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Giacomo Lauri-Volpi
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| It must be doubted whether the Viterbo audience of September 2nd 1919, who watched a twenty-eight-year old 'Giacomo Rubini' step on the stage to sing Bellini's I Puritani, would have given credence to the prophesy that this same tenor would in twenty years time be hailed the generation's finest Otello.
The light-shaded voice that was given its first professional hearing that night, with its quick, plaintive bleat and porcelain delicacy, was not cut from the same material as that which traditionally equipped a spinto Verdi tenor like Tamagno or Zenatello.
This young tenor was in fact Giacomo Lauri-Volpi, and he had assumed the name Rubini at his début to associate himself with the old Italian school of bel canto, or, more particularly, its prime tenor exponent of that name, Bellini's personal favourite no less.
It was not long, however, before his mastery of phrase, his facility for expansive tone in the highest tessitura, and his integration of dynamic variety into a single, seamless timbre, led him to test himself against more dramatic repertoire.
Thus it was that the unearthly limpidity, so characteristic of his early vocal career, gradually eroded, to be replaced by a new, hard-driven clarion delivery, with particular emphasis on anvil-struck top notes.
Relentless vocal abuse of this sort inevitably damaged both his resources and his reputation as the years advanced.
Yet the middle part of his career witnessed a fruitful blend of stylistic elements, and saw him emerge as a singer of great versatility: one who could tackle the dramatic demands of Verdi's heavier roles (such as Manrico, Radames, Alvaro, and, of course, Otello) while still retaining the mezza voce and head-voice quality of well-schooled bel canto.
It is from this period that the excerpts included on this disc are taken.
Giacomo Lauri-Volpi's birth date has been a subject of debate, but is generally held to have been December 11th 1892. He was born in Lanuvio, near Rome, the fifteenth child of a businessman. Orphaned at the age of eleven, he was educated at a seminary and went on to study law at Rome University. His later writings - articles and books - attest to his being a musician of considerable scholastic inclination, and it is doubtless due to his literary sensitivity that he was able to implant such dramatic verve into his theatrical interpretations of the great Verdi roles. After graduating from university the young tenor studied at Rome's Accademia di Santa Cecilia under the veteran baritone Antonio Cotogni, but was called to participate in the First World War after only a year of lessons. His career as a professional singer began almost immediately after the close of hostilities, and within six years he had appeared at every major opera house in the world, including New York's Met, to which he remained closely associated until 1933 when he refused to accept the management's drastic 'economic recession' salary cuts. His future European career was further confined to Italy with the arrival of war in 1939 and his own undisguised affiliation with the fascists. Such was his prominence as a national figure under Mussolini's regime (and his reputation as the Duce's favourite) he thought it best to slip out of Italy in 1945 and settle in Spain. It was not until the late 1940s that his presence on the international opera circuit was once again acceptable, by which time his vocal skills had deteriorated somewhat. However, he continued to appear, to considerable popular acclaim, up until the the end of the 1950s, and released a record of operatic arias at the age of eighty-one, in 1973. He died, an elder statesman of his craft, in 1979 at Burjasot, near Valencia. His long and successful career was marred only by his reputation for temperamental outbursts, furious cancellations, and rather over-indulgent displays of his own vocal worth. The Duke in Rigoletto was the first Verdi role Lauri-Volpi ever sang professionally, and it continued a firm favourite, eventually establishing him as a leading tenor in Italy with his 1922 début at La Scala, Milan. The 'Ella mi fu rapita' included here was recorded in 1934, just two months after his triumphant performance of the same opera at the Teatro Reale in Rome. On that occasion critical opinion judged his vocal dexterity to be splendidly derivative of the traditional bel canto school, while at the same time gilded with truly thrilling top notes, "the most perfect in living memory." It is apparent when listening to the recording that Lauri-Volpi's approach to the role is indeed based on bel canto principles: the glorification of melodic line, married to a display of complete vocal mastery. Little attention is given to rhythm, nor ensemble with the accompanying orchestra, and in fact the very first note of 'Parmi veder le lagrime' is sung a beat early, presumably to allow enough time to establish a gloriously rounded tone on the first syllable of the aria. Although recorded earlier, the great Nile Scene from Aida, sung with Elisabeth Rethberg, shows a marked difference of approach. We still have the golden, heart-rending delicacy of his mezza voce allied to a breath-takingly powerful upper register, but it is accomplished with full sensitivity as to the dramatic impetus of the words, and a firm grasp of the composer's musical intentions. This is not pure vocalisation, it is opera, a hard-hitting theatrical medium, portraying unexpurgated human drama that relies for its definition upon a delicately crafted musical framework. One can well understand the spinto ambitions of the tenor who could tackle this extremely demanding repertoire with the seemingly limitless stamina that Lauri-Volpi displays here: page after page at full stretch, and yet still retaining enough power in the voice for the final phrase, perhaps the most taxing of the entire opera. Those same spinto ambitions reached full fruition when the tenor made his début as Otello, in 1939. This, the most dramatic of all Italian tenor roles, is rarely undertaken by one schooled and conversant in the delicacy and mellifluence of Bellini. It was perhaps a comment from the composer Pietro Mascagni in 1925, comparing the tensile capacity in Lauri-Volpi's voice to that of the mighty Francesco Tamagno (Verdi's original Otello) that finally persuaded the tenor of his dramatic potential. The excerpts included here bear witness to his powerful, if idiosyncratic, interpretation of the role. Recorded in 1941, they do not reveal the voice at its most integrated or refined. Yet there is an ingredient of the hardened, battle-worn warrior here, which gives each declamatory phrase an edge of insuperable authority. This is not an Otello to be lightly opposed, but a true Lion of Venice, as passionate as he is dangerous. However, for all the abandonment of subtlety in such sections as 'Esultate,' and 'Ora e per sempre' (where little is called for in the score), Lauri-Volpi's intellect and literary sensitivity is still capable of inspiring the occasional moment of agonising pathos when it is unequivocally required. The most notable example of this can be heard in the middle, cantabile section of 'Dio mi potevi,' where the tenor summons to the fore all remnants of that winsome sensuality so characteristic of his younger voice, and delivers his eloquent complaint with heart-stopping poignancy: 'Ma, o pianto, o duol, m'han rapito il miraggio...' It is phrases such as this, coupled to the raging drama of 'Ah! Dannazione' a moment or two later, which characterise Giacomo Lauri-Volpi as one of the most versatile lirico-spinto tenors of the century. |
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