Remembering Jussi Bjoerling

Remembering Jussi Bjoerling

Remembering the Great Tenor Jussi Bjoerlng

BY WARREN BOROSON

NEWJERSEYNEWSROOM.COM

Some opera singers, as wonderful as their voices were, almost completely faded away once they stopped singing. Perhaps their voices weren’t distinctive enough, or maybe just not good enough. Or they specialized too much — like Friedrich Schorr, famous for his roles in Wagner’s operas.

    In the case of one of my favorites, the tenor Richard Crooks, I suspect that his fleeting fame had something to do with his not making any movies. Perhaps that distinguishes him from tenor Mario Lanza, who made quite a number of films still occasionally shown on television, like “The Great Caruso.”

    Other older singers whose fame seems to have endured, or whose voices have been rediscovered, include Lucia Popp, Conchita Supervia, and — especially — Jussi Bjoerling (1911-1960). I meet a good many sophisticated music lovers who go on and on about the beauty of Bjoerling’s voice and about his clear superiority over other tenors. (Excepting Caruso.) They don’t become similarly enthusiastic about Benjamino Gigli or Mario del Monaco or Richard Tauber.

  I myself am one of Bjoerling’s admirers. In my 20s I collected just about every record he had ever made. When I actually heard him sing at the Met, I wondered: Why don’t critics and others in the audience acknowledge how singularly gifted he is?

   Trying to account for his superiority is not easy. The essential explanation may be that his voice was just unusually beautiful. Someone said that it was a combination of silver and gold — sweet but also powerful.

   His range was so broad that once, when a soprano he was singing with could not continue, he stealthily sang her soprano role for the remainder of the act.

   Critics point out that his voice is consistent. Whether he sang low or high, you know it’s the same singer — his chest voice didn’t differ much from his head voice. And when he sang  any note, he hit it directly in the center. As for his high notes, they were, as one critic pointed out, using the perfect word, “thrilling.” One conductor said that Bjoerling seemed incapable of making a musical mistake. What’s more, his voice did not change with age. Finally, his singing seemed effortless — even those thrilling high notes. I don’t have the impression that Caruso’s singing was effortness: I imagine him hurrying through an aria so as to rush offstage for a smoke.

     Yes, as an actor Bjoerling was rather wooden: “I am a singer, not an actor,” he said. But he acted with his voice. Other criticisms: His voice tended to have conveyed a tinge of melancholy, his Italian was none too good. And yes, he was no Einstein. I’ve never seen a comment he made about the roles he played. What might he have been if not a singer? His answer: a fisherman. What did he do in his spare time — besides fish? He would watch Abbott and Costello movies and Westerns. (There’s an old saying: The higher the voice, the lower the intelligence. It might apply to tenors, like Gigli, as well as sopranos.)  

      I think of Bjoerlng as another Heifeitz. The perfect musician.

     Alas, he drank too much. And if he hadn’t, he might have lived long enough to sing in “Otello” and “Lohengrin.” He was waiting until his voice darkened.

    After drinking, he could become quite nasty. A waiter, hearing him lash out at his family while in his cups, went home and destroyed his Bjoerling records. His wife was thinking of divorcing him, and even consulted a lawyer.

    But he could also be also kind and considerate — especially with new artists, encouraging them and giving them support.  

    He had feuds — for example, with Rudolph Bing, manager of the Met. Someone once said of Bing that beneath his cold and gruff exterior… beat a heart of stone. Actually, Bjoerling seemed to have tried Bing’s patience — continually demanding more money — agreeing to give a concert, then backing out.V

     He started singing at age 4, taught by his father, also a singer. He and his two brothers and their father formed a quartet, which visited the United States. He made his formal American debut in 1937, age 26, at the Met as Rudolfo in “Boheme.”

   He married twice, and his second wife, an opera singer herself, co-wrote Bjoerling’s biography.

   For a long time he had had heart problems, and he died of a heart attack at only 49.                                                                                                                                     ***

      Victoria de los Angeles said, “It was far, far more beautiful voice than you can hear on the records he left.”

     His duet with Robert Merrill of an aria from “Pearl Fishers” became a best-seller. And his recording of “Boheme” with de los Angeles, conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham, is considered, rightly, a classic.

    Sometimes I turn on the radio and hear a singer — and think, wow is he good! Then I think — it must be Jussi. And yes, it turns out to be Jussi.

   He refused to pay for a claque — members of the audience paid to applaud at the right time.

   “The day I have to pay for applause is the day I quit,” he said. The head of the claque said, “We’ll make an exception for you. You don’t have to pay.”  

    He was considered for the role of Caruso in “The Great Caruso,” and he even went to Hollywood for a tryout. The movie people wanted to alter his nose by plastic surgery so he would look more like Caruso — or have an actor play the role, while Jussi sang on the soundtrack. The role went to Mario Lanza.

   In Hollywood Mario Lanza invited him over, they embraced, talked about singing — got drunk. Later, Bjoerling would get angry when his kids praised Lanza’s singing.

    He was banned by the Nazis from appearing in the Vienna State Opera because he wouldn’t learn “Rigoletto” and “Boheme” in German.

     Tenors have a well-justified reputation as lechers. Jussi was an exception. He never fooled around.

     But Ezio Pinza did. The great basso went after every woman around him. Jeanette Macdonald, singing with Pinza in Canada, found the perfect antidote: “Cut it out.”

    Jussi heard that Pinza was hitting on his wife.

   Said he, “My God! And he isn’t even a tenor!”

   My favorite Jussi story:

   He saw a poster for one of his concerts — calling him the world’s greatest tenor. He objected.

    Who’s better? His agent asked.

   Gigli, said Jussi. 

    Gigli cannot sing lieder, said the agent.

   Jussi then named other tenors — Mario del Monaco, maybe Mario Lanza.

    The agent named a failing that each of the other tenors suffered from.

    Jussi thought about it. Then said, “You know, I just MAY be the world’s greatest tenor!”

    In my book, he certainly is.

                                                                                          ***

Bjoerling in Song

Salut demeure, “Faust,” Gounod

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJL1LqX9Uao&feature=related

“O Soava fanciulla,” “Boheme,” Puccini --with Renata Tebaldi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yn7bQXnIx_k&feature=related

Pearl Fishers’ Duet, Bizet — with Robert Merrill

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PYt2HlBuyI&feature=related

Je crois entendre encore, Pearl Fishers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QFgPtmM7Ps&feature=related

Il mio tesoro, “Don Giovanni,” Mozart

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYPRYWt5gQU&feature=related

Only a Rose, Romberg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=UO40WAQqrAk

Merrill on Bjoerling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zqd5JU_Hxg

Because

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Q_lCKFe-ok&feature=related

La donna e mobile, Rigoletto, Verdi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YwTLzAm2jPs&feature=related

Celeste Aida, Aida, Verdi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cheBJTQxYU&feature=related

I Dream of Jeannie, Foster

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09oT6cehVLY&feature=related

E lucean le stelle, Tosca, Puccini

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2buzmEi0OxM&feature=related

Una furtiva lagrima, L’elixir d’amore, Donizetti

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVjvFX98qMY&feature=related

Nessun dorma, Turandot, Puccini

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPEG914GATk&feature=related

Oh Holy Night

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvMQlMgjoPY

Song of India

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-hwvh58a20&feature=related

Singing unaccompanied

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJ-TdhsjLbw&feature=related

The Bjoerlng Quartet

http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=3pacrWoAE7Q

A Forgotten But Great American Opera Singer

An All-But-Forgotten But Great American Opera Singer

BY WARREN BOROSON

Born in Farmington, Maine, she may have been the first American opera singer to become famous all over the world. She was the first American opera singer to sing at Wagner’s opera house, in Bayreuth. And some consider her the most glamorous opera singer of all time — surpassing even Geraldine Ferrer. As for her voice, a  music professor described it as “indescribably magnificent.” A music critic said her voice was “as beautiful, as smooth, as mellow, velvety and luscious as the voice of any prima donna I have ever heard.”

     She sang everywhere, including, of course, the Metropolitan Opera. Early in her career, audiences in Europe went crazy about her singing. After one concert, members of the orchestra, along with a crowd, followed her to her hotel and serenaded her until 1 a.m. Other admirers sent her rare jewels. One particular admirer, without having even met her at the time, sent her a check for $10,000!

   A cloak was named after her. So was a new color. And then there was Chicken Nordica. (See below for the recipe.)

   Yet Lillian Norton (La Nordica) is almost totally forgotten today. My excuse for writing about her now is that she died 100 years ago this year — on May 10, 1914 — at the relatively young age of 56, and her last legal address was in Deal, N.J., and her ashes rest in Jersey City.

   Things you may not know about the admirable Lillian Nordica:

   • She was an ardent feminist. She even condoned the Suffragettes’ resorting to violence, and vigorously defended Madame Pankhurst, even though Pankhurst did such dreadful things as breaking windows. Nordica went so far as to say — good God! — that she would vote for a woman for President.

   • She sang with such famous contemporaries as Caruso, Melba, and Schumann-Heink. Said Schumann-Heink, “She sang like nobody I ever heard sing — nobody.”

    • When operatic superstars like the arrogant Jean de Reszke tried to bully her, she stood up to them. (De Reszke: “If I want it, I want it.”)

     • Among the conductors she sang for: the young Toscanini, the young Stokowski.

     • Gounod, Ambrose Thomas, and Sir Arthur Sullivan worked with her. Verdi went out of his way to meet her.

  • Unlike some other sopranos — of whom it’s been said, the higher the voice, the lower the intelligence — she was well read, as well as a fine writer.

   • She suffered one of the nastiest insults an opera singer has ever endured. When she was already famous, she invited an even more famous opera singer, Lili Lehmann, to a getogether. Insultingly, Lehmann responded: She was not accepting any more students at this time. So, what did our heroine La Nordica do? She killed Lehmann with kindness.

   Two years later, on Jan. 2, 1899, Lehmann discovered that she had not brought any black stockings with her for a performance of “Don Giovanni.” Nordica, also singing in that opera, had an extra pair, and sent them to Lehmann’s dressing room. The next day, the stockings were returned (washed), with a note from Lehmann to “My dearest Mrs. Nordica,” thanking her profusely… and adding that Nordica’s voice was much better than it had been two years ago.

    • News that an American had been chosen to sing Elsa in “Lohengrin” at Bayreuth was received with outrage. Why not a German soprano? Nordica was a favorite of Cosima Wagner, Wagner’s widow, until she dared to sing at a rival opera house —and Cosima would have nothing more to do with her. (A music critic has written that Cosima Wagner may have been the most obnoxious human being ever — but then corrected himself, explaining that he had forgotten about Wagner himself.)

   • She was one helluva hard worker. She sang in operas for mezzos, contraltos, and sopranos. Whenever another singer became ill and could not sing, old reliable Nordica would substitute. “Plenty have voices equal to mine, plenty have talents equal to mine,” she said. “But I have worked.” What did she want said about her at her funeral? “She did her damdedest.”

  • She did such admirable things as singing free of charge for charities, bowing to the people in the poorer seats, singing to raise money for the victims of the Titanic disaster.

   • If she had an Achilles’ heel, it was the heels she married. (Like many other opera singers, she spent so much time singing, she was late in maturing.) Said our fair lady: “I’m just a poor picker of husbands.”

     1. Frederick Gower. It was he who sent her a check for $10,000. A colleague of Alexander Graham Bell’s, he has been described by Nordica’s biographer as “uncongenial, uncultured, and an intellectual boor.” He wanted her to give up singing; he ever burned her scores and her costumes.  Later, overwhelmed with debt, he was riding in a balloon when he disappeared mysteriously at sea. For years Nordica was fearful that he would turn up again.

      2. Zoltan Dome, a second-rate singer. According to Nordica’s biographer, Dome gave up “all pretense of being a singer now that he was so comfortably married to a successful one … [and] was the sort who cuts old friends, and probably the kind who is rude to waiters.” She divorced him after he had threatened to shoot her.

    3. A New Jersey banker and corporation director named George Washington Young. It was he who built a luxurious abode in Deal. After he lost much of his money (and a lot of hers) and after Nordica had died, he tried to break her will. Unsuccessfully. He had also replaced precious stones in a valuable tiara of hers with paste.

    • Was she ever outspoken! She was vexed that no American singers had performed in the American premiere of Puccini’s “Girl of the Golden West” at the Met, and she thought that the opera itself distorted the truth. “I have been in the West myself and know what the life of the miners there is. That is the reason I know how good the Americans would have been in the opera and how untrue to the spirit of this country the music is.” As for Prohibition, she said she would resent any law that forbade her “a glass of wine and a piece of pie.”

   • The quality of Nordica’s recordings is, sad to say, woeful. As she grew older, like many other singers, her voice suffered. Also, the few recordings that had been made deteriorated — including the famous recordings made by Lionel Mapleson, the Met librarian, and nephew of the impresario Colonel Mapleson. Lionel used over 100 cyclinders to record actual performances, but the cylinders eventually became moldy and dirty. Besides, the recordings were only two minutes long. The cylinders are  now at the New York Public Library. I bought copies of some of the recordings recently. Disappointing.

    While Nordica was not always lucky, she was blessed with having a wonderful biographer: Ira Glackens, author of “Yankee Diva” (1963) and son of a famous American painter. He describes being a passenger on a ship sailing across the Atlantic in the late 19th century; he reports what women wore to the opera back then. Here are samples of his writing:

    “An ever-present mother-in-law [Nordica’s mother] who secretly hates her son-in- law is not a situation conducive to serene domestic life….”

     “Facts have a stubborn way of not arranging themselves as artistically as might be wished.” (Anent the false assertion that Nordica’s final aria was Brunnhilda’s Immolation scene. Actually, it was an aria by Verdi.)

   Another fine book, which has a worthwhile essay on Nordica, is Peter G. Davis’ “The American Opera Singer” (1997).

                                                            +++

    She was born Lillian Norton but, when she became famous, was known as La Nordica.

    Her older sister, Wilhemina, had a promising voice, and it was she who got the singing lessons. When Lillian sang along, her sisters actually paid her to keep her mouth shut. But after Wilhemina died, at age 18, the family recognized that Lillian had an almost identical voice. Now she was given the singing lessons.

    A music teacher in Italy advised her to change her name, to a more Italian-sounding name — Giglio Nordica.

    She died of pneumonia in Jakarta, Java, after touring in Australia and being exposed in a hurricane. On her deathbed, she disinherited her husband. Her body was cremated, and her ashes placed in Young’s family plot in the New York Bay Cemetery in Jersey City.

                                                +++

         When she was among the world’s most famous opera singers, Nordica (1857-1914) visited relatives of hers in Martha’s Vineyard — as related by Ira Glackens.

    Her young cousin, Franklin, 18, had a job delivering milk.

    That morning, he was delivering milk to a house where the owner took in guests. The window was open, and Franklin stopped to listen to a recording of La Nordica singing “Mighty Lak’ a Rose.”

  Oh look, said the landlady contemptuously. The milkman is listening to Nordica!

  Franklin, embarrassed, went home and told Nordica what had happened.

  The next  day, at 5 a.m., Nordica climbed into the milkman’s truck and sat beside him while he delivered milk.

  They were a little delayed.

  When they arrived at the house of the rude landlady, the woman called out, Why are you late? Were you listening to Nordica?

   She had fallen into the trap…

  The book’s author writes merely that “one can guess the denouement.” 

  I suggest that the denouement might have been:  I was, the young man  responded. Would you like to meet my famous cousin, La Nordica?

The “Death-Defying” Chicken Nordica

(as modernized by John Prince)

1 capon, about 4 lbs, with giblets

prosciutto (or ham) sliced thin

¼ lb. veal, ground

¼ lb. chicken livers

1 cup milk

2 eggs, well beaten

5 slices bread

2 tbsp. flour

5 onions

2 stalks celery; celery tops

butter

parsley

¼ cup Armagnac or cognac

salt, pepper, thyme, Tabasco

Rub the capon with butter, salt, and pepper, stuff it with a cut-up onion and a stalk of celery. Place it in an uncovered baking pan in oven pre-heated to 400 degrees. Brown for about 45 minutes, turning so as to catch all the sides and ending with breast up.

    Meanwhile, make a broth of the giblets, an onion, and a stalk of celery coarsely cut, in enough water to end with three cups. Set this aside for basting and gravy.

   When the bird is browned, cover the breast with thin slices of prosciutto (ham if necessary) and baste. Lower heat to 350 degrees and bake for about 1½ hours. (A meat thermometer is useful here.)

    Next, prepare the dressing, which is cooled separately but put into the oven for the last hour. In a large skillet, lightly brown in butter three onions, a handful of celery tops, and a handful of parsley, all finely chopped.  Add the ground veal and the chicken livens, stirring for two minutes over a low flame. Add the slices of crumpled bread and more butter if necessary. Stir slowly for a few minutes. Remove from fire, add the milk, eggs, salt, pepper, and a pinch of thyme. Mix well and place in a flat baking dish that can come to the table. Put into oven about an hour before capon is done.

    When capon is nearly finished (about 15 minutes), sprinkle the flour about in is juices.  When bird is just done, pour the Armagnac or cognac over it and let cook five minutes longer.

   Transfer capon to a platter and keep warm while you make the gravy. Put the baking dish on top of the stove. Stir the juices with a wire whisk.  Add the remaining broth and cook, stirring constantly, until the gravy thickens. Salt and pepper to taste, and add a tint dash of Tabasco.

   

La Nordica in Song

Peter Davis: “…a truly staggering display of vocal self-assurance.”

From Die Walkure (1903)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OI0TSa1vKRU

Davis: Nordica “fearlessly and exuberantly attacks a series of runs and staccatos, eventually ascending to a high B before tossing off a stunning climcactic trill.” (1907)

Aria from Erkel’s “Hunyadi Laszlo”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJONaCbrYKs

To receive Boroson’s music articles, drop him a note at WarrenBoroson@aol.com.

Remembering Martha Glaser

Martha and I worked together at Medical Economics company years ago—in Oradell--I worked at Medical Economics magazine, she at Drug Topics—

Most boring place in the world to work—

Every other week, someone resigned and signed up for combat duty overseas…

To help keep boredom at bay, among other things we held surprise birthday parties—Invited people to lunch, near their birthdays, then all shouted HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Martha was the only peron who didn’t show up for her birthday party—she got busy at the last minute--When I told her that we had a wonderful time without her, she was pleased—really--That’s the kind of person she was—

We became friends again not long ago thanks to a social group called the Hobbyists

Roy is a mmber—and we went places togeother—to concerts, plays, and so forth—and to HowesCaverns—that’s an inside joke--

The rest of my life is going to be a little less fun because Martha won’t be there—

She was kind, generous, warm, agreeable--no envy, no nastiness—just niceness--

and smart—

Whenever I got an email from her, it didn’t have a dopy joke or a riddle –it had a sensible comment—like, that joke of yours ,warren, was much better than the one you sent me yesterday—

People loved her—Roy, of course—also her former husband—she showed me her investment portfolio after he died—almost all of her money was in money market funds—I thought—very conservative, too conservative—but he was deeply concerned that she not run out of money—

She didn’t attend our recent seder service—she wasn’t feeling well—but she had promised to provide us with a fruit salad—and when we discovered we needed a dozen hardboiled eggs, we knew whom to ask—

The night of the seder, Roy came with the fruit salad—and a dozen hardboiled eggs—

Anyway, Alice Roosevelt Longworth, daughter of Teddy, was a piece of work—at a party she told a guest, if  you don’t have anything nice to say about anyone, come here, sit by me—well, Mrs Longworth wouldn’t have invited Marttha to sit by her—

And that would have been her loss—

I feel privileged to have had Martha as a friend—

Even Fred Astaire Wound Up With Arthritis!

Even Fred Astaire Wound Up With Arthritis!

  

As we age, arthritis attacks even the best of us. Including Fred Astaire.

     In her superlative book, “The Astaires Fred & Adele” (Oxford University Press, 2012), Kathleen Riley reports that as he aged Fred suffered from painful arthritis, largely “the result of the grueling nature and unusual longevity of his dancing career….”

     Her book is full of colorful details, bons mots, and brief profiles of the famous. In a word, it’s delicious.

   There’s a lot I didn’t know about Astaire and his sister, Adele. What a gifted couple they were! They danced together until she retired — to marry an English nobleman (who turned out to be a drunk).  

     Some things I learned:

+ Fred and Ginger Rogers may not have been totally chaste. At the end of one “delightful” evening, Ginger reported, Fred gave her a kiss that “would never have passed the Hays office code!” When they met again a few years later, Fred was distant, explaining, “I’m married now.” One author, Martha Nomichson, gathers from this remark that they had a “subtext of a sexual history.”

+ Their father, Fritz Austerlitz, was Jewish, but converted to Catholicism to escape anti-Semitism.

+ When they performed together, starting when they were children, she was the more talented. (She was almost two years older.) While taking lessons in New York City, for a while they lived in Weehawken.

+ While they seemed to be the height of sophistication, they were born in Omaha, Nebraska.

+Sir James Barrie (who created Peter Pan) asked Adele to play Peter Pan in a performance. She loved the idea, but her contract wouldn’t permit it.

+ Adele has been described (by John Mueller) as a  “high-spirited, mercurial, petty, profane, acerbic, charming, possessive, witty, exasperating, unpredictable, loving, and, I suspect, deeply vulnerable woman.”

 + That clever writer Robert Benchley wrote: “I don’t think I will plunge the nation into war by stating that Fred is the greatest dancer in the world.”

+ George Balanchine, the choreographer, compared Fred to Bach—and said Fred danced as if he had no bones.

+ Fred watched a young dancer and called him “the neatest, fastest Charleston dancer ever.” George Raft was a dancer before he became an actor.

+ Adele may have had a failed affair with George Gershwin. “Absolutely I know he was impotent,” she once said.

+ Irving Berlin wanted Adele to play Annie Oakley in “Annie Get Your Gun,” and she considered it—but said no.

+ Fred was a perfectionist. Once, when Adele came for an evening performance inebriated, in the wings Fred slapped her hard on each cheek, making her cry. She sobered up; it was the only time he hit her.

+ He wasn’t an intellectual. He spent much of his time at horse races, golf courses, and pool rooms.

+ Adele wanted to be the most important woman in Fred’s life—even to the point of disdaining Fred’s wife: “…if only he hadn’t married that woman, I think he’d be completely happy,” she once said.

+ She occasionally said that she wished he had been a homosexual, perhaps because then he could have resisted designing women.

+ Fred told Adele he wanted to get married because “he didn’t want to wake up with the morning papers” and because he knew that many people thought he was a homosexual.  “He was often, she said, the object of some male’s infatuation and even received propositioning letters.”

+ He married heiress Phyllis Potter at the last moment, rushing out to buy a ring. Headline in a paper the next day: “Astaire weds $30,000,000 Heiress with $5 Ring.”

+ He and Adele once shared a bill with Bill (Bojangles) Robinson, the great black dancer. His first words to Fred: “Boy, you can dance!” Said Fred: “That meant a lot to me.”

+ George Jean Nathan, the drama critic, pursued Adele, but he had a roving eye. He once told her that he had to meet with French ambassador. Adele found out later that the “French ambassador” was the actress Lillian Gish.

+ Cole Porter wrote “Night and Day” especially for Astaire’s voice.

+ His voice was nothing to write home about. But composers appreciated that he didn’t take liberties. And an English critic said Astaire electrified his audience “by singing a song with a mere semblance of a voice.”

+ When Adele died, at age 85, Fred was grief-stricken; a friend of Adele’s said her death was hastened by Fred, at 81, marrying a young jockey.

+ The most succinct praise for the two Astaires came from John Mueller in his foreward: “Nothing like them since the Flood.”