Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901)
Otello (1884-1886)
Otello – Mario del Monaco (tenor)
Desdemona – Victoria de los Angeles (soprano)
Iago – Leonard Warren (baritone)
Emilia – Rosalind Elias (mezzo-soprano)
Cassio – Paul Franke (tenor)
Lodovico – Nicola Moscona (baritone)
Montàno – Clifford Harvuot (baritone)
Roderigo – Charles Anthony (tenor)
Herald – Calvin Marsh (baritone)
Orchestra and Chorus of the Metropolitan Opera/Fausto Cleva
rec. live, 8 March 1958 at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York
PRISTINE AUDIO PACO154 [2 CDs: 123:32]
Otello had been a rarity at the Met during the first half century
of the work’s existence. A single performance with de Reszke in
1891, four with Tamagno in 1894/1895, four with Alvarez in 1901/1902,
eleven with Slezak between 1910 and 1913, then nothing until December
1937 when Martinelli assumed the role for the first time. From then
on, it became a regular feature, firstly as Martinelli’s exclusive
property until his retirement from the Met in 1945. Torsten Ralf and
Ramon Vinay sang some performances thereafter, but for many it was only
with the appearance of Mario del Monaco in 1955 that there was a true
successor to Martinelli.
I was particularly interested in this recording because I thought that
it really was time I listened objectively to del Monaco after decades
of dismissing him. The roots of my antipathy go back about 40 years,
when I acquired, pretty well by chance, the Decca LP of excerpts from
Zandonai’s Francesca da Rimini with Olivero and del Monaco.
I fell head over heels with both the music and Olivero, but del Monaco
seemed to do everything in his power to ruin the experience. It was
undoubtedly a fine voice, but his model for the role of Paolo il Bello
(!) seemed to be that of a rag and bone man coming calling down the
street. I found what he did on that recording simply unforgivable. My
feelings began to soften a few months ago when I read a passage from
an interview with Olivero included in the third volume of Stefan Zucker’s
Franco Corelli - a Revolution in Singing. She recalls that
recording session: “When he listened to the playback he exclaimed
‘I can’t believe it! After [you sang] that soft poetic phrase
I come in and what do a sound like - a boxer punching with his fists!’
He recorded the phrase again, but the second attempt more or less was
the same because he was incapable of singing piano. He was furious with
himself because he wanted to. He tried everything, but his technique
would not permit him to sing softly since it was totally based on the
muscles” (p. 214). It is difficult to feel so antipathetic towards
someone who so clearly wanted to do the right thing but simply could
not because of circumstances beyond his control.
So, has listening to de Monaco’s Otello been a revelation
of quality unfairly dismissed? The answer must be a resounding “yes”.
Del Monaco was never a deep musician, but nor, in fact, was he simply
the stereotype of the big dumb tenor whose only wish was to wow the
gallery. What this recording showed me was that his musicianship, though
instinctive rather than rational, in this role at least provides a gut
truth which is often outside the ability of more intellectual singers.
I never though I would ever utter this phrase, but as Otello, del Monaco’s
assumption is more successful than Jonas Kaufmann’s. What he has
which Kaufmann cannot provide is an animal unpredictability and raw
intensity without which the character of Otello cannot really work.
I love Kaufmann’s work, but he is a creature of the intellect,
whereas Otello thinks with his blood. No-one who is essentially rational
could fall so completely for Iago’s machinations.
The first act of Otello is one of the most difficult beginnings
of any opera for the tenor. The obvious first difficulty is that he
has to come on and, without so much as a semiquaver’s warming
up, sing the “Esultate!”. These few seconds are vital for
the character because if, as Aristotle said, a tragedy is the fall of
a great man, then this is all that Otello has to demonstrate his greatness.
Two present-day cultural trends are positively designed to make that
almost impossible to achieve. Firstly, the very idea of the hero who
stands and triumphantly proclaims news of his success in sending the
enemy to the bottom of the sea would now be seen as a textbook example
of “toxic masculinity”. Secondly, in our mincingly come
scritto age, conductors no longer allow the freedom of declamation
needed to do this and demonstrated by such early singers as Tamagno
(the role’s first singer), Zenatello and Martinelli. Secondly,
when Otello returns at the end of the act, he must sing a Love Duet
which requires exactly the sort of long-breathed, legato lines and poised
pianissimos that are the very thing that heroic tenors generally find
the most difficult to manage. Certainly, both Zenatello and Martinelli
(Tamagno did not record anything the from the Love Duet) are at their
least successful in this section.
Del Monaco lived before these two problems reached the acute stage that
they have today. His “Esultate” positively struts and exhibits
the sort of freedom within a basically very slow tempo that Tamagno
uses. The trumpet-tone and superb breath control make this exactly what
an “Esultate” should be; there is no doubt about the heroic
accomplishments of this character. “Abasso le spade”, when
Otello re-enters to quell the fight, exhibits the same quality. When
he moves into “Già nella notte densa”, we see that problems
begin. The dynamic is reasonably quiet, but there is a definite feel
of the tightrope walker here. The voice does not move easily and the
pitch is sometimes approximate; the G flat on “immenso”
is not a comfortable note. The more vigorous middle section of the duet
suits him better. He tries hard with “Venga la morte!”,
but the inability to sing really softly noted by Olivero vitiates his
attempt somewhat. Unsurprisingly, the final pianissimo A flat on “venere
splende” utterly defeats him (as it does 90% of Otellos - here,
Kaufmann is superb), but overall this is a very creditable performance
and nowhere near the bawl that some Otellos make of it.
Then we move into Act 2. From now on del Monaco is on home turf. In
the duet with Iago, the volcanic volatility of the character is immediately
on show. “Pel cielo, tu sei l’eco dei detti miei”
metaphorically grabs Iago by the throat and the incipient madness is
already there in “miseria mia… amore e gelosia vadan disperse
insieme”. Del Monaco manages a calmness at Desdemona’s first
pleadings for Cassio which is very effective, and when he does lose
composure the violence is frightening. During the succeeding quartet
where he wonders if it is his own failing that have caused Desdemona’s
change, he lacks the necessary introspection and self-doubt. “Tu?!
Indietro! Fuggi!!” and “Ora a per sempre” show him
in his element, the burnished tone conveying the character to perfection.
He does lack, perhaps, the specific verbal detailing that Martinelli
(for me, the greatest Otello) brings here and his “Sangues”
before “Si pel ciel”, though fine, similarly lack the cataclysmic
effect of the older singer, but the act is brought to a thrilling conclusion.
In the “Dio ti gioconda” duet with Desdemona near the start
of Act 3, de Monaco cannot quite do the ironic, icy calm that Martinelli
brings to his early phrases and the “dolce” markings are
ignored. Even so, as his passion rises while Desdemona continues to
plead for Cassio, his accusation and cry “Giura e ti danna”
are terrifying. Again, he cannot quite manage the faux-calm irony of
the return of beginning of the duet, but the hurled “quella vil
cortigiana che è la sposa d’Otello” is devastating. “Dio
mi potevi” is less successful, far too fast. It fails what John
Steane called the “A flat test”, by which he meant that
the singer must not deviate from the notated pitch for the two pages
until the line rises slowly to B flat then C. Otello should be numb
at this point. The less thoughtful singers use this as a chance to emote
all over the place, virtually making it sprechgesang (listen
to McCracken in the Barbirolli recording for a truly grotesque example
of this). Del Monaco is not among the worst – there is still far
too much emoting here – but “Ma o pianto o duol” is
very well handled. There will be much tutting at the length that he
holds onto “O gioia!”, but I am sure the burst of applause
from the audience would have been sufficient reward as far as del Monaco
was concerned!
In the final act del Monaco is on his best behaviour at his entrance,
staying scrupulously to the notated pitch, only as the scene progresses
does he become wilder until the murder. After, however, “Calma
come la tomba” is perfectly delivered, “Niun mi tema”
is again a little fast and external at the start, though it becomes
increasingly involved as it progresses and is a very moving account
which never descends into bathos.
De los Angeles ought to be the perfect Desdemona, and there are indeed
some lovely moments, but I was rather disappointed by her performance.
I do not think she has the heft necessary for the part. She needs to
dominate over some pretty large forces at times (for example the Act
3 concertato), but even in the quieter moments, the need to fill the
vast spaces of the Met means that she often seems to be forcing her
voice. She was a pure lyric soprano, not even a lyrico-spinto, let alone
the full spinto that the part needs at times. As a result, the voice
sometimes takes on a rather shrill edge. This is not helped by that
fact that, even though tonally it sounds as though she has a high soprano,
she actually had quite a short voice. She was only really comfortable
up to B flat; she had a B, but it is distinctly strained, at least on
the night of this recording, and the expected exquisite floating of
the line happens only intermittently. She is at her best in the “Dio
ti gioconda” duet and the “Esterrafatto fisso” section
in Act 3 after Otello has damned her, but the Love Duet, Willow Song
and Ave Maria disappoint (though there is a beautifully poised B flat
at the end).
Warren’s Iago is a fine performance. The part was his at the Met
for over decade. He was the Iago in all eight Met broadcasts of Otello
between 1946 and 1958 and would doubtless have continued to sing the
role had he not died onstage aged only 48 in 1960. He had taken over
the role from Lawrence Tibbett (who sang all the four Met broadcasts
of Otello prior to 1946) and the comparison is not in Warren’s
favour. Tibbett had a verbal insight and ability to characterise which
were simply far greater than Warren’s. Warren is at his best in
the Brindisi in Act 1 where a good rollicking delivery is essentially
all that is required, though I was very taken with his hangdog delivery
of “Avessi io prima stroncati i pie che qui m’adduser!”
where he pretends to be devastated at having to tell Otello of Cassio’s
drunkenness. In the conversation with Cassio at the start of Act 2,
he does not approach the subtlety of Tibbett’s “matiness”.
The Credo is a splendid, forthright sing, but again Tibbett brings a
fanatical fury and variety of colour, for example in his sneer at pious
old women. The same is true of “Era la notte” – but
I would simply become tediously repetitious if I continued.
Cleva’s conducting is very much of a piece with the rest of he
performance. There is plenty of vim and vigour, and the storm is exciting
though he does not have the cataclysmic force of Panniza (compare the
two in “Dio fulgar della bufera”) or the sense of calm-after-the
-storm relief in “Fuoco di gioia”. Tempi are regularly just
that bit too fast for the music to make its full effect. The real sign
that we are not in the presence of a true master, though, is in the
careless way he treats the transitional sections between the “big
bits”. He just wants them over and done with. Listen to the blankness
of the phrasing between the end of the “Abbasso le spade”
section and the start of the Love Duet, or the feebleness of those mountainous
chords in Act 3 after “A terra e piangi!”, or the lack of
atmosphere and foreboding in the orchestral introduction to the last
act.
Andrew Rose’s transfer is beyond reproach. The sense of atmosphere
and place is palpable and there is no appreciable distortion in even
the most hectic parts of the Storm or surface noise in even the quietest
parts of the Ave Maria. The voices come over with wonderful presence
and immediacy. It is a real privilege to be able to experience a performance
from 60 years ago without any sense of looking through a veil.
Although I have been critical of the rest of the cast (though only because
the great is the enemy of the good), this issue has been a revelation
to me as far as del Monaco is concerned. If you have been dismissive
of him as I was, I do urge you to give this a go. Perhaps you too will
have “road to Damascus” experience.
Paul Steinson
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