Book on tenor Corelli covers the ins and outs of opera singing, with love

February 18, 2015 By Nino Pantano Special to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle

“Franco Corelli and a Revolution in Singing” by Stefan Zucker

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“Franco Corelli and a Revolution in Singing” by Stefan Zucker is a Valentine’s Day gift to myself. Like the Energizer battery, it keeps on going. The photographs and illustrations are truly magnificent. I turn to this book over and over again to gain both knowledge and inspiration from the great and varied opera tenors covered in the book.

I heard many of the great tenors — Benjamino Gigli and Tito Schipa at their remarkable “farewells”; Mario Del Monaco, Corelli himself and Carlo Bergonzi in their prime, and I had a handshake with Giovanni Martinelli. Jan Peerce, Richard Tucker and Ferruccio Tagliavini each had a strong vocal identity. Giuseppe Di Stefano and Jose Carreras too soon became vocal flotsam and jetsam, but earlier had undeniably gorgeous qualities to their voices. Luciano Pavarotti at times had a magic that cannot be explained in words, but his voice wasn’t as beautiful or expressive as Gigli.

Zucker gives long pithy phrases on the vocal gifts and flaws of these artists and much more than a dollop of fresh insights about what used to move the masses and what currently moves them. The chapters on the vocal arrival of Del Monaco, with his golden voice of steel and grit, and Corelli’s voice of power and pathos are remarkable.

The Italian-born Corelli and Brooklyn-born tenor Richard Tucker were Met opera rivals at first, but became amicable colleagues, and when meeting backstage, each expressed his mutual admiration for the other’s voice. General Manager Rudolph Bing would threaten to pay one or the other a dollar more in salary whenever a problem arose. Corelli was devastated when the great Tucker died of a heart attack in 1975.

Corelli sang in a recital at Brooklyn College on Feb. 23, 1974, with the great Italian soprano Renata Tebaldi. The sold out performance was legendary. A good friend of mine, Bill Safka, of Safka-Bareis Autographs, who attended the performance, remembers the SRO cheers, excitement, bravos and calls for encores. Both Corelli and Tebaldi were in superb voice nearing the end of their careers and giving their Brooklyn fans a thrill.

Although I disagree with Zucker’s comments on Enrico Caruso’s “ruining” the art of singing by his use of power, as opposed to the flourishes and fast vibrato of the past, I would say that the immortal Caruso often sang softly with inspired beauty and heavenly legato. Just listen to his 1916 recording of “O Souverain, O Juge, O Pere!”

Among other tenors discussed were Fernando De Lucia, Francesco Merli, Galliano Masini, Giacomo Lauri-Volpi, Aureliano Pertile, Francesco Tamagno, Jean De Reszke, Cleofonte Campanini, Giovanni Rubini and Gilbert Louis Duprez (who sang the first real high “C” in 1837). Zucker truly gives us the evolution of singing right down to the “big bang” theory of how it all began. Today’s robust and expansive singing, I believe, surely began with Enrico Caruso.

Zucker uses his beguiling literary charm to infuse the text with his sense of operatic tenorial truth. His comments on how Swedish tenor Jussi Bjorling (1911-1960) bores him after 15 minutes can be a source of irritation to Bjorling’s many admirers. If some of Zucker’s asides give one a headache, his mighty attributes of love and knowledge will also prove to be the Aleve you seek! Bjorling had a “Nordic” sound to his voice, which was of small to moderate size (I saw him in La Boheme and Tosca), but he attained a very melancholy inflection with little sobbing. Corelli’s powerful and thrilling voice had the generosity and warmth of the Mediterranean, while Bjorling reflected the veneer of a beautiful but distant fjord. Met Opera archivist Robert Tuggle writes of his recollections of Bjorling in a brief chapter.

I also agree with Zucker re: Placido Domingo. The lack of any real top always disappointed me, and I never listen to him for any kind of inspiration or adventure. Corelli was like a god, but his studio recordings do not reflect this. Corelli’s comments are always of interest, but are not really passed on or teachable. They were part of his being, like Caruso, a force of nature, like Niagara Falls. As the lyrics of “Some Enchanted Evening” from “South Pacific,” so aptly sung by the immortal basso Ezio Pinza, put it, “Who can explain it, who can tell you why, fools give you reasons, wise men never try.”

I highly recommend this excellent book, “Franco Corelli and a Revolution in Singing,” and eagerly look forward to forthcoming Volumes Two and Three by The Bel Canto Society.