that I will definitely
ask Mr. Grossman!
Derek McGovern
his wife were killed when the helicopter they were in crashed into the
side of an active volcano on one of the Hawaiian islands.
Lou
certainly scored a coup in getting him to share with you his eye-
witness recollections of Mario. While "one of the most beautiful
voices [Toscanini'd] ever heard" (and hearsay at that) instead of "the
greatest natural tenor voice of the 20th century" is a bit of a
letdown, at least we can stop wondering about the authenticity of the
latter quote. The rest of Maestro Grossman's anecdotes are priceless,
particularly his reference to the power and beauty of Mario's voice,
his sense of humor, and seriousness about his art. There seems to be
an inconsistency, though, with regard to Mario's lifestyle at the time
of the rehearsal for Act IV of La Boheme. Mario, according to the
maestro, was then living with George London and two other male singers
in a cold water flat and the four ate only when one or the other had a
job. Shades of La Boheme, ACT I ! But wasn't Mario, already married,
living in style with Betty at that time (1948)?
Lou
post, it's because I sent my post before I could read yours. Anyway,
the near misses in Lanza's career that you and Muriel referred to
brings to my mind the following quote from Shakespeare's Julius
Caesar:
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
If only ...
Derek McGovern
the same thing about the four Bohemians!
You know, it's still entirely plausible that Toscanini made the
"greatest natural tenor of the 20th century" statement; it's just that
Herb Grossman couldn't verify it. In some ways, the fact that we now
know that Toscanini made a point of listening to (among other things)
various recordings from The Great Caruso soundtrack increases the
likelihood that he uttered his supposed declaration. After all, he
would have had less evidence on which to go on (in terms of
determining Lanza's full potential) if he'd simply listened to five or
ten minutes from the last act of Boheme, during which Rodolfo doesn't
really have all that much to sing. (Now compare *that* experience with
hearing various recordings from The Great Caruso.)
And so the mystery continues...
Derek McGovern
from Shakespeare.
I've just heard back from Herb Grossman (the man's amazing in his
promptness), and I'm sorry to say that what we have of Mario & co
singing Act IV of Boheme is *everything* that was recorded that day:
"The five or so minutes of tape that we each have was the product of
some afterthought. Perhaps
Constance made a signal to her husband indicating that this was too
good to lose. Obviously, by the time he got his equipment (whoever
the "he" was) we were partly along in the act. Somebody,
perhaps Chotzie (we'll never know) must have signaled him to stop,
perhaps because the noise was interfering with the effect. What I was
sent, I was assured, was everything that existed."
Vince Di Placido
Grossman. It is great to get such an insight into one of Mario's more
unusual recordings, I remember hearing the Boheme excerpt for the
first time in my teens & just wishing the recording had started early
enough for "O mimi tu piu non torni" & long enough for Mimi &
Rodolfo's "Sono andati" Oh! How I would have loved to have heard Mario
sing the lines "Ah, Mimì, mia bella Mimì!" (obviously they would have
been in english, but you know what I mean.)
Derek McGovern
It's quite extraordinary, when you think about it, to be able to e-
mail someone who was once an assistant for a legendary figure who was
born way back in 1867! As a history nut, I just love having that link
to the past. Actually, I would like to have asked Mr. Grossman for
reminiscences of Toscanini himself, but having already pestered him in
three e-mails for the information I posted above, I decided that I
really would be pushing my luck...
But as far as the Toscanini quote about Mario is concerned, it would
be great (as I mentioned much earlier in this thread), if our very
quiet Bob Davies could ask Elsie Sword/Kiss if she can shed any light
on where she got the famous statement from. After all, it was Elsie
who (first?) published it in a UK Lanza club newsletter back in 1956
-- *before* Toscanini's death, and three whole years before it started
showing up in newspapers. Is there any chance that you could ask
Elsie, Bob?
Derek McGovern
the opportunity to ask him a few more questions -- not just related to
Lanza, but about his time with Toscanini as well. He's just replied,
and has very kindly allowed me to share his reminiscences here.
First of all, I asked him how well Lanza knew tenor David Poleri. This
was particularly interesting to me, since Poleri's name had never come
up before in association with Mario. (Poleri, by all accounts, was a
most interesting character. He won raves for his Don Alvaro in La
Forza del Destino at the Edinburgh Festival in 1951, and scored other
notable successes as well, but his professional behaviour was
unorthodox, to put it mildly. Herb Grossman recalls that Poleri once
stormed off the stage at the end of a performance of Carmen without
having killed the title character, leaving the wretched mezzo to stab
herself instead! The first Carmen suicide in operatic history!)
Here's what Herb told me about Lanza and Poleri:
"I know little of the friendship between Lanza and Poleri, other than
at the one time the three of us were together (in Tanglewood, you'll
remember), I could see that they were bosom buddies (after all, Mario
did come up to Lennox specifically to see David - he definitely had no
professional gig in the area) from the way they interacted. Since I,
myself, had only recently met Poleri, and this was my first meeting
with Lanza, I was in no position (nor would I have cared) to make a
seasoned judgment about either the depth or the longevity of their
friendship."
I then asked him whether he ever detected in Lanza's personality any
of the "dark clouds" that the likes of Bessette have "diagnosed"
(bipolar disorder, etc):
"As to the state of Lanza's mental health, I can tell you that in our
encounters, including the rather extensive period preparing for what
turned into the Sarnoff audition, I saw no signs of anything other
than the characteristics you mention: an easy going, fun loving
nature, complete confidence in his ability (and why in God's name,
wouldn't he have had that in abundance?) and an excellent rapport with
colleagues (from Adler's point of view, had he been a problem child in
any way, he
wouldn't have nurtured, one might even say, adopted him)."
Very interesting! This underlines many of the points made in Armando's
book, and makes a mockery of Bessette's claims that Lanza could never
have had a serious operatic career.
And finally I asked him to elaborate on Toscanini the man, as well as
the artist:
"Ah, Toscanini. Perhaps you've asked the question of the wrong person
since I worshipped him from the start, and now, more than fifty years
after his death, remember him with what easily could be called
idolatry. We all know of his legendary temper, and, I confess, I have
seen it in action (including in ways you can't imagine) through the
years -- but never, never once, in the almost ten year relationship
that only ended with his '57 death, did I experience anything but
friendship and affection (just see the dedication written to me under
a grand picture of him) I received from him. Nevertheless, I fully
admit that he didn't take kindly to what he considered stupidity or
lack of dedication on the part of his colleagues. I'll never forget
one speech I was privy to after a Boheme rehearsal, where he was
furious with the horns and said (and I paraphrase), "You ignorantes,
you will go to sleep tonight with your wives after a lusty, fun-filled
evening, while I, povero Toscanini, will toss and turn, sleepless,
from the knowledge of what misery you have brought to poor Puccini."
If you've ever seen a picture of 100 or so dumb-struck individuals
(the cream of the crop of the instrumental world) like the one I
witnessed, you'll know what pure terror looks like. But this
discussion of his personality, which I assure you can be endless, is
for another time.
And what of him as a conductor, you ask.
Whether it was opera, symphony or grand choral works, for me there has
never been anyone to come close to him. Because he was virtually
blind, he conducted everything from memory (as is sometimes said, have
the score in your head, not your head in the score). But it was his
feel for the over all architecture of the works he was conducting,
combined with his superman knowledge of the score and his ability,
with minimal but impassioned body movement (which didn't require his
dancing all over the podium) that made him so electrifying (remind me
one day to tell you the tale of the first Toscanini telecasts which I
did with Kirk Browning in
the late '40s). There weren't many laughs during these sessions, but I
never met one musician who played under his baton who didn't worship
the ground he walked on.
And I was at the forefront of the pack.
Best,
Herb
This is just beautiful. I can see I'm going to have to re-examine my
prejudices and listen to some more Toscanini!
What a wonderful person Herb Grossman must be.
Lou
temper tantrum is priceless. I presume that bit of quick thinking on
the part
of the mezzo saved the performance.
Maestro Grossman does strike me as a lovely person, and not only
because of his heartwarming comments about Lanza. His anecdote about
"povero Toscanini" also confirms my earlier impression of him as a
delightful raconteur (reminds me of Armando). I hope that with your
encouragement, he will share with us more of his reminiscences about
Toscanini.
Derek McGovern
Maestro Grossman has already got back to me with further memories of
Toscanini, prompted by my recounting of the famous incident (as
recorded by New York Times music critic Harold Schonberg) when Puccini
sent Toscanini a panettone for Christmas. (Suddenly remembering that
he and Toscanini weren't talking to each other at the time, Puccini
quickly wired: "Panettone sent by mistake." Toscanini replied:
"Panettone *eaten* by mistake." I love it!)
From Herb Grossman:
"Your Puccini story (I've not heard it before) reminds me of
conversations Toscanini and I had about the composer, especially those
brought on by his willingness to go over the score of Butterfly with
me before I was to conduct it for the NBC TV Opera (in 55', as I
believe I mentioned to you previously).
I have a piano score of the original version, which, among other
things, expands the parts of all the relatives wildly, shows the
quintet in the last act as it was originally written, as an aria for
Kate Pinkerton, etc.).
In the midst of our discussions, Toscanini would go into a rage,
saying that Puccini was the laziest man who ever lived -- and he told
him so to his face. He said that he'd insisted that, among other
things, the first act was too long, that these creatures (who still
have names in the score, but in the version we now know and love are
nothing more than a family of choristers) don't belong as they've been
written. Then he shouted that after Puccini had agreed, what does he
do? He makes gigantic cuts from one phrase to another where there
aren't even key relationships, i.e. from the phrase that precedes
"Hip, Hip," and continues with the "O Kami!, O Kami!" section. That,
incidentally, I'm convinced is the reason he'd refused to conduct the
premiere. [From Derek: The premiere of Madama Butterfly was
subsequently a fiasco, and it wasn't until Puccini had hastily revised
the opera -- shortening the first act in the process -- that it
achieved success.]
Still, as you say, there were times when he showed reverence for old
Giacomo -- perhaps never so much as he did when he conducted the 1926
premiere of Turandot, which, as we all know, was never finished by
him, but, after the composer's death, by Alfano. When they arrived at
the point where Puccini last put his pen to paper, the Maestro
suddenly put down his baton, turned to the audience (as
uncharacteristic a move as I've ever known from him) and said to them
quietly, "At this point, Puccini died." He then marched slowly out of
the pit, and the performance that night never was finished.
C'est la goddam Vie.
Best,
Herb
Lou
account of how Toscanini's differences with Puccini about the
Butterfly score still rankled.
Regarding your note that the premiere of Butterfly was a fiasco, it
appears that Toscanini might be partly, if unwittingly, to blame for
it. Paul Goulding (of the "Twenty-Five Warhorses" I mentioned in the
Opera Experiences thread) writes: "It didn't help that the first
Butterfly, Rosina Storchio, was having a well-publicized affair with
Toscanini, already a famous conductor despite his youth. When she came
on the Milan stage with Trouble in Act II, the audience let out hoots
of 'Il piccolo Toscanini' ('The little Toscanini'). This didn't
enhance the cast's ability to throw itself into its work."
Derek McGovern
Jan Hodges
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Loved those anecdotes Derek! I can picture the Carmen /David Poleri incident in my mind's eye. What a hoot!
The Toscanini retort is very reminiscent of the famous"put down's" by Winston Churchill and George Bernard Shaw.
Thanks for sharing them.
Jan | |||
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Derek McGovern
Poleri:
[Discussing a performance of Berlioz' The Damnation of Faust]
"It was the occasion of a semi scandal. We were sitting in a box
right above stage right in Carnegie Hall, when Munch lifted his baton
to begin Faust's aria. Suddenly, the already standing Poleri
(remember I mentioned that he was famous for being some kind of a nut,
albeit a lovable one) reached over and grabbed Munch's arm just as the
downbeat was waist high and the BSO was ready to scratch and blow. A
conversation ensued (getting more and more heated though, strain as I
would, I couldn't quite make out the words being whispered before a
sold out and increasingly nervous audience) until finally the two
broke it off, Munch dropped his right arm and, with his left, made the
universal sign for cut or skip. Poleri then resumed his seat and the
aria was never heard - until the recording. When I spoke to him
afterwords, he said that he felt that there was something not quite
right with his throat, thus he refused to sing the piece. (Some of
the papers had a bit of fun with this, you betcha).
His death was was another tale altogether, a double disaster that
occurred during a flight from one Hawaiian Island to another. The
real tragedy is that the small plane contained but three people; the
pilot, David AND HIS BRIDE OF LESS THAN A WEEK.
BTW, I mentioned previously the Price/Poleri 1955 Tosca with the NBC-
TV Opera Theatre. Should you, or any members of your organization,
wish to hear the two of them in all their glory, the tape (or kine,
I'm not sure which) is available upon request at the Paley Museum of
Broadcasting (formerly The Museum of Television and Radio). There, not
only can you _hear_ him, but you can _see_ this handsome young man in
action. [Herb also mentions that "all hell broke loose" in some
quarters at the sight of "a white boy with a black girl" as lovers on
this televised presentation.]