A Battle Of Adjectives

PHOTO: Associated Press

The little people in Dallas – my two older grandchildren – generally begin their seven-minute trip to pre-school with a comment on the day.

The younger – the redhead – will usually remark, “Mommy, it is a beautiful day!”

“Yes sweetheart, it is indeed a beautiful day!”

Her brother – only 15 months older – rejoins, “Mom, it is a handsome day!”

“Yes sir! It is a handsome day!”

“It is a beautiful day!”

“No, it is a handsome day!”

“A beautiful day!”

“A handsome day!”

This battle of adjectives continues without resolution until they arrive to the distraction of another day at pre-school.

There is today. It is a sad day with the news of the death of Joan Sutherland, the renowned soprano.

When it comes to descriptive terms and Dame Joan, the only adjectives that could be argued would be those associated with any which disparage her ability, her achievements, and her good natured decency in a world famous for histrionics. As Brian Kellow would state in the article on her death in OPERA NEWS, “Sutherland ……was a model of consistency.”

There is just nothing bad to say about Dame Joan.

I first encountered the remarkable voice at a spaghetti feast in the home of my vocal coach sometime in 1962. A recording had just become available. We listened in absolute awe. The resulting comments of that evening centered around the general theme, “I cannot not believe this amazing instrument.”

It was unbelievable. After her debut at La Scala, the normally overly critical Italian press dubbed her, “La Stupenda!”

I last saw her on stage in a production of Donizetti’s Anna Bolena at Lyric Opera in Chicago in the mid-eighties. It was still unbelievable.

In contrast to the antics of Maria Callas, who had reintroduced the “bel canto” (beautiful song) to the opera world, Sutherland was sane and sensible. She never failed to live up to her audience’s vocal expectations. This “presbyterian” approach paid off in a long and celebrated career.

The career was void of controversy. There were no firings, no process servers meeting airplanes, no trysts on yachts off Greece, and no t-shirts sported by any casts which read, “I SURVIVED THE BATTLE.” Did you get that, Kathleen?

However, for this gifted singer, it was not a direct path to glory.

Sutherland, owing to her physical stature and on the advice of early voice teachers, felt that she would have a career in the ponderous melodies of Wagner. She admitted to seeing herself as a Kirsten Flagstad. I cannot imagine Dame Joan’s expansive chin strapped into a horned helmet. The glare from the breastplate would have been problematic, as well.

But thanks to the perceptiveness of Richard Bonynge, her vocal coach and accompanist at the Royal Academy in London, she was guided toward the upper register and toward the elaborate melodies of the bel canto composers. Bonynge, who would become her husband and favored conductor, taught her the intricate ornamentation required of this genre. Her trills were legendary. If you can listen to only one example of Joan Sutherland, I would recommend the 1964 recording of Bellini’s Norma. The “Casta Diva” is beyond belief.

The story goes that before the transformation to a coloratura had been completed, Sutherland stopped by the Metropolitan Opera in NYC in 1957 on her way from Vancouver to London. She auditioned and was accepted as a “stable soprano.” In any opera, there are many roles filled out by the “resident” singers of the company. The stars – big names – are the ticket sellers; the stable singers provide the backbone. She was offered $1,500 a week at that point. She declined the offer and when she returned triumphantly in 1961 as Lucia, she was paid almost 10 times that each time she walked on stage. Thank you Mr. Bonynge!

Sutherland’s voice had one peculiarity – well, actually two. Her diction, even when singing in English, was problematic. She did nothing to hamper the purity of her tone, so often you could not understand her words. She also used a “high tongue” position which did not impact her, but did do havoc for any number of singers who thought they could get away with it. Only Joan!!

Since Bonynge was often her vocal coach and critic, the two of them worked out a system where the voice was a "third" entity in the marriage. The voice could be discussed without it being personal. "Didn't you feel the voice was a bit under pitch today?" That can really ruin most marriages.

Sutherland was very conscious of her weight and stature on stage. As a result, she insisted on bringing her own costumes for opera productions in which she was appearing. While there were some concessions to the wishes of the production, the design and line of each of her outfits was styled to play down her width. Often, there was a lighter color material down the middle of the dress, with darker panels to the side. “Hey, look at me, I’m slim!”

But nobody cared. That voice did it for the world.

It was said that during rehearsal breaks she could be found backstage knitting for her grandchildren. She was unassuming, a regular person with the greatest voice of the century.

She was beautiful!

She was handsome!

She was both, and more!

In December, I will pull out “The Joy Of Christmas” and fill the house with the sounds of Joan. I will not understand many of the words, but that will not bother me in the least. It is about the voice!

Thank you Joan Sutherland.

Sitting In The Dark, Hoping To Understand

In the midst of all the talk about Black Friday and Cyber Monday, I heard a blurb on WFMT about a new production of Franz Lehár’s “The Merry Widow,” just in time for the holiday season. The story involves a debt-ridden country attempting to capture the millions of a wealthy widow in order to save their economy. A contrived stimulus package. This has a strange ring of reality about it.

Opera and reality?

Now while I personally enjoy opera, I am the first to admit that there is nothing created by humankind that is more bizarre. Think about it: singing a dialogue, generally in a foreign language, then reflecting upon this dialogue with soaring melodies that challenge the bounds of the vocal physiology. All the while, this supported by a symphonic ensemble, a stage crew, prompters, lighting technicians, and an adoring public prone to wearing capes and peering through the darkness of the theatre via little golden binoculars held in place by “mother of pearl” sticks. (Okay, so I have exaggerated a bit about the capes and the opera glasses. But, only slightly.)

When people have expressed reluctance to attend opera because of not understanding the language, I have always insisted that even without knowing the language, there will be enough happening on stage to give one a basic understanding of the story.

After attending a performance of Kodály’s “Székely Fonó” (The Transylvanian Spinning Room), I may wish to amend that.

My encounter with this opera took place at the grand Hungarian State Opera in Budapest. This is a house built in the late 19th Century in a Renaissance/Baroque style and a lavish tribute to the operatic art form. Like opera, itself, everything about this palace for performance is a bit “over the top.” Since the Kodály work was new to me, I attempted with no success to research the story in advance. Having failed, I was reassured by my mantra to others: “there will be enough happening on the stage to give a basic understanding of the story.”

In this staging, the house lights lowered and you heard the sound of a steam locomotive pulling to a stop. Stage lights revealed several figures in black trench coats and black hats standing in front of the curtain. As the idle train hissed the sound of escaping steam, two figures divested their dark coats and hats to reveal heavily decorated Hungarian folk dress. In an immediate blackout, the train is heard to pull away and in a bit, stop again. The lights go up on the same group and two more people divest revealing brightly-colored folk costumes. This continues until the whole group stands before us in their traditional native dress. At this point, the music began and the curtain opened onto a large room filled with spinning machines. In the background there was a simulated forest with various wooden bridges on and over which people in black trench coats sometimes appeared. (Remember the train?) Downstage, near the edge is a box from which objects/props were removed from time to time. There was a bridge across the orchestra into the audience over which people sometimes left. I don’t recall if anyone ever returned from that direction. People sang. People embraced. People sometimes looked really sad. A couple of times I caught the glimpse of a smile. (Someone either happy or out of character.)

Despite watching everything intently, I have no idea what this opera is about. I can only say that everyone who started out singing was still singing in the end and seemed happy about things. The people in black trench coats were no longer hovering ominously in the background. The music was up-tempo.

Since the month-long wedding of Fernando and Christine back in 1589, opera has captured the imaginations of music lovers. My good friend, Mike, recently purchased season tickets to the opera. Having grown up in a less urbane part of the Midwest where there were not a lot of opportunities to hear opera, he wanted to experience a new musical idiom. Sadly, Mike’s first encounter was opera on hormones: Wagner! Some of these operas last for days with nothing even approaching reality.

Once, at a performance of “La Bohème” at Chicago’s Lyric Opera, a stage that boasts the largest proscenium opening of any opera house in the world, the curtain opened to reveal the humble loft of the starving artists of the story. In this design, rather than being a small hovel amid the Paris skyline, this loft encompassed the whole of the vast opening of the Lyric stage.

The older lady seated to my left whisper loudly to her friend beyond. “It’s no wonder they are so poor; trying to heat that place.”

Lady, it’s opera. Like our economy, don’t expect anything reasonable. Just sit in the dark and hope to understand.