ФЕНОМЕН МАГДЫ ОЛИВЕРО:
великая неизвестная певица
Неправдоподобно долгая карьера
Магды ОЛИВЕРО (р.1910) в опере (1932-1986)
достойна Книги рекордов Гиннесса. Если попытаться определить спициалитет
этой выдающейся и настолько же недооцененной певицы-актрисы в двух словах,
то, кроме титулов в духе "КОРОЛЕВА ВЕРИЗМА" или лучшая Адриенна
Лекуврер ХХ века, для нее очень подойдет определение ПРОВИНЦИАЛЬНАЯ
ПЕВИЦА. Это весьма символичное и почетное звание. Магда ОЛИВЕРО принадлежала
к той прослойке певцов, начинавших до Второй Мировой войны, которых
взрастила и сделала звездами именно суровая и щедрая итальянская провинция.
Она пела небольшую обойму своих фирменных веристских партий в бесчисленном
количестве провинциальных театров. Нам остались "живые" документальные
записи некоторых ее спектаклей (качество звука – от "нуля"
до очень хорошего; прекрасный звук – из "Концертгебау" в Амстердаме,
где певицу особенно любили). Рената Скотто во время своего мастер-класса
в Москве с сожалением заметила в разговоре со мной, как непростительно
поздно Италия пришла в себя и реально оценила то, что имела в лице Оливеро.
Действительно, если Каллас уже при жизни была мифом, то Оливеро воспринималась
как что-то более само собой разумеющееся. У Магды Оливеро только одна
полная студийная запись, выполненная в канонах так называемого "коммерческого
продукта" - "нигилистская опера" из русской жизни "Федора"
Умберто Джордано на фирме DECCA, где ее партнеры еще сочный Тито Гобби
и уже сдавший Марио дель Монако. Запись "Турандот" 1938 года,
где она поет рабыню Лю еще простеньким лирическим сопрано, имеет слишком
низкие технические параметры записанного звука, чтобы быть образцом
и находиться в топах. Остальные записи, которые тоже можно условно назвать
студийными, - радиоисполнения, близкие по качеству к чистому звуку студии
("Тоска" 1961-го или "Воскресенье" Франко Альфано
по роману Льва Толстого 1971-го, записанные радио RAI в Турине), отдельные
арии, записанные в разные годы и "коммерческие" хайлайтсы
из пряной "Франчески да Римини" Риккардо Дзандонаи на той
же DECCA, - все это не лежит в рамках мейнстрима и неизвестно широкому
кругу меломанов. Как и у Каллас, в голосе и школе Магды Оливеро было
достаточно технических изъянов, но она столь же победоносно умела превращать
свои недостатки в достоинства, но другим способом, нежели La Divina
– а именно благодаря некоторым эмоциональным преимуществам веристской
школы игры, основанной на гипертрофированных контрастах экстаза и прострации,
аффектированного надрыва и светлых кантилен, сокрушительного форте и
истаивающего пиано. Справедливость требует признать, что ее верхним
нотам, если отделить их от образа и от всего, что она делала, не хватало
объемного вибрато, они казались плосковато-прямыми, но в том-то и дело,
что когда слушаешь Оливеро, забываешь что-то от чего-то отделять - ты
полностью захвачен драмой, разворачивающейся в голосе, и целым комплексом
ощущений. Пение Оливеро никогда не походило на отвлеченно прекрасное
сольфеджио и не состояло, как у Сазерленд, из божественно-пресных жемчужных
перлов, уводящих прочь от драматической сути, - оно насквозь было пропитано
плотью и кровью характера и ситуации, помноженных на современное ощущение
жизни. Магда Оливеро была мощной трагической актрисой народного толка
– такого же типа, как Анна Маньяни в кино. И еще она имела вкус к современной
опере с ее экспрессивной декламацией. Слово, речь, риторика были ее
сильнейшими выразительными средствами. Чтобы почувствовать это, восхититесь
сначала классицистской стройностью Медеи Марии Каллас (не в фильме Пазолини,
а в опере Керубини), а потом испытайте на себе какую-то первородно-языческую
трагедийную силу неистовой Медеи Магды Оливеро – вы сами поймете, в
чем дело...
ЛИНИЯ ЖИЗНИ
Магда Оливеро родлась 25
марта 1910 года в провинции Пьемонт, в городке Салюццо (Saluzzo). Обучение
музыке начала в возрасте 12 лет в Турине. После нескольких лет обучения
вокалу приняла участие в прослушивании для EIAR (Итальянское радио).
Приговор комиссии был безжалостен и прям: "Абсолютно неадекватна".
Дирижер Уго Танзини (Ugo Tansini) констатировал: эта девочка не имеет
ни голоса, ни музыкальности, ни индивидуальности. Она не имеет ничего.
Но неустрашимая Магда продолжала грызть гранит вокальной премудрости,
готовя себя ко второй попытке, которая потерпела столь же ужасную неудачу,
как и первая. Однако на этом втором прослушивании она встретилась с
Луиджи Герусси (Luigi Gerussi), который вскоре станет ее вокальным наставником.
Примерно после года упорных занятий она дебютирует на Туринском радио
(EIAR) партией Марии Магдаллины (Maria di Magdala) в "Скорбных
мистериях" (I Misteri Dolorosi) композитора Каттоззо, ее партнерами
были Джулия Тесс (Giulia Tess) и легендарная Ирис Адами Коррадетти (Iris
Adami Corradetti). Это произошло 2 декабря 1932 года, а четырьмя неделями
позже в той же самой студии она пела в мировой премьере концертной версии
оперы Отторино Респиги "Мария Египетская" (Maria Egiziaca)
с Карло Тальябуэ (Carlo Tagliabue) и Ивой Пачетти (Iva Pacetti).
Следующий год был занят не только
случайными концертами в радиостудии, но также исполнением титульной роли в
радиоверсии "Легенды о Шакунтале" Франко Альфано и участием в
сценической постановке "Джанни Скикки" Пуччини в роли Лауретты.
26 декабря 1933 Магда Оливеро
дебютирует в Ла Скала в крошечной партии сестры Набукко Анны в опере Верди под
управлением Витторио Гуи (в звездном ансамбле вместе с Джиной Чинья, Эбе
Стиньяни, Танкреди Пазеро, Карло Галеффи и Антонио Войером). В январе 1934 она
поет в Милане в новой постановке "Фаворитки" Доницетти с "живой
легендой" Аурелиано Пертиле, Эбе Стиньяни и Танкреди Пазеро и вообще не
производит никакого впечатления на публику и критику.
Она возвращается в Турин и
находит утешение в выполнении обязательств перед радио, где в течение
последующих полутора лет выступает в партии Нанетты в "Фальстафе"
Верди в ансамбле с Мариано Стабиле и Марией Канилья и в опере Вольф-Феррари
"Влюбленный медик" (L'Amore
Medico).
(продолжение
следует)
"She
has no voice. She has no musicality. She has no personality.
She has nothing. Change profession." That was the verdict of V.I.P.s
from Italian radio concerning the young Magda Olivero. Olivero had come
with a recommendation from an important magistrate, so the radio staff
felt bound, at her insistence, to give her a second audition. The result
was the same—with one difference. Voice teacher Luigi Gerussi said,
"I’d like to teach her." "If you want to waste your time,
waste it," one of the others remarked.
Olivero, too, had her doubts. "I’ve already changed teachers three
times, and I’d have to convince my father." Her father had come
to feel her voice lessons were futile and wanted her to study piano
at the conservatory. He relented, however, and Gerussi took her on.
He was so severe a taskmaster that he made her cry. "This is the
last time you are going to say 'I can’t,'" he screamed. "Those
words must not exist. If necessary, I’ll see you dead to get what I
want! Die afterward if you wish, but first you must do what I want."
Above all, they worked on breath support. Olivero already had studied
piano, harmony and counterpoint with composer Giorgio Federico Ghedini.
(In the days of the castratos, singers received thorough musical groundings.
Since the Napoleonic Wars, however, most Italian singers studied voice
but not music.) She also studied dance and, later, Dalcroze Eurhythmics.
During her career she had occasion to put her dance background to specific
use in the title role of Armando La Rosa Parodi’s Cleopatra: instead
of allowing a ballerina substitute, she performed the ballet sequence,
a seduction scene, herself.
Olivero was born March 25, 1910 in Saluzzo, near Turin. She was one
of a handful of Italian singers who didn’t come from peasant stock;
her father was a judge and she was educated.
She made her debut, in 1932, as a lyric soprano, her first lead role,
Lauretta in Gianni Schicchi. In 1933 she made her La Scala debut, in
a small role (Anna) in Nabucco. During preparations for Favorita, Ebe
Stignani told Olivero, who was of retiring disposition, "If you
have to remain in this environment you’d better become a bitch"—advice
Olivero didn’t heed. (According to her, neither did Stignani.) After
a Gilda in 1935, following the advice of Tullio Serafin, she prepared
roles for soprano leggero: Lucia, Norina, Rosina, Adina, Amina. Her
range extended to F above high C. Serafin promised her the part of Philine
in Mignon at the Rome Opera. When the contract came, however, it was
not for Philine but for Elsa in Lohengrin. Olivero maintains that the
maestro did this out of revenge because she had remained immune to his
advances. To prepare herself for the challenge of Elsa, she decided
to strengthen her middle voice by first undertaking Butterfly, Bohème,
Manon, Zerlina in Don Giovanni, Mese Mariano (Giordano) and I quatro
rusteghi and Il campiello (both by Wolf Ferrari). Her Elsa was a success,
likewise a Manon with Gigli in Modena, where a critic noted her "lively
intelligence at portraying the contrasting aspects of the part."
Her career began to thrive.
However, prior to her marriage, in 1941, to industrialist Aldo Busch,
she gave it all up. An innocent girl from a good family background,
Olivero had been subjected to such episodes as this: The duet for soprano
and tenor in Giordano’s Marcella concludes with an impassioned embrace
and kiss. During rehearsals at La Scala, Giordano made her repeat the
scene again and again. Schipa, the tenor in question, really threw himself
into the action. Because of the august company Olivero dared not rebel.
For ten years after her marriage Olivero performed only intermittently,
at concerts to aid charities. She had two miscarriages—and was brought
back to life by Cilea. He wrote, "An artist such as you has obligations
to the public and to art." Olivero said he called her "the
ideal interpreter of Adriana," adding, "You have gone beyond
the notes. You have grasped what I felt in composing the opera and have
entered into the spirit of Adriana as I have felt it."
In 1951 she made her comeback, as Adriana, and her career again took
wing. In 1967 she made her U.S. debut in Dallas, as Medea. In 1975,
at the instigation of Marilyn Horne, Olivero made her Met debut, as
Tosca. She was then 65 years old. In 1983, upon the death of her husband,
she stopped performing. Prostrated for a number of years, she’s since
given several concerts and in 1993 recorded Adriana and sang on TV.
Thanks perhaps to her vegetarian diet and practice of yoga, she is in
good health.
Verismo sopranos were of two varieties: the fragile young girl with
a slender shiny tone and the tempestuous mature woman with a large dark
voice. (Sopranos today use an uninflected, charmless, all-purpose tone.)
Over the years Olivero’s sound changed from the first variety to the
second. In her rendition of Iris on this tape her sound is far more
suited to the character than in her performances from the 60s; by then
her sound had lost its youth and had darkened. Her Tosca here also is
uncommonly gentle and feminine. Those who saw her only in the 70s could
not know of her cuddly, girlish aspect, seen and heard on the first
part of the tape. It is on the second part, however, that she provides
me with catharsis. As she aged she grew still more intense emotionally.
Olivero’s reviews in Italy always were laudatory. One critic called
her "more expressive and musical than Callas." But in this
country critics such as Alan Rich and Barton Wimble wrote of her with
derision, regarding her vocalism as like Florence Foster Jenkins’s,
her style as exaggerated and campy.
Olivero was coached by Cilea and a number of now-obscure verismo composers
and is the last singer with such background. For me, she distils and
exemplifies the tradition. From Gemma Bellincioni to Lina Bruna Rasa,
the verismo era was transfigured by searing vocal actresses. Unlike
Olivero, few also were consummate musicians able through rubato (lengthening
or shortening notes or groups of notes) to convey the music’s tension
and repose. More, hers is "il cantar che nell’anima si sente"—singing
that is sensed in the soul. Her London/Decca Fedora, made in 1968, is
the last emotionally important commercial recording of an Italian opera.
Indeed, no other opera video ever produced is more emotionally important
than BCS’s Magda Olivero: The Last Verismo Soprano (now deleted).
Given a choice between Callas and Olivero, I’d actually pick Olivero.
She has greater warmth and depth and is more moving.
In 1984 the radio program "Opera Fanatic" held two favorite
soprano contests: Favorite Soprano of the Century and Favorite Soprano
of Our Time. In the former Olivero came in third, after Callas and Ponselle.
In the latter she came in second, after Caballé. Olivero
was the only one who placed well in both contests. Unlike the other
major contenders, she had given only a handful of performances in this
country.
*******************************
Of Toscas Great and Otherwise
By William McCloskey
(Эссе о значении и отличительном месте Магды Оливеро в истории
интерпретаций роли Тоски)
Puccini's Tosca will have just passed its century mark when the Washington
Opera mounts it in February. The title role is catnip for just about
any soprano who can summon the energy and volume to take it on. The
music is so strong, and dramatically-endowed sopranos so spirited, that
performances usually come off. But Floria Tosca needs a special characterizing
spark not required of, say, Verdi's more generic Leonoras and Amelias.
Many of the great and near-great who assume the role suitably clothe
in Tosca's trailing dresses and do a hearty job with the emotion of
the scene. Only a handful become the Italianately imperious divaÐelegant,
tight-strung, spoiled but generousÐcommitted in love but fiery
jealousÐdeeply religious but goaded to commit hot murder.
Among artists whom it was always a joy to hear in anything, the least
effective Toscas were Licia Albanese who was too delicate, and Zinka
Milanov who was stolid. With Birgit Nilsson, as that formidable throat
poured blade-like Brunnhilde sounds and the features turned Elektra-fierce,
both Tosca's lover Cavaradossi and her tormentor Scarpia seemed in danger
of being buried in lava. Leonie Rysanek was, well, too Germanic to project
this Mediterranean temperament, as was/is Hildegard Behrens. By the
same token Dorothy Kirsten was too clean-cut American. Plump Liuba Welitch
did a peasant-agressive Tosca who didn't fit the image, although she
earned a gasp worth the price of admission when she kicked the corpse
of the murdered Scarpia. With Leontyne Price and Monserrat Caballe (and
of course Milanov) you thought: how glad I am to be in the presence
of such voices. But with a costume change they could have been singing
Forza del Destino.
It has been my remarkable fortune, however, to have heard four recognized
great Toscas who indeed became the complex Roman diva goaded to murderÐMaria
Jeritza, Magda Olivero, Maria Callas, and Renata Tebaldi. And add to
this honors list Renata Scotto.
A recent article characterized Tebaldi's Tosca as bland.The writer must
have judged from commercial recordings rather than live performance.
Like many artists, Tebaldi often cooled before a microphone, concentrating
on the production of glorious sound. In the house her sound poured forth
by nature while as Tosca she strode the character: humbly crossed herself
by the Madonna, melted in the love duet, was shattered but still proud
when police chief Scarpia presented false evidence of Cavaradossi's
infidelity. In Act Two, still poised, she was confused, terrified, finally
apalled as Scarpia maneuvered her through the torture of Cavaradossi
into betraying the political prisoner they had hidden. My best Tebaldi
memory was her indignation when Scarpia revealed that to spare her lover
he expected sex. Tito Gobbi, the ultimate Scarpia of our time with his
cruel, intelligent, cool elegance (among other major Scarpias of memory
Tibbett and MacNeil played brutes in comparison), received Tosca's consent
and, enroute writing safe passage from the city as part of the bargain,
tickled her neck with the pen feather. Even the top balcony could feel
Tebaldi's shudder of loathing.
Magda Olivero, like Tebaldi, was essentially a Tosca who eschewed vulgarity.
Such approach allowed all the more dramatic contrast when Tosca finds
herself helpless with horrors not of her priviledged world. While Tebaldi
had learned to tone down the broadest Italian operahouse gestures for
her adoring American audiences, Olivero's career had seldom crossed
the Atlantic. Much of her acting came close to camp although it emerged
from straight inside. She was in her mid-6Os when I heard a special
1975 Met performance, and the marvel of the evening was not only the
steadily building intensity of this ladylike Tosca but the sustained
artistry with which she husbanded a diminished vocal resource. No cracked
notes here.
Callas? She absorbed you with her into the character. In Act Two you
felt personally caged and brutalized by Scarpia; you personally discovered
the knife, girded yourself, and committed murder. At intermission I
was trembling. The Times next day (1965) reported her rocky vocal estate.
Who else noticed? It was some performance all around, with Corelli and
Gobbi completing the castÐand visably competing. Outside the
old Met a vocal Corelli club waved signs and shouted his name to make
sure people didn't just consider it a Callas night. But it was.
Tosca has more defining passages than most roles. Often the single recording
by Toscas long gone, unfortunately, is the aria Vissi d'arte, an artificial
lull in the steady action while Tosca takes time out from Scarpia's
lustful pursuit around the room to reflect on "why me?" The
piece, while requiring a sustained lyric line with heavy emotion, doesn't
hit the center of Tosca as does a passage in Act Three starting with
Il tuo sangue o il mio amore (Either your blood or my love) where in
a few lines Tosca re-enacts Scarpia's ugly proposition and the murder.
With Callas, you trembled through it all again. Scotto by this time
had turned pretty wild. Tebaldi made it a splendid chesty declaration.There
are also defining Tosca phrases. The most famous, as Tosca contemplates
Scarpia's dead body, is E avanti lui tramava tutta Roma! (And before
him all Rome trembled.)
Olivero whispered it. Jeritza and Scotto spat it. Callas made it a harrowing
announcement. Tebaldi phrased it with awed contempt. In Act One, after
the love duet and Tosca's acceptance that her lover's portrait of another
woman is platonic (a blond compared to brunette Tosca we're told earlier),
she says Ma falle gli occhi neri (But make her eyes black [anyhow]).
Tebaldi and Olivero both did this with apologetic coyness, Olivero more
exaggerated. The gentle cajole that Callas gave it made you want to
rush for the black paint. Scotto was a kitten (whose claws were all
over the place elsewhere). Another Act One phrase: Dio mi perdona. Egli
vede ch'io piango. (God will forgive me. He sees how I'm weeping.) occurs
after Tosca, goaded to jealousy by Scarpia, denounces the lady in the
portrait and Scarpia chides her for such behavior in church. With Scotto:
Watch out Lord, you'd better understand. Callas: you wept with her.
Olivero phrased this tragically with such a pure mezzo de voce (soft-loud-soft
in a single breath) that the audience collectively stirred.
I heard Jeritza's Tosca long after her 1932 Met farewell in a special
1952 appearance staged in Newark. (Probably the only time many New Yorkers
including this Columbia student ever made the trip to such wilds.) I
remember the flamboyance more than the voice which was probably just
as well, but her voice did at times retain the silvery force preserved
on records. No actress has ever made a grander entrance when Tosca strides
into the scene after calling her lover offstage.The acting was straight
from "Sunset Boulevard," but Jeritza still had that clear-eyed
flaxen-haired (forget the brunette bit) beauty of old photos.
Jeritza had once, in the presence of Puccini himself, slipped during
a rehearsal as she fled from the rapine Scarpia. It occurred just as
Tosca begins Vissi d'arte, and Jeritza chose to remain prone facing
away from the audience. "Keep this always!" the master had
enthused, and the procedure had become a Jeritza trademark. Would the
diva, long beyond her career, risk this in Newark? Of course! And she
brought it off with long phrases ridden on
