To All; As I don't want to screw everything up as I usually do by starting another thread (Which is something I've never understood...threads to me mean sewing!) I am tagging along with Becki.
I'm an emotional wreck at the moment as I have just watched "Singing to the Gods" which Muriel so kindly sent me before she took off to Spain. I had tried it on all my cd players but it only works on my DVD player. Remember the problems we had with it when you were here, Muriel? I can play the Hollywood Bowl cd on any of my cd players but for some reason the "Gods" one will only play on the DVD.....but at least it plays. It's one I don't think I will be watching too often as it reduces me to tears and by the end I'm a mess.
Isn't it amazing the amount of emotion Mario can produce in so many after being gone for half a century? I find as I get older, words do not come to me as easily as they once did and I cannot write as eloquently as I once did. It's very frustrating as there is much I would like to say but to me it comes out as so much drivel. So I will leave the essays to Derek and Muriel and sit back and read and enjoy. I love you both and perhaps some day I'll sip a glass of wine with Derek as I did with Muriel. Incidentally , it was grand seeing and hearing Armondo again in the DVD.....it brought back fond memories of our time in Philly. That was so much fun!!!
Aline
-------Original Message------- |
Reply | Forward |
What Could and Should Have Been
by James Kilbourne
A Voice To Remember
“And so it seems that we have met before, and laughed before, and loved before, but who knows where or when?”
These lyrics appropriately describe my reaction upon hearing Mario’s voice after years of not having his music in my life. Where was he and how did I lose track of him? Thankfully, his films were on video and CDs had begun to be available, making my reunion with Mario a joyous happening. I “do” know where and when I heard and saw him. He was part of my young life and, obviously made an enduring imprint on my very being.
What amazed me was, my subconscious mind had never forgotten that incredibly extraordinary voice. By the second word I was taken back in time and the memories began to wash over me. Mario Lanza: a voice to remember.
Recently, a forum member had remarked that the anniversary of Mario’s death was approaching. I recall thinking of the words that I would be reading on that day. Of course, we all wish he had stayed with us longer, but why don’t we rejoice instead and celebrate his vitality and energy? He will always be with us, full of youth and charisma. His phenomenal talent will never be forgotten as long as his music is played and we write down how he touches us.
How will I remember the many facets of Mario on this day? I will not try to cover all of his talents in one day, but will savor different aspects of his genius over many days. Today I’ll watch and listen to him as Otello singing, “Dio, mi potevi scagliar, tutti mali, della miseria – della vergogna…”, and as Canio, singing, “Ridi, Pagliaccio, sul tuo amore infranto!”. The following day I’ll hear a Neapolitan sing, “Te voglio – te penzo – te chiammo – te veco – te sento – te sonno…” (Passione), and “…comm’a chesta vucchella, che pare na rusella, nu poco pocorillo appassuliatella….” (A Vucchella). On yet another day Mario will give me inspiration from I’ll Walk With God, and I’ll again watch and hear his Lord’s Prayer in Because You’re Mine.
Day four will be devoted to musicals and operettas: the sumptuous Serenade from The Student Prince, Love Me Tonight from The Vagabond King (“Love me tonight, now while I long for you…), All The Things You Are from Very Warm For May (“You are the angel glow that lights a star…”), and The Donkey Serenade from The Firefly. How about a little Caruso favorites on day five? “Chiudimi, O notte, nel tuo sen materno…” is from L’Alba Separa Dalla Luce L’Ombra, and Ideale’s, “”Torna, caro ideal, torna un istante a sorridermi ancora….” with the haunting “Torna”s at the end is a true Italian feast.
I might want to spend two splendid days dedicated to magnificent love songs. Mario recorded so many that it’s difficult to stop with a few. How about, Begin The Beguine for starters: “Till the stars that were there before, return above you…Till you whisper to me once more, ‘Darling, I love you’, and we suddenly know what heaven we’re in, when they begin the Beguine.” I must include Love Is The Sweetest Thing: “This is the tale that never will tire, this is the song without end…” and My Romance: “Wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dreams come true. My romance doesn’t need a thing but you.” Beautiful Love is a treasure: “Reaching for Heaven, depending on you, beautiful love, will my dreams come true?”.
So, you see, I have filled an entire week reveling in Mario’s music, and I am more enchanted than ever. I’ll never tire of the tales he sings to me. His is truly a voice to remember. Let me leave you with this from I’ll Be Seeing You:
“I’ll be seeing you in every lovely summer’s day, in everything that’s light and gay, I’ll always think of you that way. I’ll find you in the morning sun and when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”
I’m celebrating……
Michelangelo Verso Jr. talks about his father, and singing teacher Enrico Rosati’s comments on Lanza (and others)
My father, Michelango Verso, received singing lessons and advice from the famous and legendary Maestro Enrico Rosati, who at that time lived in New York and who had been the singing teacher of Beniamino Gigli and Mario Lanza.
Rosati always attached much importance to the correct interpretation and clear diction of the text and said: “Listen how Gigli, Jan Kiepura, Miguel Fleta, Di Stefano and Mario Lanza interpreted!”
For these tenors he had a particular admiration and when he met Giuseppe di Stefano (a Sicilian too) for the first time in Mexico in 1957, they immediately became friends for life.
About Mario Lanza he said that no tenor ever has been able to sing and to interpret in such an excellent way like he did. “If a tenor had to imitate Lanza with the same energy and power he performed, then he would end up killing himself or damaging his voice!"
My father was very much impressed by Lanza when he saw the movie “The Great Caruso” for the first time in New York and confided to me that he was a bit depressed afterwards in wanting to continue his career as a tenor.
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Sam Steinman, 1965 letter to Pauline Franklin (much-loved founding member of the British Mario Lanza Society)
Mario Lanza was a living legend in his own lifetime. It is true that he had his failings and it is unfortunate that those who live on sensationalism have exaggerated the faults without knowing anything of the virtues.
I knew Mario during his lifetime and I was close to him. I spoke to him on the telephone on the day of his death and he died a few moments before I arrived at the hospital to visit him. The good side of Mario far outweighed the picayune things which have been so vastly exaggerated by writings seeking to gain pittance.
To me Mario will always be in memory as a big overgrown kid who really did not know what had hit him. Sometimes he sat down and asked why the gift of a great voice was given to him, and he always spoke of it as a sacred trust which would be passed on to someone else. He never considered it as a possession. The voice gave him the power to do many things and he enjoyed living to the hilt. Too bad it was not his fate to live to a ripe old age.
The heritage of Mario's music reveals the strength of character which he had. He was resolute in standing by his friends. His greatest fault was putting trust in people whom he did not know too well. Too many took advantage of him through this during his lifetime and even more have done so since he left us.
Mario was a sincere friend who enjoyed seeing others enjoy themselves. He entertained on the grand manner and was one of the finest hosts I have ever met. But there was never any pomp in the Lanza household--it was fun at all hours and nothing was better than a good laugh. Too bad that all of this is gone with Mario, but Mario Lanza is an even greater legend today, five years after his death than he was in his lifetime.
"If, out of the cadences of Times, I have evoked one note that,
clear and true, vibrates gratefully on the heartstrings of
the public, I am well content." (John Philip Sousa)
Today---October 7th---marks the 54th anniversary of Mario Lanza's passing. I salute a man and artist whose extraordinary gifts changed my life forty years ago, and wish, as always, that I could have thanked him personally.
Hi Derek: You may not have been able to thank him personally,
but what you have done throughout the years and continue to do is a lasting
tribute to Lanza. As such, anyone interested in his artistry, be it old admirers or newcomers,
owes you a tremendous debt.
Armando
"Sometimes it seems you have to die like poor Mario Lanza or . . . Maria [Callas] before the public will finally come around and say, 'I never realized what they went through.'"
Thanks for the kind words, Armando and Vince! Really appreciate it---and I'm sure you both know how much I reciprocate those feelings.
In memory of the singer who has thrilled me like no other for more than sixty years.
Derek: by a strange twist, on the evening of October 7, 1959, my cousin and I had gone to a preview screening of For the First Time. At 9.15pm (Australian time, 9 hours ahead) as we were watching the film Mario was dying the news broke the following morning.
That day, instead of turning on the radio in the morning - as I usually did - to listen to the news, I was telling my mother all about the film, the singing and so on. It was not until I got on the tram, on my way to class, that I suspected something had happened. I was standing directly opposite a man sitting down who was reading The Sun, one of the daily papers. Reading it upside down, I was able to make out "Lanza", but the word next to it seemed to be "dead"! I suddenly felt my stomach turn, and as I got off the tram I ran to a newsstand and bought both The Sun and The Age. It was true: Mario was dead!
How could it be? He was coming to Australia, they had been talking about an imminent tour since 1958, and now he was gone! I don't know how I managed to get through the day. I was in a total daze. My school companions were asking me what was wrong. Finally, I just broke down. To my amazement they understood. I was grateful to them for respecting my grief. A week later, when For the First Time opened at the Metro theatre. I went again. There were people sobbing, and some walking out during the Otello sequence. Very moving.
Thanks so much for this, Armando. Perhaps some of our other members will have stories to share as well.
After 56 years his unique voice and talent have stood the test of time.Unforgettable and irreplaceable.
[…] When I was a boy, old Italian peddlers still delivered milk by horse-drawn carts, and there was still a great deal of Italian spoken among the older residents, although the kids resisted the language mightily and few could speak it, although many understood it. The most famous person who was ever a member of this church—St. Mary Magdalene di Pazzi—and who went to the elementary school where my mother was the crossing guard was a singer named Mario Lanza.
The house where Lanza was born and grew up, 636 Christian Street, is now a historic landmark. For a long time, during my boyhood, whenever I passed the house, in the front window was a huge picture of Lanza with a lighted candle on either side of it. He was born Alfred Cocozza, and I remember whenever I heard his grandfather, or a man I was told was his grandfather but it could have been his father, refer to him, he always called him Freddy. He was willing to talk about Lanza to anyone who was willing to listen, even his black newspaper boy. He told me Lanza was the greatest tenor since Caruso. He claimed he had heard Caruso and that Freddy was better. Who was I to dispute that claim? After all, by the time I was 12 years old and delivering the Philadelphia Inquirer to Lanza’s relatives who were still living in the house, I had seen Lanza’s most celebrated film, The Great Caruso, made in 1951, about three times, and was convinced that he was the greatest singer I had ever heard. He certainly made opera appealing, even sexy, a form of music I would normally not have listened to at all. I loved The Great Caruso and nearly cried at the end when Caruso dies, thinking, probably because I saw the film several years after Lanza died, that it was the story of his life rather than Caruso’s. Emotionally, I was sure that Lanza himself died at the end of the film, although intellectually, I knew better. But it was accepted in the neighborhood that Lanza was the American Caruso. Every Saturday, for many years, at Lanza’s family home, his records would always be playing, sometimes serenading the block. (Some people, naturally, preferred Caruso and played his records, but these were in the minority.) In this way, I associated opera with the Italians I grew up with in much the way I associated them with homemade wine when the block smelled of fermenting grapes every Friday and Saturday. I made this association even though nearly all of the Italian kids I knew hated opera, did not like Mario Lanza, and were ashamed that their parents made wine in their basements. I found all of this a comfort.
Lanza attracted a great deal of attention from the beginning. Everyone who knew opera and those who thought they did thought he had an exceptional voice. What struck many people was its natural, melodramatic quality, its over-emotional sensibility. These very elements struck audiences about Caruso’s voice, with his trademark sighs and cries that became tricks on evenings when he couldn’t feel the music or wasn’t up to performing. In other words, even during his student days, there was something about Lanza as a “natural singer,” as someone wrapped in the quaintness of his ethnicity, that captured the fancy of those around him. This image was to dog him his entire career, particularly as a central part of the criticism that he was not truly an opera singer at all. After all, the criticism went, if he were he would be singing in operas on stage. And there was more than a bit of the barrel-chested machismo of the inner-city ethnic in him. As he confided once to his close friend and personal trainer, Terry Robinson, “It’s all sex, Terry. When I’m singing, I’m scoring. That’s me. It comes right out of my balls.”
The Great Caruso does not seem
to be about opera as much as it is a kind of technologically inventive opera in
its own right about ethnic assimilation in the United States, mystifying the
Italian-Catholic ethnic as magnificent divo
who is not cultured himself but through whom high culture can be
expressed and preserved. Lanza simply had to wear tight-fitting, opulent
clothes that accentuated his barrel chest, look suitably cute as an ethnic,
emote a great deal when singing, and try not to forget his accent too often. In
effect, as Caruso, Lanza could personify desire while deflecting the audience
from thinking about the nature of desire in general or Caruso’s desires
specifically. Lanza was not a gifted actor, but he was a considerable presence,
which, in the end, was all Hollywood hired him to be.
The very thing that made Lanza attractive to Hollywood was the source of his
undoing in another way: he was a handsome young man who could make operatic
singing sexy. Unfortunately for Lanza, he was a big man, weighing normally over
200 pounds. Photography is not kind to heavy people, and Hollywood seemed to
have no other way of conceiving someone as sexy except as being relatively
thin. When he would go on eating binges, which he did especially as temper
tantrums, he could balloon up to as much as 250 pounds or more. Four weeks
before the actual filming would begin, Lanza would record the soundtracks of
his films. He would then be very heavy, as he, MGM, and the knowing ones of
opera were all convinced that opera singers sang better, had better resonance,
when they were heavy. But as soon as the recording of the soundtrack was
completed, Lanza would have a few weeks in which to lose as much as 50 pounds in
order to have the stereotyped appearance of a romantic lead. Lanza’s mad
fluctuations in weight played havoc on both his appearance and his health.
Toward the end of his career, he suffered from gout, phlebitis and
hypertension. Despite rumors about Lanza having been murdered by Lucky Luciano
because of a snub, it would seem more likely, until definitive evidence says
otherwise, that Lanza died of a heart attack or heart failure as a result of
intense dieting.
http://www.upenn.edu/gazette/0301/early.html
Steff
“A Kid from Philadelphia, Mario Lanza, the Voice of the Poets”
Emilio Iodice
My fascination with Mario Lanza started on October 7th, 1959. Our family, like other Italian immigrants, was large and extended. Three cousins lived with us in our duplex in New York. One was a brilliant carpenter. He studied history, art and music. Gaetano loved opera.
That day, he came home early from work. I had just arrived from school. As I passed his room, I heard crying. It was deep and sorrowful. I sensed a heart-rending event. I imagined the loss of a close family member or friend. I drew all the courage I had to knock on his door. He opened it slowly. I sat next to him on his bed. He looked at me with eyes swollen with tears. “He’s dead,” he said. His voice was muffled and deep. I was speechless.
I expected he would tell me it was his father, mother or brother or someone so close to merit such suffering. I could tell that chills were running through him. He was trembling. “Mario Lanza is dead,” he said. I was confused. Who was this friend, this person, this name? “He was the greatest voice and the greatest entertainer of all time,” he said, choking back an endless quantity of tears.
“He was a singer,” I said? “He was more than that. He was the most wonderful tenor you have ever heard. He could sing popular songs, record spectacular LPs, do magnificent concerts, have a radio program, be on television and also make movies,” he exclaimed. “There was no one like him. He surpassed Caruso, Gigli and all the others because he crossed over to do what other tenors only dreamed about,” said Gaetano. He was inconsolable.
His room had a record player and a stack of Italian recordings. On top was “The Great Caruso.” A handsome young man, dressed in a tuxedo and standing on a stage with an orchestra was on the cover. Gaetano took the album from the pile and held it to his chest. It seemed like it was a relic of sacred value. With care, he took out the disc and gingerly laid it on the turn table. He started the machine and put the needle on the record.
Out poured music I never heard before. They were violins and a cornucopia of strings. Suddenly, a voice filled the room. It seemed like the orchestra was playing to it. It was thrilling. It was strong, young and powerful. It was melodic, overflowing with a smooth musicality that reminded me of waves rolling over the sea with rhythm, strength, softness and perfection. It was the first time I heard Mario Lanza. It was “La Donna e Mobile” from “The Great Caruso.” Goose bumps covered my arms and legs. My face turned flush with wonder. For the next two hours, Gaetano and I listened to one record after another.
It was hard to believe that the same person who sang “Celeste Aida,” and “O Sole Mio” with such emotion could now drift into the world of the “Student Prince” with “Deep in My Heart Dear” and “Serenade” and sail into the sphere of love with amazing songs like “Love is the Sweetest Thing,” “My Romance,” “If I Loved You,” and “Danny Boy.”
I understood how Gaetano felt. The world had lost something special. It was a rich talent that gave immense pleasure and joy. Lanza had an inspirational voice. It was warm yet powerful. It was clear and, if perfection existed, it was as close to being perfect that any human could achieve.
I was struck with an immediate fascination. I had to learn more. In a theatre near my house was playing “For the First Time.” Gaetano and I went to see it. Throughout the motion picture I heard people crying. The movie was joyful and Mario was at his best. I could not believe that shortly after the film was finished he died at 38. It was incredible.
From that day forward I became a fan of Mario Lanza. Nine months after his passing, I finished elementary school. I graduated with high honors. My father said I could choose any reasonable gift I wanted. He expected a bicycle or an encyclopedia, which were both things I longed for. Instead, I asked if we could visit the record shop in Little Italy in Manhattan.
It was on Mulberry Street. The store was filled with thousands of recordings. Most prominent were works of Mario Lanza. They were everywhere. As my gift I wanted to hear Mario and Caruso. We left the store an hour later. I had 6 Lanza albums that ranged from opera to pop to religious to Christmas. A special Caruso compilation included 3 LPs with nearly 100 of his best performances. I was in heaven.
For the next month I devoured arias and songs with 2 voices that electrified me. Caruso was luxurious, deep and wide. It was oceanic. Mario Lanza was something else. I could identify with this first generation Italian American. He had perfect English diction and his Italian seemed impeccable. His voice was young, energetic, filled with power. I could see images when he sang. They were of cascading falls, sea gulls and eagles flying, angels with harps and performers with violins. I could feel emotion. I understood love by delving into the sensations from his voice caressing the words of poets who had sent pieces of their hearts as lyrics to give life to music. It was amazing.
As I entered my high school years, I studied Mario, Caruso and every tenor since the start of recordings. I read voraciously about their lives and careers. Each week I consumed the latest issue of “Opera News.” I could never afford a ticket to the Metropolitan but listened to the live Saturday radio broadcasts. I was enthralled by what I heard and could see in my mind’s eye. I imagined the scenery, the settings, and the story and was captured again and again by the voices and the flights of emotion that only opera can provide.
By the time I finished my university education, I had listened too and studied every Italian opera and heard nearly every performer who had set their voice to discs since the start of the 20th century. Each was unique. Some were incomparable. I had examined, in my own personal way, every artist. I was a true lover of “grand voices.” Finally, I set a benchmark. Enrico Caruso, as Lanza often said, was by far, the richest and broadest of tenors. He soared with pure power and energy. He was the opera king and would remain so until the dawn of Luciano Pavarotti.
Mario Lanza was something else. His flair for opera was more direct and resolute. He was not burdened with hours on the stage, reciting and acting. He focused on arias that were popular, intense yet concentrated with sentiment. His passion was the key. He brought excitement to each performance and sang as if it was his last. Lanza’s fervor and enthusiasm was unmatched. His versatility set him apart for everyone else. His recordings of popular songs became solo hits that only he could perform. Whenever I needed to feel creative and stimulated, I turned to listen to Mario. I never grew tired. I heard “Long Ago and Far Away,” a dozen times, yet each seemed new and different. No other singer had such an impact on me.
As the years turned into decades, I continued to search for performers who could match Mario in all his creativity and talent. I found the specialists like the splendid tenors of the majestic opera houses who the world knew and loved. They devoted their lives of lyric opera. No one could go beyond those boundaries and venture into other areas of entertainment with the same success as Mario Lanza.
When I met and got to know Placido Domingo, I was struck by his devotion to Lanza. He told me of how “a kid from Philadelphia” inspired him and so many others to venture into the world of opera. He made a documentary in the 1980s, “The American Caruso,” which was a homage to Mario. It demonstrated his contribution to so many marvelous performers who wanted to be like him.
I was inspired by Placido to write about Lanza. I learned of the British Mario Lanza Society from my family in London. Pam Latham was kind enough to accept some essays about Mario for “Golden Days,” the lovely newsletter of the Society. Eventually, a number of people who read them asked that I publish them in a book.
Several fine biographies had been written and I was not interested in preparing another. I wrote as a fan, writing for fans. I wanted to render honor to Mario Lanza by depicting who he was and how he was to those of us whose lives were changed by his voice and by his life.
I hope I have done so in “A Kid from Philadelphia, Mario Lanza, the Voice of the Poets.” The work is a series of essays in English and Italian. They start with a “Letter to Mario.” I wrote it as if he could read it from that celestial place where he now sings with the angels. It captures the feelings from the heart that only Mario Lanza could provide. The essays range from a brief depiction of his extraordinary life to his passing on October 7th, 1959:
Letter to Mario
An Extraordinary Life
Listen to Mario
The Lanza Essays
A Kid from Philadelphia
Once Upon a Time there was a Boy with the
Grandest and Sweetest of Voices
Mario Lanza: The Man and the Myth
The Lanza Legacy: The Voice of Poets
The Great Lanza: The Spiritual Dimension
October Seventh
Each essay is a work of love and gratitude. As I note in the Introduction: “They are personal reflections, not scholarly works. They leap from the heart. They paint a picture of a performer who gave us joy and inspiration. It is a tribute to him and those who venture into the realm of entertainment. May they live long and happy lives. They give us pleasure and help dismiss thoughts of challenging moments and difficult days. Mario Lanza was such a person.”
----------------------------------------------
“A Kid from Philadelphia, Mario Lanza, the Voice of the Poets,” can be ordered from this Amazon UK site:
Proceeds from sale of the books will also go to the British Mario Lanza Society
Courtesy collection of British Mario Lanza Society
An Extraordinary Life
Life is precious and brief. In the time we have we must do something important. It is all about doing extraordinary things and doing first for others and then for ourselves. Such was the life of Mario Lanza.
A famous soccer player said success was based on “knowing where the ball would bounce.” It is about separating noises and signals in life, probing the future and leaping into the river of living. This is what Mario Lanza did. He instinctively knew the secret to success. He prepared himself and devoted all the passion he could to attain his dreams. It produced an extraordinary life.
Here is a biographic sketch of a talent that is as fresh today as it was at its height. Placido Domingo called him, “A force of nature”:
Born in Philadelphia on January 31st, 1921
Seven years later he shows a strong interest in opera and listens avidly to Caruso recordings and by age twelve attends his first opera and becomes fascinated with the art and science of lyric opera.
By sixteen he has learned parts from numerous operas, exhibits a splendid young voice and informs his parents that his plan is to be a tenor.
In 1942 he debuts at the Tanglewood Festival and studies with Leonard Bernstein and other luminaries. The New York Times writes that his “superb natural voice has few equals among the tenors of the day in quality, warmth and power.”
He spends three years in the Second World War entertaining troops. He returns to sign a recording contract with RCA Victor and receives the amazing sum of $3000 as a bonus which was unprecedented for the time.
In 1947 Mario continues intense vocal studies and begins a series of nearly 90 concerts throughout the United States. He receives rave reviews. One concert included the Hollywood Bowl where the greats of the world of films see him perform. A few days later, Louis Mayer, President of Metro Goldwyn Mayer signs him to a lucrative seven year contract.
A year later he makes his operatic debut as Pinkerton in Madame Butterfly at the New Orleans Opera House. Critics praised his “exceptionally beautiful voice.” He begins work on his first film, That Midnight Kiss, which is released in 1949 to splendid reviews.
His first RCA recordings are released at the same time and are voted the Operatic Recordings of the Year. Mario turns down offers to debut at La Scala in Milan, the San Francisco Opera and the Metropolitan of New York.
In the next three years, he launches two million selling singles, his wife gives birth to the first of four children, he releases his third film, Toast of New Orleans, embarks on a nationwide concert tour and begins filming The Great Caruso which is released in 1951. It is nominated for three Oscars and wins one.
“The Mario Lanza Show” begins on radio in 1951 and becomes an immediate sensation. Mario records over 150 songs on the program and is considered the greatest tenor of all time and one of the world’s most popular entertainers. He begins his fourth movie, Because You’re Mine, which is released in 1952 and receives splendid critical acclaim. The movie is the first Command Performance of Queen Elizabeth of England.
The same year Mario dismisses his manager. His excessive trust and lack of business acumen result in serious financial problems.
He appears on the cover of Time Magazine and is called “The Million Dollar Voice.”
After recording the sound track for his fifth movie, The Student Prince, he departs from MGM in a dispute with the film’s director over the way he should sing a selection from the movie. The film is released without him as the star and is moderately successful. Mario’s recordings of the Student Prince are a major success.
In 1954 he begins a highly successful series of appearances on television. He starts filming Serenade a year later which proves to be one of his finest works in terms of operatic performances. He records a number of new albums that become best sellers.
He departs for Italy in 1957 and films The Seven Hills of Rome, and gives a Command Performance for the Queen of England at Royal Albert Hall in London to wonderful reviews.
Mario embarks on a whirlwind European concert tour in 1958 despite showing the first signs of overwork and considerable stress. He begins his second film in Italy, For the First Time. He records an album of Neapolitan songs that is considered one of his finest achievements and several splendid albums in the next year.
For the First Time reaches high in the charts of box office achievements when it is released in 1959 which is nominated for a Grammy. In the same year, he agrees to launch his operatic debut at La Scala di Milano, and the San Carlo Opera House in Naples. He signs for a new movie, more concert tours and recordings are planned plus a series of television specials when, suddenly, he dies of a heart attack in a Rome clinic, less than three months from his thirty-ninth birthday.
Funerals were held to honor him in Rome, Philadelphia and Los Angeles. They attracted world-wide attention and visits and condolences from around the globe. At the time of his passing he was considered one of the world’s leading tenors and singers, a highly sought after concert performer, a top recording artist and star of stage and screen.
Concerts in his honor are held every year, clubs, societies and institutes honor him in many countries and thousands read and follow his life and voice through web sites and the internet each day. New CDs have been released, numerous excellent biographies and articles have been written and several television specials about him have been presented in the last decade.
A couple of years ago, on a different Lanza forum, I mentioned in one
of my posts that it must have been difficult for some moviegoers in
1959 to watch the Otello Death Scene in Lanza's final movie, For the
First Time. The film was released in the US in mid-August 1959 - seven
weeks before Lanza died - but elsewhere many of Mario's admirers would
not have seen it until after his death. My post prompted a moving
anecdote from Armando, one that I'd now like to share with you all:
Derek: by a strange twist, on the evening of October 7, 1959, my cousin
and I had gone to a preview screening of For the First Time. At 9.15
pm (Australian time, 9 hours ahead) as we were watching the film
Mario was dying.
The news broke the following morning.
That day, instead of turning on the radio in the morning - as I usually did -
to listen to the news, I was telling my mother all about the film, the singing
and so on.It was not until I got on the tram, on my way to class, that I suspected
something had happened.I was standing directly opposite a man sitting down who was reading
The Sun, one of the daily papers. Reading it upside down, I was able to make
out "Lanza", but the word next to it seemed to be "dead"! I suddenly felt
my stomach turn, and as I got off the tram I ran to a newsstand and
bought both The Sun and The Age. It was true: Mario was dead!
How could it be? He was coming to Australia, they had been talking
about an imminent tour since 1958, and now he was gone!I don't know how I managed to get through the day. I was in a total
daze. My school companions were asking me what was wrong. Finally, I
just broke down. To my amazement they understood. I was grateful to
them for respecting my grief.
A week later, when For the First Time opened at the Metro theatre, I went
again. There were people sobbing, and some walking out during the
Otello sequence. Very moving.
Thanks very much for this, Armando. Perhaps some of our other members
Ciao Derek and Armando,
Thank you for this personal story.
As I was not yet born when Mario died (I was born in 1970, only three months before Mario's mother Maria passed away) I cannot contribute with a story of my own. However, yesterday I spotted an article titled "The Day Mario Lanza Died" by Tony Napoli from New York in which he tells his story of how he remembers the day when Mario passed away.
The article can be found here:
https://tonynapoli.com/index.php/1959/10/07/19/
Here's a little excerpt:
"We all jumped and sat up straight when our principal Sister Vincent rapped with her gold wedding band on the on the glass pane on our classroom. She called Sr. Thomas James out into the hallway and whispered something to her, both of them standing still like penguins guarding their eggs in an Arctic storm. I could see tears in their eyes – the Pope must be dead, I thought. Sister Thomas closed the door and she slowly turned to us and said “Dear children, I have very sad news, Mario Lanza is dead. He had a heart attack in Rome; he was only 38 years old.” Our whole class made a collective sigh. A few of the girls grabbed their lace handkerchiefs as I pulled out my pocket one. We all knelt down next to our desks and said a prayer for him.
In our Italian parish of Sacred Heart, Mario Lanza was a god, an idol, our hero. He was the most famous tenor in the world, a working class Italian American who made good and became a handsome romantic Hollywood movie star. The nuns all had a crush on him and I had most of his albums. I had a crush on him too ever since my mother had taken me to the Ritz Theatre to see the MGM musical, The Great Caruso. When my parents went out shopping and I was all alone, I would shut off the lights in my bedroom, put on one of his albums, lay on my bed in the dark, and become enveloped in his warm, bell toned voice. I believed he was singing just to me.Deep in my heart dear, I have a dream of you…"
Steff
My aquaintance with Lanza's art happened when I was only 11 and it took place in Bulgaria where our family lived then. I had watched "The Great Caruso" in the very beginning of October 1959 and immediately became his devoted fan. There was practically no information about the singer, but was a possibility to watch his films and buy some recordings, and I started to collect them, dreaming of a chance to hear or see one day my best favourite live. The news of his death reached me only on the eve of the New Year. And it was the worst holiday in my life - among holiday fuss and gaety I was crying for several days while everybody around were welcoming the New 1960 year. Later I read that my greatest dream hdnn't been entirely impossible had Mario lived longer. He planner to have a tour in the USSR along with introducing his film "The Great Caruso"."The Great Caruso" appeared on screens there in 1961 and Lanza was chosen "The Actor of the Year" by voting of millions of cinema goers! We had moved to Moscow by that time and I was present at the preview of the film at the Club of Cinematographers, where Dorothy Kirsten was a honorary guest. It had an overwhelming success, but without one who was mostly responsible for it and wanted to introduce the film personally - without The Great Lanza.
--
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Mario Lanza, Tenor" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to mariolanza+...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/mariolanza/0e50547b-1709-409f-bf11-ec44b40e618e%40googlegroups.com.
--
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Mario Lanza, Tenor" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to mariolanza+...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/mariolanza/6dcefb14-41f5-440e-9bfb-21a48b6a36a8%40googlegroups.com.
--
To reply to this message, please go to: https://groups.google.com/g/mariolanza
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Mario Lanza, Tenor" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to mariolanza+...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/mariolanza/9af31ae4-16ba-4750-9f34-71f837509c6an%40googlegroups.com.
--
To reply to this message, please go to: https://groups.google.com/g/mariolanza
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Mario Lanza, Tenor" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to mariolanza+...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/mariolanza/2c2292a2-f329-4b41-a7d3-de5067285903n%40googlegroups.com.
Sixty-four years later the voice that thrilled me back then still weaves its magic upon me and is capable of moving me to tears. An unforgettable, towering talent!
--
To reply to this message, please go to: https://groups.google.com/g/mariolanza
---
You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Mario Lanza, Tenor" group.
To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to mariolanza+...@googlegroups.com.
To view this discussion on the web visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/mariolanza/181efc14-f7a0-42c4-aa6c-7f47932e6d19n%40googlegroups.com.