|
We offer 10 titles with Bergonzi:
Luisa
Miller
Un
ballo in maschera
Bergonzi Sings Verdi, with Orchestra + Interview (in Italian)
Pagliacci
Ten
Tenors
Great Tenors, Vol. 2
Corelli,
Bergonzi and Bechi
Carlo
Bergonzi in Recital
Kraus,
Bergonzi, Siepi, McDaniel, Cappuccilli
Legendary
Singers on TV
|
|
|
“Each one of these great tenors at the apex of tenors,
Bergonzi, Pavarotti and Domingo—I don’t think you can find defects.
He who doesn’t have one thing has another. They are all worthy of the
names that they have.”—Carlo Bergonzi |
| Bergonzi as Radamés |
by Stefan Zucker
THE FOLLOWING INTERVIEW took
place on “Opera Fanatic,” on WKCR, October 12, 1985. Carlo Bergonzi
spoke in Italian (I translated). Also present in the studio were Dr. Umberto
Boeri, pediatrician, a close friend of Bergonzi; Robert Connolly, writer,
a frequent collaborator on the show; Kenneth Rapp, accompanist; Annamarie
Verde, Bergonzi’s New York concert producer; and other friends of Bergonzi.
Throughout the evening, we interspersed records of Bergonzi in songs and
arias.
SZ: With whom did you study?
CB: I first began to study as a baritone, beginning at the Parma Conservatory
with Maestro Ettore Campogalliani.
SZ: Campogalliani is still active. Americans sometimes go over to study
with him. Even at an advanced age, he chases sopranos around the piano.
Did he think of you as a baritone?
CB: That was not the maestro’s mistake but perhaps mine. At 15, I was
too young. I had a strong will to sing, to study, to go on stage: that had
always been my aspiration. My voice hadn’t changed yet. Since boyhood
I had always had a rather dark voice, so the maestri were misled. I continued
to study as a baritone and made my debut in ’48, in Barbiere, as
Figaro. I continued to sing as a baritone, until October 12, 1950. I performed
Figaro, Germont, Don Pasquale, Belcore, Enrico in Lucia, and one
performance of Rigoletto—a turning point. We were on tour in
Puglia (Bari, Molfetta, Barletta). Tito Gobbi was to have sung the performance.
But as suddenly happens to singers, owing to a banal draft, my late, dear
friend’s voice deserted him. This was at eight in the evening, with
the performance scheduled to start at nine. The maestro asked me if I knew
Rigoletto and wanted to sing it. I had studied it to the point that I was
musically secure and, carried away by enthusiasm, said yes. During that
performance I began to understand that I was no baritone, for I didn’t
succeed in finding the power, also the velvet voice for the pathetic moments,
that the part demands, particularly in Act III. Still, I saw the performance
through. I was very happy to have worn the costume, but the experience gave
me the first suggestion that I should change repertory.
Kenneth Rapp: Who were the Duke and the Gilda?
CB: Gilda was Signora Baruffi, a singer with a beautiful voice, of whom
I heard nothing further. The Duke was Sinimberghi, who made a good career,
including several films. I went on to further performances as a baritone
and, since the maestri said I was very musical, they signed me for parts
for baritono brillante. Indeed, as a baritone I sang with some great
maestri: Serafin, De Sabata, Votto, Gavazzeni. No one ever said I was a
tenor instead of a baritone. I am much indebted to my wife, Adele, for my
career. One evening she was present at a Butterfly performance. The
tenor was Galliano Masini, the soprano was one of the first Japanese to
come to Italy, Tosiko Segava. In the dressing room that evening I sang C
natural—the famous C from the chest (I don’t know what “C
from the chest” means)—at the end of Act I. Masini had sung it
badly, so I did it in the dressing room. Perhaps it was a stroke of fortune
or because I didn’t know what it really meant to sing high C: to me
came perhaps the most beautiful C of my career. From that point, I really
began to think of changing register. Three months later—January 12,
1951—when my eldest son, Maurizio, was born, I made my tenor debut
as Andrea Chénier at the Petruzzelli in Bari. From then on, I sang
as a tenor. Nineteen fifty-one fortunately was the 50th anniversary of Verdi’s
death, and RAI signed me to sing the tenor leads in I due Foscari, Giovanna
d’Arco, Oberto, conte di San Bonifaccio, Aroldo, La forza del destino
and Simon Boccanegra.
SZ: Are there any tapes of you as a baritone?
CB: Unfortunately not. If they existed, they’d be something to laugh
about, but at least we’d spend some happy moments.
SZ: Did you experience problems in switching to tenor?
CB: Since my voice really wasn’t a baritone, in the three years I sang
as one I had to force my voice, in order to fatten it. For my first 15 days
as a tenor, I had some difficulty in lightening the sound, especially on
low notes. But I quickly found the right way, vocalizing on the breath,
lightening the voice and concentrating on legato.
SZ: As a baritone, what was your range?
CB: Not very high. I went up to F-sharp or G, but on G I was forcing, because
I wanted to fatten it, to make myself a baritone by strength.
SZ: When you began to retrain as a tenor, did your range change quickly?
CB: Over three months. When I was studying, I listened to records—not
to imitate them—of four great tenors of the past: Caruso, Gigli, Schipa
and Pertile. Caruso, for the inimitable purity of the sound. Gigli, for
a vocal technique that sang on the piano and carried the note, linking it
to the forte. Schipa, for his inimitable technique, achieved by no one else,
that allowed him, without having a beautiful vocal quality, to become a
great tenor. Pertile, for vocal technique and technique of interpretation.
I tried to steal a little of this technique. Imitation is never good and
in the end is impossible. But I tried to understand the vocal position and
the way in which they emitted sound. I sang Belcore in Elisir and
Marcello in Bohème with Gigli and a tour of Elisir with
Schipa, and I learned a great deal.
SZ: As a baritone, what was your lowest note?
CB: My voice really wasn’t made for low notes. The lowest you could
truly call a note—not a half noise—was B-flat.
SZ: After you switched to tenor, what was your lowest note?
CB: For a tenor, as you well know—for I know that you are one and they
tell me you sing quite well—the lowest note is a C. They say you are
an artist, and therefore you must know that a tenor must never force the
low notes but sing them lightly. They are called for, but there’s no
need to exaggerate them. Today is October 12. At this hour 35 years ago
my elder son was born, and it was a pleasure to receive the telegram announcing
that, right after Act I and the “Improvviso.” That night a career
also was born that—with some sacrifices on my part and on the part
of my wife, who has participated in my career—we have carried on for
35 long years of successes, and that is the greatest merit that we can honor.
SZ: What sacrifices?
CB: We sacrificed everything. My wife and I have travelled around the world
perhaps three times. The satisfactions have been few. We have gotten to
know New York a little in recent years, but in the other cities we have
known only two things: hotel and theater. And my wife has prepared the luggage
many, many times.
SZ: What happened after your emergence as a tenor and those first Verdi
performances?
CB: Radio was then the most effective system of propaganda and today is
still very effective. Impresarios and agents took an interest in me, and
I was able to begin my career.
SZ: When did you make your Scala debut?
CB: In 1954, with a modern opera by Jacopo Napoli, Masaniello. I
have 71 operas in my repertory, including works by unknowns: Bianchi, Napoli,
Rocca, Pizzetti, Rota and Franchetti. That was before I began my great career
with repertory operas.
SZ: Did you study music as a boy?
CB: No, I went to elementary school, and then I worked with my father, making
parmesan cheese. At 14, I entered the conservatory, studying piano for five
years. In making the switch from baritone to tenor, I was self taught. I
also learned the 71 operas entirely by myself.
SZ: You have no coach or repetiteur?
CB: No. But I’m not suggesting to young singers not to have a maestro,
for they are needed. Since no maestro told me I was a tenor, I studied on
my own and went ahead on my own.
Listener calls
Bill DiPeter: Was it a help or a hindrance to begin your career as a
baritone?
CB: Without doubt, it was an advantage. Singing as a baritone gave me the
fundamentals, helping me to gather together the sounds, and to have a base
from which to build that which I built as a tenor.
Rosina Wolf: What’s the Due Foscari—I’m not speaking of
the opera?
CB: You’re speaking of my restaurant and hotel in Busseto at the Piazza
Verdi. Travelling around the world, I found restaurants named after every
other Verdi opera, from Oberto to Falstaff, but no I due
Foscari; hence I chose the name.
Bill Masterson: You and Di Stefano caress phrases. But Raffanti, Pavarotti,
Raimondi and Ciannella don’t phrase well. Is that because of their
voices or because of their techniques?
CB: The question’s a little mischievous. Mr. Masterson’s is a
personal opinion of the sort made by all opera fans. Pavarotti has his personal
singing that reaches the summit, and he is the most famous tenor in the
world today; thus I don’t believe that he doesn’t even know how
to phrase. In the time of Caruso, Schipa and Gigli, some liked the way one
phrased but not the others, and today nothing is changed. Someone may like
Bergonzi, someone else may prefer Pavarotti, someone else, Domingo. Each
one of these great tenors at the apex of tenors—I don’t think
you can find defects. He who doesn’t have one thing has another. They
are all worthy of the names that they have.
Michele Simone: The name of Bergonzi has joined those of the century’s
greatest tenors: Pertile, Gigli, etc. Will you ever again sing at the Met?
CB: It’s up to the Met’s administration to sign Bergonzi. I can’t
intervene in these things, first of all because I’ve never asked anything
of any theater. In 35 years of career, I’ve never forced a maestro
or a theater to hire me. I’ve always been signed for my natural gifts,
and that’s my great satisfaction. For a season or two, a theater can
do without a particular tenor, because they haven’t appropriate repertory
and thus have no need of him.
Irwin Petri: Why is your upcoming concert a tribute to Gigli?
CB: That was my thought that I transmitted to my dear friend Eclesia Cestone
[who put up the money]. Having sung with Gigli and being a great fan, I
wanted to have the satisfaction of transmitting to the Carnegie Hall public
the songs and arias that he sang in his films. Gigli is the tenor who gave
me the greatest satisfaction.
Michael Tortora: What about Wagner, Lohengrin, in particular?
CB: I’ve only sung Lohengrin’s arias.
Howard Hart: Are there roles you’d like to sing?
CB: By now I’m on the threshold of a long road. I still have the pleasure
of singing and of diverting myself, and I am happy that the public that
comes to hear me diverts itself. But there’s no point in speaking of
new parts.
Peter Wilson: Who are the great sopranos and mezzos with whom you’ve
sung, and what made them great?
CB: I have the misfortune that the years have passed and now we are heading
into old age; but I have the good fortune to have taken part in the period
of great sopranos. I’ll tell you some names but may not remember them
all: Callas, Tebaldi, Milanov, Albanese, Kirsten, Scotto, Freni, Sutherland—with
whom I sang Lucia at Covent Garden in April, where I had the great
satisfaction, still, at my age, of having an optimal success.
Bob Rideout: You are the great tenor stylist of recent years. What did
you think of Callas as performer and singer?
continue |
|
