Kan en sanger have en karriere på over 60 år? Ja, faktisk sang José Carreras hertugens arie fra Verdis Rigoletto i spansk radio i 1954 lige omkring sin 8-års fødselsdag – i korte bukser og med fint vandkæmmet hår og klaverakkompagnement.
Carreras havde to år tidligere set Mario Lanza i filmen Den store Caruso, og begyndte at efterligne sit store idol. Senere, som 11-årig, debuterede han som drengesopran på Barcelonas berømte operahus Gran Teatre del Liceu i en rolle i de Fallas opera El retablo de Maese Pedro. Nogle måneder senere sang han for sidste gang som sopran den lille rolle som drengen i Puccinis La bohéme – ham, der så gerne vil have legetøjshandlerens fine legetøjstrompet og den lille træhest.
Senere fik José Carreras sin tenordebut som 23-årig – og han sang bl.a. i Aalborg på sin 69-års fødselsdag. Pænt lang karriere.
Her er dokumentationen; den 8-årige Carreras synger La donna é mobile med sin sopranstemme – inklusive lidt fine tenoruvaner og rigtigt voksent vibrato. Han har hørt godt efter, hvad Mario Lanza gjorde i filmen.
Komponisten og pianisten Friedrich Kuhlau var førstegenerationsindvandrer i Danmark – født i Tyskland, men bosatte sig i København, hvor han bl.a. skrev musikken til Elverhøj og operaerne Røverbogen, Hugo og Adelheid og Lulu. Men det var svært at leve af at skrive musik til Det Kongelige Teater, så Kuhlau underviste i klaverspil, og skrev også en masse klavermusik, som nemt kunne sælges via de nye musikforlag.
Pianisten Marie-Luise Bodendorff har en del til fælles med Kuhlau. Hun er også født i Tyskland – i Augsburg i 1983 – og flyttede til Danmark, da hun blev optaget i solistklassen på Det Kongelige Danske Musikkonservatorium i København med professor Niklas Sivelöv som lærer. Hun debuterede i 2014, og spillede i min cheftid i Tivoli flere gange i Koncertsalen. Hver gang blev jeg mere og mere imponeret over hendes talent, hendes virtuositet og hendes musikalitet.
Nu er der chance for at opleve Marie-Luise Bodendorff spille musik af sin skæbnefælle Friedrich Kuhlau – og i tilgift Waldsteinsonaten af Kuhlaus store forbillede, Beethoven – ved en koncert på Kurhotel Skodsborg lørdag 3. september kl. 16. Jeg præsenterer selv koncerten, og billetter kan købes her.
Her er en smagsprøve, hvor Marie-Luise Bodendorff spiller Listzs parafrase over Mozarts Don Juan:
Salzburger Festspiele 2016/Thomas Adès/The exterminating Angel/Premiere am 28.07.2016/Musikalische Leitung:Thomas Adès/Inszenierung:Tom Cairns/Bühne und Kostüme:Hildegard Bechtler//Ensemble Copyright:Monika Rittershaus
Der var fuldt hus – fem stjerner ud af fem – hos The Guardians’ anmelder Fiona Maddocks for verdenspremieren på Thomas Adés seneste opera, Exterminating Angel, som åbnede årets festspil i Salzburg i torsdags.
Operaen bygger på filmen El ángel exterminador af Luis Buñuel, og er en co-prduktion mellem festspillene i Salzburg, Covent Garden i London, The Met i New York, og Det Kongelige Teater i København, som præsenterer den i sæson 2017-18.
Og blandt de medvirkende i Salzburg var, foruden navne som Anne Sofie von Otter, John Tomlinson og Thomas Allen, også et medlem af Den Kongelige Opera solistensemble, bassangeren Sten Byriel, som tidligere i år medvirkede i den Reumertvindende produktion af Thomas Adés’ første opera, Powder Her Face på Takkelloftet i Operaen.
Sopranen Elsa Dreisig er i finalen i Plácido Domingos Operalia-konkurrence, som denne gang finder sted i Guadalajara i Mexico. Elsa Dreisig (ikke at forveksle med sopranen Elsebeth Dreisig, der faktisk er moster til Elsa) er halvt dansk og halvt fransk, bor i Frankring og har studeret på konservatoriet i Paris.
Læs mere om Elsa Dreisig her, og om Operalia-konkurrencen her.
Elsa Dreisig er altså blandt de 12 finalister, der i aften (i nat dansk tid) skal synge akkompagneret af det lokale symfoniorkester i Guadalajara og Domingo selv som dirigent. Hør i mellemtiden Elsa Dreisig i en optagelse fra finalen i Dronning Sonja-konkurrencen i Oslo sidste sommer, hvor hun vandt 2.-pris. Her i musik fra Charpentiers opera Louise:
It is with deep-felt emotion I write this. Mrs. Johanne Brun has alas been forced to beg for even the most scanty help through grants. What a fate for an artist of her standing! Who doesn’t remember her wonderful years at our opera and who can hear her today without the greatest astonishment? Mrs. Brun is still an artist in full bloom, and it is incomprehensible how the management of our opera can continue to reject her after she has returned from abroad – especially if they plan to stage any of Wagner’s operas. […] Her current position in life must astound any man, and I can only give her application for help my strongest sympathy as a human being in admiration for her open mind and honest striving.
(signed) Carl Nielsen, Copenhagen January 1, 1926
A letter of recommendation from the famous Danish composer, for many years himself violinist and later conductor at the Royal Danish Opera where he had been able to follow the career of Johanne Brun from the very outset more than 40 years earlier. Now, at the age of 49, the Danish Wagnerian soprano par excellence was facing severe poverty after a career that had ended in inflation-stricken Germany. Her fate could have been different if the management at the Royal Danish Opera at the time had heard what we today can hear through her extremely rare records; a full dramatic voice, an ideal Isolde but with remarkable agility in coloratura – a voice comparable to a Lilli Lehmann in versatility.
Listen to her incredibly rare recording of the final scene of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde made in 1915 (the article continues below):
She was born Johanne Marie Emilie Prieme on August 23, 1874 in Frederiksberg near Copenhagen. At the age of seven she was enrolled at the school of the Royal Danish Ballet at the Royal Theatre that served then, as now, as home for both acting, ballet and opera. The children at the ballet were often used as extras and even as singers when a children’s chorus was needed, and Brun was thus able to make her debut as a singer in Carmen at the age of 10.
She also heard and came to admire the local stars of the opera, one of them a tenor by the name of Frederik Brun. He had made his debut in 1876 as Rossini’s Almaviva, and later turned to the more dramatic repertoire culminating with Tannhäuser, Otello, Radamès and Siegmund. He was joined at the opera in 1889 by his younger brother Johan Nordal Brun, also a tenor. Frederik Brun was 41 when he in 1893 married the 18-year old Johanne Brun.
As was the costum then the young dancer gave up her career as she entered her new standing as a married woman. Frederik Brun soon discovered, however, that his young wife was gifted with a beautiful and wide ranging soprano, and he eagerly encouraged her to take lessons from the vocal coach Miss Fanny Gætje and the conductor Frederik Rung, with whom she studied for a year and a half. But what she was taught by Gætje and Rung was sometimes contradicted immediately by her husband, a dominant and pedantic tyrant, who was fanatical about singing technique. One of his friends portraits him in his memoirs:
”He could at times be very tiring for everyone, talking at length only about himself. Especially when he was trying to teach himself a new method of singing he was taxing company. If I met him on the mail street in Copenhagen he would drag me into a gateway and begin to demonstrate a new trill or a coloratura, thus soon assembling a curious crowd.”[1]
Judging from the few examples of his singing that survives on recordings today Frederik Brun did in fact not have a very good technique – the Miserere from Il trovatore recorded in 1904 reveals the ruins of a strained voice with a bleeding goat vibrato. Frederik Brun had at this time, in one of his fits of anger, left the Royal Danish Opera for good:
Frederik Brun had made a great singer of the little ballet girl, but he himself gradually faded from the public’s mind, and at the turn of the century he had – for God knows which time and with under many oaths and harsh words to the management – left the theatre, and for the rest of his life tried to make a living as a café pianist in Sweden. Initially a really decent tenor, Brun’s habit of making inexcusable insults to his superiors and fellow singers made him unwanted at the opera – where younger tenors as Vilhelm Herold took over.[2]
Johanne Brun quickly made sufficient progress to be granted a debut at the Royal Opera. Her phenomenal ease at the very top of her voice made the choice of The Queen of the Night obvious. Despite a few prior concert appearances, it was the performance of Die Zauberflöte on May 8, 1896 she considered her real debut. Despite a few remarks on Bruns nerves not being quite under control during the first aria, all the critics agreed that here was a singer to expect more from in the future:
The voice itself is uncommonly pure and beautiful. Mrs. Brun is made of the stuff that can create a coloratura singer of the very first class, a full, flexible, wide ranged and impressive soprano. The public’s reception was indeed positive; after her first aria a storming applause broke out from the near full house.[3]
Despite the overall positive reception from both critics and audience, two years should pass before Johanne Brun was given another chance at the Copenhagen opera. This “second debut” on May 14, 1898 was to prove her able to sing more dramatic pieces and not only purely coloratura roles. Frederik Brun described his wife’s voice in these terms:
”Her real force is in Wagner, but she will undoubtedly also be able to continue her development as a coloratura singer. What is still lacking is routine. She has to get used to singing in large halls. Mrs. Ellen Gulbransen has taught her how high to sing in chest voice, and I myself has taught her a few tricks I have seen Patti use abroad. My wife is an excellent pianist, by the way, and I am sure she will become a dramatic singer of the first rate.”[4]
It was as Aïda that Brun made her second appearance at the Royal Opera, and this time the newspapers were even more enthusiastic, stressing the natural production and the beauty of her tone, as well as her unmannered and tasteful acting. And this time the opera management gave her a contract as soloist with the opera for the following season, where she added Margarethe in Faust and Donna Anna in Don Giovanni to her repertory.
At the end of the season 1898-99 her contract was renewed, as it was to become each year from now on. The following seasons she sang Leonora in Il trovatore, Desdemona in Otello, Elsa in Lohengrin, Ingeborg in Heise’s Drot og Marsk, and she also sang in the premières of two Danish operas; Lamia by August Enna and Helgensværdet by Axel Grandjean.
The Norwegian composer and conductor Johan Svendsen had been house conductor of the Royal Danish Opera since 1883. He had played as a violinist in the Bayreuth orchestra and knew Wagner personally. Since the Danish première of Die Walküre in 1891 Svendsen had had a vision of a Danish performance of the complete Ring cycle, and on January 8, 1902 Brun sang her first Wagnerian part, Sieglinde. Her twin and lover Siegmund was Peter Cornelius, who had changed his voice from baritone to heldentenor, and who later was to sing in Bayreuth and at Covent Garden.
The critics agreed that Brun was ideal for Wagner, even though a few complained that her middle and lower range was slightly less focused than her brilliant height. With these two singers available Johan Svendsen knew that he could now slowly begin realise his dream of a complete Ring in Copenhagen.
Even though Brun was now considered essentially a dramatic soprano, she added Rosina in Il barbiere di Siviglia to her repertory that very same year. In the singing lesson Brun sang Benedict’s variations on Carneval de Venise, and the public responded with ecstatic applause. But some of the critics noted problems:
Mrs. Brun has a fine coloratura throat, but it is unkempt. A Wagnerian soprano does not easily perform this delicate music. […] The thing is that she has never studied properly, and if these things are not corrected it will soon be too late, and she will have to lead a life as an unpolished artist. Last night her performance was further marred by abrupt changes of register, especially in the Cavatina […][5]
Weather this critic was right we can actually hear for ourselves today. Johanne Brun quickly became a favourite with the Danish audience – both for her singing and her beauty! She appears as one of six actresses and singers on a postcard made at this time with the title “Copenhagen’s most ravishing women”. It was obvious that a completely new industry kept an eye out for her to help marketing the new wonders of the age. In April 1903 Brun recorded her first batch of six sides for Skandinavisk Grammophon Aktieselskab, the Danish branch of G&T.
Around the same time she also recorded twelve cylinders – including a duet with her husband – for the local rival Dansk Fonograf Magasin, associated with the Pathé company. One of the cylinders contains excerpts from the Carneval de Venise variations Brun sang as Rosina, and here one hears the combination of a full dramatic voice, but retaining the abilities of precise coloratura and trills – all done with impeccable secure intonation. It is hard to judge her singing as harshly as Mr. Rosenfeld does above.
Besides singing at the Royal Opera, she was now in general demand in the Copenhagen musical life – especially in the Wagnerian fach. She regularly sang at concerts in the Concert Palais and in the Tivoli Gardens, often joined by her husband, now trying his luck as a baritone – but with little success. His appearances caused a mixture of amusement and pity with the critics, but Johanne Brun was invariably hailed as the supreme Danish interpreter of Wagner’s heroines. And in the years to come she was to create the most demanding of them on the Danish national stage.
Johan Svendsen continued his quest for the complete Ring with Siegfried in 1903, with the star cast of Helge Nissen as Der Wanderer, Peter Cornelius as Siegfried and Johanne Brun as Brünnhilde – a great success both for the performers and for Wagner’s music in Denmark. But Brun also added more lyrical and even bel canto roles to her repertory; Bellini’s Norma and Philine in Mignon.
On February 23, 1905 the Royal Opera added Götterdämmerung to their repertory, naturally with Brun and Cornelius as Brünnhilde and Siegfried – another triumph for both. The critics were very positive, but their level of general knowledge of Wagner’s works is reflected in the fact that none of them seems to have noticed that the scene with the three nornes had been omitted. Johan Svendsen was nearer his dream of a Ring cycle, but his health forced him to retire. On May 31, 1908 he conducted a farewell gala culminating with the third act of Die Walküre, with Brun as Sieglinde. Frederik Rung had earlier that month conducted the last of the Ring operas, Das Rheingold. Brun sang Freja at the première, and later that year added both Ortrud in Lohengrin and Woglinde in Rheingold to her impressive list of roles. It was Rung, the former teacher of Brun, who took over as house conductor from Svendsen, and as assistant conductor was employed a young talented violinist and composer; Carl Nielsen.
But even though she was now recognised as one of the leading singers of the opera, Johanne Brun was still not endorsed with a permanent contract. Where most of the singers after a few seasons were normally employed on a regular basis with pension, Brun never achieved this. One can only speculate as to the reasons, but it is certain that she was a self-conscious and open-mouthed rebel who on more than one occasion stood up against the management of the opera. It is easy to imagine her life with the pompous and frustrated Frederik Brun, and their marriage was dissolved in 1906. Johanne Brun was now alone with their 12-year old daughter Gertrud.
Meanwhile she continued her career both on stage and in the recording studios. It seems that it was a must for the companies to have Johanne Brun in their catalogues, and she is invariably among the very first female singers to record for both major and minor labels active in Denmark. In this period she recorded not only for G&T but also made records for Lyrophon and cylinders for Elektra and Edison.
At the Royal Opera the next seasons saw Johanne Brun in the six performances of the Ring between 1909 and 1912 – the only complete cycles to be given at the theatre to this day – as well as appearances as Venus in Tannhaüser. But in the following seasons Brun found herself in less demand than earlier, and sometimes there were up to eight months between her singing at the Royal Opera. It seems that there were several reasons for this. Her increasing weight problem further inhibited what was apparently never a great dramatic talent on stage, and her voice was reported to be loosing its former flexibility – not surprisingly for a Brünnhilde and Isolde. This meant that she was more or less confined to the Wagnerian repertoire and a couple of dramatic Verdi roles. But soon she was not even considered more than a second choice for even these parts. During the following seasons Brun appeared more and more irregularly at the Royal Opera.
She had to fight hard to be given the opportunity to create Isolde in Danish at the long awaited première in 1914 – even threatening to never sing at the Royal Danish Opera again if her wish was not granted.
“I have waited for this role for 10 years, now. Season after season I have had only minor things to do at the opera here, and I started to work on Isolde three years ago. In the beginning I worked in German, as I have nearly always done with Wagner, and I was astounded with the difficulty I had learning the translation. A lot of what falls quite natural in German seems almost incomprehensible in Danish. We had 60 rehearsals before the première – not many considering the length and difficulty of Tristan; for Don Giovanni we had 90!”[6]
Frederik Rung was originally to have conducted Tristan, but he had been unwell for quite some time and was consequently replaced by Georg Høeberg who turned out to be a very gifted conductor. The performance was again a triumph for Brun, and in 1915 she recorded part of the Liebestod for Odeon. Here we can witness the truly international class of singing, with broad lines and no signs of weariness of tone. If this is a documentation of the general standard of Brun’s singing at this time, it is utterly incomprehensible that she was not regarded higher by the theatre management.
The atmosphere at the rehearsals for Tristan had been tense between Brun and the house stage director Julius Lehmann, and when Parsifal was premièred in 1915 it was not Johanne Brun who sang Kundry. Later she revealed in an interview[7] that Lehmann was one of her fiercest enemies; when Tannhäuser was staged for the first time in Denmark in 1910 he had simply told her straight to her face that she would perhaps be able to sing Venus but that she was too fat to portrait Elisabeth. She was nevertheless given the chance, though, on November 5, 1915.
Brun now began to seriously consider leaving Denmark. She had always been a keen traveller; apart from trips to German cities like Berlin and Dresden to hear her beloved Wagner in international performances, she had also taken a 9-week holiday in the Algerian desert with a lady friend, bringing home live souvenirs in the form of turtles and chameleons!
For a Wagnerian soprano wishing to try her luck at a career abroad Germany seemed the obvious choice. In 1916 war-time Germany was perhaps not the ideal place, and most Danish artists working there actually returned home at this time. But Johanne Brun insisted. Germany it was to be. Her last performance at the Royal Danish Opera was Aida on May 10, and the newspapers all lamented the loss:
Few people has been treated so shabby as Johanne Brun has been by our Royal Opera. While she sang one Wagner heroine after the other, it was other singers who were given titles and honour. She was not even permanently employed here. Now she is leaving at the height of her powers to go to Nuremberg. One could wish that she had done so ten years ago, so that she could now have made a name for herself abroad by now. Lets us hope that she soon will![8]
Even though the performance was not officially a farewell gala (as Johanne Brun was not permanently employed at the opera), the King and Queen were present, and before the performance Brun was finally appointed the title of Kammersanger. But were she not sad to leave the stage where she had sung for 20 years? A Copenhagen ladies magazine interviewed the newly appointed Kammersanger:
”Absolutely not! The last couple of years at the Royal Opera has only been too painful. The conditions are much to complicated and deplorable. If I wanted a certain role I had to beg and plea everyone, and that is not my way, even though I do love my work. For several years I have been neglected – and nothing can be more devastating. I almost lost faith in myself completely. I have thought about going abroad for quite some time, but I have always resisted in the end; perhaps things here would become better. But when I had to fight to sing Isolde at the opening night – and had to threaten to resign if I was refused – I promised myself that I would go to Germany. I am sad to leave my home, but I look forward so much to getting to sing again. I have been so desperate for lack of work that I even started to sew my own clothes – something I never enjoyed. And my furniture has been repainted several times; right now it is white…”
Another reason for leaving the Royal Danish Opera was financial. Brun was not any longer receiving a fixed salary for each season, but was paid for each performance – and sometimes there would be months between her appearances. In a German house she would not only be able to sing her beloved Wagner roles, but could also easily earn much more than in Copenhagen.
Brun had a few years earlier heard the German heldentenor Alois Pennarini, and she admired his Tristan very much. He was now the artistic director at the Stadttheater in Nuremberg, and Brun wanted to try her luck at a house where Wagner was the core of the repertory. But in Copenhagen she had for years sung everything in Danish, so ahead was more hard work re-learning her roles in German. She spent eight months with a coach in Copenhagen and a further two in Berlin. Here Brun could also get a first hand impression of the conditions in Germany – and she was surprised that they were as good as they seemed, and that prices were reasonable:
“In my experience it is cheaper to dine in restaurants in Berlin than in Copenhagen. My daily dinner – consisting of soup, then fish or another side dish, then roast beef with several kinds of vegetables and finally a dessert or cheese and bread – cost, with a glass of beer and tips, only two mark.”[9]
No wonder that Brun had gained a considerable weight since her days with the ballet. After the intensive studies in Berlin she finally felt ready to go to Nuremberg to audition for Pennarini. She sang from Götterdämmerung, and did it so well, that she was offered a ”trial-evening” as Isolde at the theatre on March 3, 1916. Pennarini sang Tristan himself, and in spite of this being her first performance in a foreign language (and the fact that Brun was not granted a rehearsal!) she convinced both audience, Pennarini and the critics; she was offered a two-year contract from August that year – earning more than four times the amount she could expect in Copenhagen. But in Nuremberg Brun found quite a different picture of Germany than the one she had seen in Berlin:
“I will never forget what I saw there. The casualties of the war is brought to a large home for cripples, where they try to mend the most horribly mutilated soldiers. With endless patience they are trained to use the remains of their limbs, supported by iron splints. Imagine rows of men without arms or legs doing gymnastics to train their muscles. After lots of hard work they are given artificial limbs, and the endless training continues in their strive to master the new devices. All over Nuremberg you meet these cripples with their molested faces; deform, swollen faces where new skin has been attached to an otherwise torn cheek. I have talked to mothers and wives who, when they came from a visit to their dear one, only wished them death as the future was unbearable to think of.”[10]
Life at the Stadttheater also proved taxing compared to what Brun had been used to in Copenhagen. A working day started at 9 AM even if she had sung a performance that ended at 11 PM the night before. On Sundays there were performances both in the afternoon and evening, and even if Brun was not appearing in a performance she was still expected to attend an evening rehearsal, often lasting until midnight. She several times sang major parts such as Leonore in Fidelio at short notice and without rehearsal. In addition she was also in demand from neighbouring houses in Augsburg, Köln and Würzburg – and in 1917 she sang in a Ring cycle in Regensburg. Quite a contrast to the idle life in Denmark, but with many artistic rewards for Brun. She sang all the Wagnerian heroines as well as the dramatic parts in operas as Fidelio, Un ballo in maschera, La Juive, Aida and Il trovatore.
Johanne Brun, or Johanna as she was known in Germany, quickly became a favourite with the Nuremberg audience. In November 1917 Brun sang in the first Nuremberg-performance of Eugen d’Albert’s opera Die toten Augen, premièred only a year earlier.
When the performance came to an end the applause would never end. Large flower arrangements were brought on stage, and insisting shouts of “Die Brun, Die Brun” where heard everywhere. Outside the theatre people, mostly young girls, gathered to greet the Diva as she left the building. […] The following day the mayor of Nuremberg sent a letter of congratulation to Johanne Brun on behalf of the city.[11]
This was not the only example of operas new to Johanne Brun as well as to everyone else; two years later she took part in the first performance of Ein Fest zu Haderslev, an opera by the Nuremberg house conductor Robert Heger, and during her years in Nuremberg she also sang in Korngold’s Violanta as well as the title role in Salome – an opera composed only a decade earlier. In 1920 she was hailed as a genius, no less, by the Nordbayerischer Zeitung for her Brünnhilde in another complete Ring performance, and her time in Nuremberg seems to have been a host of successes.
It is not clear why her contract then came to an end, but in April 1922 Brun sang Kundry as guest at the Stadttheater in Aachen, and in September that year she moved from Nuremberg to this town near the Belgian border. Here she again sang the dramatic soprano she had learned in Nuremberg, adding Herodias in Salome. But again her timing was bad. On January 11, 1923 France and Belgium occupied the Ruhr district, and Johanne Brun now more than ever wanted to return to her native country. Ever since she immigrated she had often sung at concerts in Copenhagen during the summer periods, and when she later that year visited Denmark she spoke to her old colleague Vilhelm Herold, with whom she had often sung in her early years in Copenhagen, and who was now artistic director at the Royal Danish Opera. On June 13, 1923 he wrote to Brun:
At the meeting we had a few days ago I spoke your case, but the Ministry has not yet decided next seasons amount concerning guest artists, and consequently no decision was made as to you. The old dragging-things-out-style! But next time you are in town please come and see me in my office. I still hope that we shall be able to find something for you to do. Receive the heartiest greeting from
your old friend
Vilh. Herold
This must have been discouraging for Johanne Brun to read. The conditions in Aachen were hopeless, as she told a Danish journalist:
The Belgians are not very nice at all; if one passes the house of a general it is not allowed to use the pavement – I was literally thrown out into street by a Belgian guard on one occasion! Everyone are of course nervous, and have only one thought – money, money, money. As soon as we get our wages we hurry to spend it all, otherwise the money could be worth only half in a day or two! One day a pound of margarine went from 40.000 Mark to 80.000 in just half an hour. I am now receiving 9 million Mark a week! Everything is more expensive in Aachen than in the rest of Germany, and food is scarce. There are no train connections, and the mail is very unreliable. Parcels are not delivered at all. The shops are open one hour in the morning and one in the afternoon. Cars and bikes can only be used by foreigners, and the curfew dictates that you can not go out after 9 PM. One Sunday afternoon we had a performance at 4 PM, and just before the curtain went up we got a message that the curfew was changed to 8 PM that particular evening. We had to cut the opera in the last moment, and we were all frightened to death with the thought of not being able to finish on time.
With the beginning of 1924 Johanne Brun finally escaped Aachen, and was to begin a new life in Danzig (now Gdansk), then a free city under the sovereignty of the League of Nations. Here she signed a contract that would again allow her to sing her best roles; Senta, Ortrud, Isolde, Ariadne, Leonora in Fidelio and Brünnhilde in Siegfried. When news of this new contract came to the Danish press, one critic managed not only to declare Johanne Brun his devotion and love – but also to insult both her and the entire population in the former Polish city:
It is nerve-wracking to think that Mrs. Johanne is going to spent weeks, maybe even months in a city like Danzig. The city is run by the English, but that might even be; they are all cleanly people who use the I.P. Muller system [of home gymnastics!]. But who are the attendants at the opera there? The majority are dirty and verminous Poles with sausage sandwiches and bananas in their pockets to eat during the intervals, oozing garlic and illicitly distilled liqueur. […] Johanne Brun still has an astonishingly fresh, youthful, rounded and soft voice. Lovely is the word! The madam is not quite young any longer; she also has her obesity to cope with. She weighs approx. 230 pounds now – she is no speck, no particle, no molecule. […] But what is obesity and age when on the other hand there is beauty, stateliness, the sweetest face and the appearance of a true queen.
In the spring of 1924 Johanne Brun finally returned to the Royal Danish Opera if only for a single appearance as Philine in Mignon, a part that one could easily suppose would hardly show off the best qualities of a Wagnerian soprano at the age of 50. And it is indeed hard to see why the management not chose to give her an Isolde instead – Tristan was in the repertory for that season. Nevertheless the critics marvelled at the ease and beauty of the voice that seemed only firmer and more controlled than when she was last heard on the stage here. On April 2 she finally was given the chance to show once more her real powers at the Royal Danish Opera as Brünnhilde in Die Walküre. And that was it. Johanne Brun was never to appear on the opera stage of her native city again.
In 1925 she returned to live in Copenhagen. But with no regular income something had to be done. She had lost all her savings during the German inflation, and she had no pension from the Royal Opera to rely on. But she was not forgotten by the Danish public and her friends. It was arranged that she could work from home selling lottery tickets for the National Lottery, and she was also given a yearly sum from the State.
In 1936 Brun was drawn from retirement by the Danish record collector Knud Hegermann-Lindencrone, who had initiated the recording of a 7-record set to capture on record the performances of the Danish singers who created Wagner’s operas at the Royal Danish Opera. Johanne Brun sang from Das Rheingold, Götterdämmerung and Tristan und Isolde. Here her voice is well past its prime, but with a bit of imagination it is quite obvious that it is the voice of a major Wagnerian soprano.
Brun lived quietly in Copenhagen, hugely enjoying her grandchildren and great-grandchildren for the next couple of decades. She died on February 3, 1954, nearly 80 years of age, and the critic Axel Kjærulf wrote in her obituary:
Her mind was clear to the very end of her life, full of wit. She closely followed the development at the Royal Opera, and if one met her there, one was met with the sweetest of smiles, the biting sarcasm that she still possessed, and above all with the love she felt for the art she had so gloriously served.[12]
ACKNOWLEGDEMENTS:
I would like to thank the following persons for invaluable help: Jens Hansen, Copenhagen; Erik Kajstrup, Frederiksberg: Emil Marott, Højby; Niels Ravn, Gentofte; Henning Thorbjørnsen, Charlottenlund; Henning Trab, Statens Mediearkiv, Århus; Julius Wedege, Copenhagen; Lisbeth Grandjean and Ida Poulsen, Teatermuseet, Copenhagen.
[1] Charles Kjerulf: Gift og Hjemfaren, 1917 [2] Politiken, February 4, 1954 [3] Dannebrog, March 9, 1896 [4] unidentified newspaper interview made ca. 1903 [5] Leopold Rosenfeld in Dannebrog, October 7, 1902 [6] this probably includes individual piano rehearsals with coaches of the house. From an interview in Masken, 1914. [7] Berlingske Tidende, August 22, 1944 [8] Folkets Avis, May 11, 1916 [9] Interview in Berligske Tidende, summer 1916 [10] Interview in Berligske Tidende, summer 1916 [11] Ekstra Bladet, November 20, 1917 [12] Politiken, February 4, 1954
”Det er med bevægelse og virkelig grebethed jeg skriver på denne ansøgning. Fru Johanne Brun er altså virkelig bleven således stillet at hun nu må anmode om selv den mest nødtørftige hjælp gennem legater og stipendier! Hvilken skæbne for en sådan kunstnerinde! Hvem husker ikke hendes pragtfulde virksomhed i vor opera og hvem kan uden den største undren høre på hendes sang den dag i dag? Fru Brun står endnu bestandig som kunstnerinde i fuld blomst, og man forstår ikke hvorledes det er muligt at vor operas ledelse kan afvise hende efter hende hjemkomst fra udlandet – ifald man overhovedet har i sinde at opføre Wagners værker og stor opera i det hele taget. Jeg vil antage, at Fru Brun selv vil oplyse den Rong’ske legatbestyrelse nærmere om hele sin stilling, som må forbavse ethvert menneske, og skal derfor kun indskrænke mig til at give hendes ansøgning, ikke blot min anbefaling, men min hele, fulde indsats som kunstner og min største sympati som menneske i beundring for hendes åbne karakter og ærlige stræben.”
Sådan skrev ingen ringere end Carl Nielsen i 1926. Han havde fulgt sopranen Johanne Bruns karriere i alle de år han først spillede violin og senere dirigerede i orkestergraven på Det Kongelige Teater. Johanne Brun havde debuteret som balletbarn på Gamle Scene mere end 40 år tidligere, hun havde sunget Brünnhilde i den første danske opførelse af Wagners Nibelungens ring, og nu var hun – i en alder af 49 år – i en både kunstnerisk og økonomisk desperat situation. Hun havde mistet hele sin opsparing under inflationen i Tyskland, og var ikke længere ønsket på sit gamle teater på Kongens Nytorv.
Hør her, hvordan Johanne Brun sang Wagner i 1915 – slutscenen fra Tristan og Isolde, sunget på dansk. Artiklen fortsætter under klippet:
Historien begynder på Frederiksberg. Her blev Johanne født i 1874, og som 7-årig blev hun elev på Det Kongelige Teaters balletskole. Dengang var det helt almindeligt, at balletbørnene også gjorde tjeneste som sangere i de operaer, der krævede børnekor, og Johanne debuterede faktisk som operasanger allerede som 10-årig i børnekoret i Bizets Carmen.
Den lille balletpige havde masser af muligheder for at opleve de lokale stjerner i Den Kongelige Opera. Især én person lagde hun mærke til – tenoren Frederik Brun. Efterhånden som Johanne blev ældre blev han også interesseret i hende, og i 1893 giftede den 41-årige tenor sig med den kun 18-årige balletdanser. Dengang var det normalt, at en danserinde opgav sin karriere i det øjeblik hun blev gift, men Frederik Brun havde allerede opdaget, at hans unge kone havde helt usædvanligt talent for en anden af teatrets kunstarter – nemlig hans egen:
”Hendes egentlige felt er som Wagnersangerinde. Men ved siden af vil hun sikkert med tiden blive en ypperlig koloratursangerinde…”
Johanne Brun fik sangundervisning hos de bedste lærere i byen, Fanny Gætje og dirigenten Frederik Rung. Men når hun kom hjem efter en sangtime blev lærernes råd tit fejet af banen med det samme; Frederik Brun var en dominerende og pedantisk tyran, og han var fanatisk med hensyn til sangteknik. En af hans venner beskriver ham malende i sine erindringer; at han ofte gjorde ”et affekteret, naragtigt indtryk”, og at det var noget af en prøvelse, hvis man stødte ind i ham på gaden:
”Navnlig i de perioder, da han ”lagde stemmen om” og evig og altid gik og eksperimenterede med nye metoder…Så trak han mig ugenert ind i en eller anden port på strøget, der var nogenlunde lukket. Og derinde begyndte han så at slå sine triller eller lade koloraturerne rulle. Men jeg sørgede naturligvis bare for snarest muligt at komme ud af porten igen…”
I årene omkring 1900 så Frederik Brun sin kone ændre sig fra en ung balletdanser til byens førende sopran. Samtidig havde han en fantastisk evne til at løbe direkte ind i alle tænkelige problemer og konflikter; hans stemme var slidt op, han sagde (endnu en gang!) op i vrede på Det Kongelige Teater, og til sidst blev han også skilt fra Johanne. Han emigrerede til Sverige, hvor han arbejdede som barpianist resten af sit liv.
Imens var Johanne Brun blevet én af publikums favoritter på Det Kongelige Teater. Hendes debut i 1896 var som Nattens Dronning i Tryllefløjten, og anmelderne var begejstrede fra begyndelsen. To år senere sang hun Verdis Aida, og hun fortsatte i sæsonerne efter med en utrolig blanding af store, dramatiske partier som Leonora i Verdis Trubaduren og Sieglinde i Wagners Valkyrien – og lyriske koloraturpartier som Rosina i Barberen i Sevilla. På papiret en ret umulig kombination, og ifølge anmelderne var det klart de dramatiske partier, der var Johanne Bruns force.
Det var vand på dirigenten Johan Svendsens mølle. Han havde været fast tilknyttet Det Kongelige Teater siden 1883, og han havde en stor drøm; den første danske opførelse af hele Wagners Nibelungens ring. En drøm, som pludselig kom inden for rækkevidde, da teatret nu pludselig rådede over to sangere, som kunne synge Brünnhilde og Siegfried; Johanne Brun og tenoren Peter Cornelius. Siegfried havde premiere i 1903 og Ragnarok fulgte efter i 1905 – begge operaer blev store triumfer for Johanne Brun. Anmelderne var begejstrede, men deres kendskab til Ringen kunne ligge på et lille sted; ikke én af dem omtaler, at hele første scene af Ragnarok – scenen med de tre norner – var blevet strøget. Rhinguldet kom op på teatret i 1908 – med Johanne Brun som Freja – og nu kunne man opføre alle fire operaer samlet for første gang i Danmark.
I ti år var Johanne Bruns kontrakt med Det Kongelige Teater blevet fornyet efter hver sæson. Hun sang flere Wagner-partier, både Elsa i Lohengrin, og Venus i Tannhäuser. Det var ellers normalt, at en sanger efter en vis årrække blev fastansat – men noget tyder på, at Johanne Brun havde lært mere end sangteknik af sin mand; hun havde udviklet en sund selvsikkerhed, og hun holdt sig ikke tilbage for at sige sin mening om ledelsen på teatret. I årene efter den sidste samlede opførelse af Ringen i 1912 blev der længere og længere mellem hendes optrædener på teatret. Hendes stemme var ikke længere ung og frisk – hvad der vel ikke er noget at sige til efter en god portion Brünnhilde og Isolde – og hun var efterhånden nået op i en vægtklasse, som forhindrede en stor del af de fysiske udfoldelser på scenen. Da Tristan og Isolde skulle op på teatret for første gang i 1914 måtte Johanne Brun slås ihærdigt for muligheden for at få lov til at synge den sidste af de store Wagner-partier hun manglede i sit repertoire – hun truede endda med aldrig at synge på teateret igen hvis de valgte en anden sopran. Det lykkedes for hende at gennemtrumfe sin medvirken, på trods af modstand fra især instruktøren Julius Lehmann, og både publikum og anmeldere var ellevilde med hendes indsats.
I 1916 havde Johanne Brun fået nok af atmosfæren på Det Kongelige Teater. Tyskland var det åbenlyse sted at forsøge sig, også selvom krigen hærgede Europa. Hendes sidste forestilling efter 33 år på Det Kongelige Teater var Aida i maj 1916. Efter forestillingen kunne teaterchefen meddele, at Johanne Brun var blevet udnævnt til kongelig kammersangerinde.
Nu gik turen først til Berlin, hvor Johanne Brun knoklede med at lære den tyske tekst til de roller, hun altid havde sunget på dansk. Her fik hun også et indblik i fordelene ved at bo i Tyskland:
”Efter min erfaring spiser man billigere på restauranterne her i Berlin end i København. Min daglige middag med suppe, fisk eller en anden mellemret, steg med flere slags gemyse og dessert eller ost og brød, kostede mig med et lille glas øl og drikkepenge, kun to mark”
Ikke så underligt, at Johanne Brun havde svært ved at holde vægten nede. Men det skulle sig, at virkeligheden længere sydpå i Tyskland var langtfra så rosenrød som i Berlin. Johanne Brun havde fået en toårig kontrakt med operaen i Nürnberg, og her mødte der hende en ganske anden hverdag. Gaderne var fyldt med krigsinvalider:
”Aldrig vil jeg kunne glemme hvad jeg der så….overalt i Nürnberg møder man disse krøblinge med deres interimistiske hjælpeben og -arme. Med ansigter, hvis bortrevne stykker er erstattede med påsyede dele – forvrængede, opsvulmede menneskemasker, uudholdelige at se på…”
Arbejdet på teatret var også en brat opvågnen. Hendes debut i marts 1916 som Isolde var samtidig hendes første optræden overhovedet på tysk – men alligevel fik hun ikke så meget som én eneste prøve…det var jo en opera, som teatret havde fast på repertoiret, så den slags var sandelig ikke nødvendigt. Arbejdsdagen begyndte normalt med prøver kl. 9 om morgenen – også selv om en sanger havde optrådt aftenen før og måske først havde fået fri ved midnat. Man kunne sagtens komme ud for at skulle synge forestillinger flere aftener i træk, og om søndagen var der hele to forestillinger – og selv hvis man kun sang ved eftermiddagens forestilling, så kunne man alligevel nemt risikere at skulle møde op til aftenprøve senere samme dag.
I årene i Nürnberg sang Johanne Brun flere gange store, krævende hovedpartier som f.eks. Leonore i Beethovens Fidelio med ultrakort varsel og uden prøve. Alligevel havde hun kræfter til at synge som regelmæssig gæst ved operaerne i Augsburg, Köln og Würzburg – og i 1917 sang hun i en komplet opførelse af Ringen i Regensburg.
I september 1922 skrev Johanne Brun kontrakt med operaen i Aachen i Ruhr-distriktet, tæt på den belgiske grænse. Hendes timing ikke alt for heldig, for fire måneder senere invaderede Frankrig og Belgien Ruhr-distriktet. Inflationen galoperede helt ukontrolleret, og der var mangel på stort set alt. I et interview i en dansk avis fortalte Brun om situationen i Aachen:
”Man føler sig meget utryg og uhyggelig til mode. Der er overalt strenge bestemmelser om, på hvilken side af gaden man må gå, og i reglen er det helt forbudt at komme uden for huset efter kl. 8 eller 9 om aftenen. Vi må begynde forestillingen kl. 5 eller 6 om eftermiddagen…Priserne er vanvittige og stiger time for time. Margarine, for eksempel, steg en dag fra 40.000 til 80.000 mark for et pund fra kl. elleve til kl. halv tolv om formiddagen. Min gage er nu 9 millioner mark om ugen!…”
I begyndelsen af 1924 slap Johanne Brun væk fra Aachen. Nu skulle hun begynde på en frisk i Danzig (det nuværende Gdansk), som efter Versailles-freden i 1919 var blevet en fristad under tilsyn af Folkeforbundet. Hun skrev kontrakt med det lokale operahus, og nyheden kom også i de danske aviser. Det lykkes for en enkelt journalist, Ekstra-Bladets berygtede anmelder Frejlif Olsen, ikke blot at erklære Johanne Brun sin uforbeholdne kærlighed og beundring, men også at fornærme ikke blot hende, men hele den samlede befolkning i den tidligere polske by, en stakkels middelmådig balletdanser fra Charlottenlund og samtlige sangere på Det Kongelige Teater i København:
”Det er til at blive idiot og teosof af at tænke på, at Fru Johanne skal henslæbe uger, måske måneder i en by som Danzig. Byen er i englændernes vold, men dette kunne endda være – englænderne er renlige mennesker…men hvem er tilhørerne i den derværende opera? Flertallet er beskidte polakker, fulde af utøj og med pølsemad og bananer i lommerne, som de æder i mellemakterne og udbreder en forfærdelig stank af hvidløg og hjemmebrændt snaps…Hvorfor, spørger man, står Fru Johanne Brun ikke i stedet for og synger i Det kgl. Teater for et elegant klædt og velopdragent publikum med Hans Majestæt Kongen i spidsen på de aftener, hvor forestillingen sluttes med et balletdivertissement med Fru Elna Jørgen Jensen i hovedrollen?…Kan tænkende mennesker med sans for musik lade være med at sammenligne Fru Johanne Brun med de pjathøns, der synger på vores opera?…”
Efter flere linjer af samme skuffe beskriver journalisten i rosende vendinger Johanne Bruns velkonserverede stemmepragt. Men han er ikke færdig med injurierne, og fortsætter i bedste stil:
”Fruen er ikke helt ung længere. Hun har tilmed sin fedme at kæmpe med. Fru Johanne Brun vejer vel nok 230 pund nu, man kan ikke kalde hende et fnug, et støvgran, et molekyle – den slags kælenavne forbyder sig af sig selv…men hvad betyder tykkelse og fedme, når der i den anden vægtskål er skønhed, statelighed, det sødeste ansigt, det elskeligste smil…Fru Johanne Brun! Lad mig sige det rent ud: Jeg tilbeder Dem!”
Den danke journalist var ikke ene om at tiljuble Johanne Brun. Gennem alle årene i Tyskland havde hun hver sommer været i Danmark for at synge for sit trofaste hjemmepublikum i Tivoli, og hver gang kom spørgsmålet om en tilbagevenden til Kongens Nytorv op. Det lykkedes først i 1924 – og kun for en enkelt opførelse af Ambroise Thomas’ Mignon. Den lyriske rolle som Philine var næppe egnet til at vise styrkerne hos en 50-årig Wagnersopran, men anmelderne og publikum var begejstrede. Det blev til endnu én optræden samme år på Det Kongelige Teater, som Sieglinde…en forestilling, som skulle blive hendes sidste optræden på teatret nogensinde.
I 1925 vendte Johanne Brun tilbage til København, naturligvis med håbet om at vende tilbage til sin gamle scene. Teatret var ikke interesseret. Situationen var alvorlig; Johanne Brun havde intet arbejde, ingen pension – hun havde jo aldrig været fastansat – og hele hendes opsparing var forsvundet i den tyske inflationsperiode. Derfor var hun nødt til at bede sine gamle venner – heriblandt Carl Nielsen – om hjælp. Det lykkedes at skaffe hende en årlig sum penge fra staten, og hun fik tildelt en lotterikollektion af kongen som en slags trøstpension. Hun døde i februar 1954, næsten 80 år gammel. De sidste 25 år af sit liv gik hun lige så meget op i det ærefulde hverv med at sælge lotterisedler som i udviklingen på Det Kongelige Teater.
Inden sin død oplevede Danmarks første Brünnhilde én gang selv at vinde i klasselotteriet; hun vandt 600 kroner, og købte et nyt gulvtæppe.
Der er sikkert mange, der husker koncertopførelsen af Bellinis opera Puritanerne i Tivolis Koncertsal for to år siden. Jeg gør – for det var – i al beskedenhed – min idé at Lawrence Brownlee og Sarah Coburn skulle synge hovedpartierne som Arturo og Elvira, og at bel canto-specialisten Giancarlo Andretta skulle dirigere.
Nu vender to af dem tilbage til Tivoli – prøverne er begyndt, og på lørdag synger Sarah Coburn et program med sine egne yndlingsarier sammen med Tivoli Copenhagen Phil og Giancarlo Andretta. Persongalleriet byder på både en kvik teenager fra Sevilla, en pige fra Verona, som Shakespeare lagde pænt mange forhindringer i vejen for, en kvinde med solide søvnproblemer, en halvprostitueret pantomimedanserinde – og en skotsk kvinde med visse mentale udfordringer. Med andre ord en helt normal aften i operaens verden.
Der er stadig billetter til koncerten – læs mere på Tivolis hjemmeside her.
Du kan også æse mere om Sarah Coburn på hendes egen hjemmeside – og her er et klip med én af de arier, som hun synger på lørdag; vanvidsscenen fra Donizettis Lucia di Lammermoor. Her på optagelsen er det nu ikke den italienske originalversion (som er den, hun synger i Tivoli) hun har en klaverprøve på, men den franske udgave – inklusive et højt F!
Jeg præsenterer i øvrigt selv koncerten på lørdag, og kniber igen mig selv i armen over, at det egentlig er et arbejde. Ses vi i Tivoli?
Jeg indrømmer, at jeg elsker tenorstemmen over alle andre. Og én af de første tenorer, jeg hørte live, var på det tidspunkt ansat på Det Kongelige Teater. Operaen var Barberen i Sevilla, og tenoren var Tonny Landy. Jeg var 12 år gammel, og jeg var vildt imponeret.
Senere kunne jeg få listebilletter til få kroner via min daværende lærer, som spillede i Det Kongelige Kapel, og i mine teenageår tilbragte jeg aften efter aften på galleriet, og hørte Tonny synge i både La bohéme, La traviata, Don Pasquale, Carmen og mange, mange andre operaer. I mange tilfælde var det hans stemme, jeg først hørte synge de partier, som jeg senere har hørt med alverdens sangere både på scenen og på plade.
I mange år var én af mine absolutte yndlingsplader Tonny Landys første LP med danske sange, indspillet i 1966 sammen med pianisten Friedrich Gürtler. Jeg har faktisk tre eksemplarer af den, og køber den stadig, når jeg falder over den – bare for en sikkerheds skyld.
Nu har Tonny – som jeg senere har mødt og samarbejdet med i flere sammenhænge, bl.a. som foredragsholder på hans sommerkurser i Løgumkloster – heldigvis udgivet tre cd’er med optagelser fra sin karriere … også de danske sange med Friedrich Gürtler. Den første cd er med danske sange, og optagelser helt tilbage fra 1960 (hvor Tonny kun var 23 år gammel). Cd 2 er med operaoptagelser, både fra Det Kongelige Teaters arkiv og fra de år, hvor Tonny Landy sang i Sverige – og den tredje cd er helliget operette og det lettere repertoire, som Tonny gennem hele karrieren har dyrket så meget, at han blev et overordentligt kendt navn i 70’erne og 80’ernes TV-monopoldage.
Du kan købe de tre cd’er direkte fra Tonny selv ved at sende en mail til hyldgaard-landy@mail.tele.dk eller ringe på 26 19 60 65 – de tre cd’er koster kun kr. 100 plus porto. Og de er hver en krone værd, siger jeg bare!
Hør selv hvor smukt Tonny synger her på en optagelse fra det gamle operahus i Göteborg med Sixten Ehrling som dirigent i 1975.
Efter mere end 40 år som musikchef ved The Met i New York har James Levine måttet kaste håndklædet i ringen (nej, ikke Wagners), og i dag meddelte The Met så, at hans efterfølger bliver den canadiske dirigent Yannick Nézet-Séguin.
Han er 41 år, og kan sådan set i teorien få en lige så lang karriere som Levine – time will show.
Her dirigerer han Tjajkovskij ved The Proms i 2013 – spændende at se hvilken retning har vil føre The Met i de kommende sæsoner.
I øjeblikket skulle man måske tro, at amerikansk politik VAR en opera – og tenoren Ben Heppner tager her skridtet fuldt ud. Sådan ville det lyde, hvis nogen skrev “Donald Trump – The Opera”. Se klippet her.
Den svenske mezzosopran Ann Hallenberg er specialist i tidlig musik. I går aftes modtog hun i London prisen for bedste recital-cd-udgivelse ved The International Opera Awards i London for sin nye cd med titlen “Agrippina” – en udgivelse med operaarier fra barokken af bl.a. Händel, Telemann og Graun.
På cd’en har hun selskab af det eminente italienske barokensemble Il Pomo d’Oro og ikke mindst dirigenten Riccardo Minasi.
Ann Hallenberg er én af de efterhånden mange skandinaviske sangere, der beskæftiger sig med tidlig opera, og hun har siden sit store gennebrud i 2003 – da hun sprang ind for en indisponeret Cecilia Bartoli – arbejdet med dirigenter som Marc Minkowski, Riccardo Muti, Christophe Rousset, Alan Curtis, Emmanuelle Haïm, William Christie, Lothar Zagrosek, Philippe Herreweghe, Fabio Biondi, Federico Maria Sardelli, Ivor Bolton, Sir John Eliot Gardiner, Ottavio Dantone og Christopher Moulds.
Her er en smagsprøve fra Ann Hallenbergs (nu prisvindende) Agrippina-cd – en arie fra Telemanns opera “Germanicus”. Og hvorfor hører vi ikke mere til Telemanns operaer? Det må være næste revival-bølge …
I denne tid er der verdenspremiere på filmen om fænomenet Florence Foster Jenkins med Meryl Streep i hoverollen som den tvivlsomt syngende, rige amerikaner – filmen kommer også til Danmark, men har først premiere her 26. august.
Og Foster Jensen er jo helt klart ikonet blandt en håndfuld sangere, som gennem tiden har gjort sig bemærket ved at synge ekstremt dårligt, men at insistere på at gøre det alligevel. Prøv f.eks. at google Mrs. Miller, norske Olga Marie Mikalsen (som betegnede sig selv som lyrisk alt) eller barytonen Thomas Burns, der kan få alle, der hører hans udgave af “Salut, demure” fra Gounods Faust, til at få spændinger i halsen i dagevis.
Med i den eksklusive klub af folk, der – mere eller mindre uden at vide det – gør det meget svært for os andre at lytte til dem i længere tid ad gangen, er endnu en amerikaner med det skønne navn Tryphosa Bates-Batcheller.
Hun blev født i 1876, som datter af en fremtrædende republikansk politiker og rigmand, og da hun i 1904 blev gift med en anden rig mand, bosatte parret sig i Paris.
Tryphosa havde fået at vide, at hun havde en fin sangstemme, og besluttede at få sangundervisning – og når penge ikke er promblemet, kan man jo lige så godt vælge nogle af verdens mest berømte sangpædagoger, som f.eks. Blanche og Malthilde Marchesi, der uddannede mange af verdens førende sangere i de år.
Som medlem af den eksklusive klub af byens rigeste mennesker var det også nemt for hende at få lejlighed til at optræde ved private sammenkomster og velgørenhedsarrangementer. Og hun kunne også hyre de rigtige akkompagnatører – f.eks. komponisten Jules Massenet, som man ved har optrådt med hende flere gange. Sikkert med tankerne fast rettet mos honoraret og muligheden for at blive venner med endnu flere rige mennesker, som kunne betale overpriser for lignende arrangementer.
Da Tryphosa flyttede tilbage til USA i 1941 indsang hun to plader for samme pladeselskab, som udgav Florence Foster Jenkins’ legendariske indspilninger. Den ene kan du – hvis du tør – høre nederst i dette indlæg.
I én af sine erindringsbøger skriver Tryphosa Bates-Batcheller, at hun også indsang en plade med en Schubert-lied, som åbenbart er gået tabt.
Den unge danske sopran Sofie Elkjær Jensen indtræder i Den Kongelige Operas solistensemble.
Om optagelsen i solistensemblet siger operachef Sven Müller:
”Med Sofie Elkjær Jensen i ensemblet får tilført en markant, dansk solist, som både er en fremragende sanger og dygtig skuespiller. Hun er hjemmevant på vores scener og viste senest i Powder her face, at hun er en enormt talent, som vi godt kan forvente mange gode ting af. Og med hendes indtræden i solistensemblet holder vi det i bedste form.”
Selv siger Sofie Elkjær Jensen:
”Jeg har været i huset i 11 år i alt. Først som billetkontrollør og garderobedame, senere som elev på Operaakademiet og endelig som gæstesolist i mange forestillinger. Det er derfor ubeskriveligt dejligt for mig nu at blive medlem af solistensemblet i det operakompagni, som jeg elsker så højt. Jeg glæder mig til de roller, der allerede er planlagt, og til hvad fremtiden ellers byder på i samarbejdet.”
Sofie Elkjær Jensen er født i 1985 i Slagelse, hvor hendes familie gennem flere generationer har udfoldet sig på den lokale amatørscene, Krabasken. Her debuterede hun også selv som 9-årig. Hun er uddannet sanger fra Det Kongelige Danske Musikkonservatorium (2005-2008) og på Operaakademiet (2008-2011).
Hun har bl.a. optrådt med Den Jyske Opera, Operaen i Kiel, Egnsteater Undergrunden, Copenhagen Opera Festival og GuidOpera.
Og så har hun ikke mindst betrådt Det Kongelige Teaters scener som gæstesolist i en lang række operaforestillinger, herunder Den fiffige lille ræv (2012), Il trittico (2012), Old maid and the thief (2013), Carmen (2013), Maskarade (2015) og senest den uhyre succesfulde og kritikerroste forestilling Powder her face (2016).
Sofie Elkjær Jensen har tidligere modtaget bl.a. Leonie Sonnings Studielegat, Wagnerselskabets legat, Ålborg Operapris samt været nomineret til en Reumert som årets sanger (for Old maid and the sea i 2014).
Sofie Elkjær Jensen indtræder i solistensemblet med starten af den nye sæson.
Hør et interview med Sofie Elkjær Jensen, da hun var gæst hos mig i Parnasset på P2 i april – linket til streamingen af udsendelsen er her.
En trist dag, ikke mindst for de omkring 3000 unge musikere, som i løbet af de sidste 40 år har spillet i The European Union Youth Orchestra (EUYO), som lukker pr, 1. september i år. Også mange danske musikere har været gennem møllen, og fået deres første oplevelser af at spille i orkester på virkelig højt plan med verdens førende dirigenter.
EU-komissionen har simpelthen droppet støtten til orkestret, grundlagt af Claudio Abbado, som var tilbagevendende dirigent for det i mange år.
EUYO er “den eneste organisation i verden, der rekrutterer og bringer unge musikere sammen hvert år i den europæiske ånd”, siger orkesterchef Marshal Marcus. “Hvis EU ikke er villige til at støtte deres eget ungdomsorkester, må det lukke. En trist dag for EU.”
Læs mere her. Og se, hvordan du kan støtte orkestret her.
Én af de fantastiske ting ved at blive ældre er, at ting, man drømmer om, somme tider på mirakuløs vis pludselig dukker op efter mange år. Endda til en pris, som man ikke i sin vildeste fantasi havde troet muligt for 30 år siden.
Mange af de LP’er, som jeg i sin tid bladrede igennem i Bristol Music og Fona på Strøget (dengang den lå lige ved Skoubogade) kostede en pæn formue for en 14-årig som mig. Der var masser af plader med sangere som Birgit Nilsson, Marilyn Horne, Hans Hotter, Sylvia Sass og mange andre, som jeg ikke havde en jordisk chance for at få råd til dengang. Så meget mere herligt er det, når Decca nu udgiver 55 af netop de indspilninger i en boks til en pris på ca. 15 kroner stykket – eller i alt omkring 800 kroner for hele kassen.
Og der er virkelig mange perler imellem; mine egne favoritter er nok cd’erne hvor den finske superbas Martti Talvela synger Musorgskijs Dødens sange og danse, Marilyn Hornes recitalplade fra mit fødeår 1964 (som hænger på min køkkenvæg i LP-format i dag), Huguette Turangeaus silkebløde mezzo i temmelig ukendt fransk opera og – selvfølgelig – den unge Pavarottis Verdi/Donizetti-plade. Foruden andre, lidt senere, favoritter som Cecilia Bartoli, Joseph Calleja, Andreas Scholl og Matthias Goerne.
Alt i alt en boks, som man på operamæssig Joakim von And-facon kan bade sig i i dagevis. Den kommer helt sikkert til at stå meget tæt på min cd-afspiller i de kommende uger.
Her er listen over guldklumperne i kassen:
CD 1: SUZANNE DANCO Operatic Recital (1950)
CD 2: PAUL SCHÖFFLER Operatic Recital (1950)
CD 3: KATHLEEN FERRIER A Recital of Bach and Handel Arias (1952)
CD 4: CESARE SIEPI Operatic Arias for Bass (1954)
CD 5: FERNANDO CORENA Operatic Arias for Bass (1956)
CD 6: MARIO DEL MONACO Great Tenor Arias (1956)
CD 7: KIRSTEN FLAGSTAD Wagner Recital+ Sibelius Songs (1956)
CD 8: LISA DELLA CASA Lieder Recital (1956)
CD 9: GIULIETTA SIMIONATO Operatic Recital (1956)
CD 10: GÉRARD SOUZAY French Operatic Arias+ Gabriel Fauré (1956)
CD 11: VIRGINIA ZEANI Operatic Recital (1956)
CD 12: JENNIFER VYVYAN Mozart and Haydn Recital (1957)
CD 13: CARLO BERGONZI Operatic Recital (1957)
CD 14: GIUSEPPE DI STEFANO Operatic Recital+ Italian songs (1958)
CD 15: JOAN SUTHERLAND Operatic Arias (1959)
CD 16: REGINA RESNIK On the Wings of Opera (1961)
CD 17: HILDE GUEDEN Sings Operetta Evergreens (1961)
CD 18: TERESA BERGANZA Sings Mozart (1962)
CD 19: TOM KRAUSE Songs by Sibelius and Strauss (1963)
CD 20: PETER PEARS Schubert Winterreise (1963)
CD 21: BIRGIT NILSSON Sings German Opera by Wagner, Weber & Beethoven (1963)
CD 22: ROBERT MERRILL + James McCracken Italian Opera Arias (1963)
CD 23: MARILYN HORNE Recital (1964)
CD 24: RENATA TEBALDI Operatic Arias (1964)
CD 25: HERMANN PREY Schubert Schwanengesang (1965)
CD 26: ELENA SOULIOTIS Donizetti & Verdi (1966)
CD 27: RÉGINE CRESPIN Recital: Schumann · Wolf · Debussy · Poulenc (1967)
CD 28: GWYNETH JONES Scenes from Verdi (1968)
CD 29: LUCIANO PAVAROTTI Arias by Verdi and Donizetti (1968)
CD 30: NICOLAI GHIAUROV Great Scenes from Verdi + Mussorgsky (1969)
CD 31: HUGUETTE TOURANGEAU Arias from Forgotten Operas (1970)
CD 32: MARIA CHIARA Sings Verdi Arias (1972)
CD 33: SHERRILL MILNES Great Scenes from Italian Opera (1972)
CD 34: HANS HOTTER The Art of Hans Hotter vol.1(1974)
CD 35: SYLVIA SASS Presenting Sylvia Sass (1977)
CD 36: PILAR LORENGAR Portrait of Pilar (1978)
CD 37: ELISABETH SÖDERSTRÖM Sings Songs for Children (Prokofiev and Mussorgsky) + Rachmaninov (1978)
CD 38: MIRELLA FRENI & RENATA SCOTTO In Duet (1978)
CD 39: MARTTI TALVELA Mussorgsky Songs & Dances of Death / Rachmaninov Songs (1980)
CD 40: PAATA BURCHULADZE Boris Godunov, Verdi, etc. (1984)
CD 41: LEO NUCCI Bel canto Arias (1986)
CD 42: SUSAN DUNN Verdi · Beethoven · Wagner (1987)
CD 43: CECILIA BARTOLI Rossini Arias (1988)
CD 44: JOSEPHINE BARSTOW Final Scenes: R.Strauss, Cherubini, Janáček and Puccini (1989)
CD 45: KIRI TE KANAWA In Recital: Liszt · Obradors · Ravel (1989)
CD 46: BRIGITTE FASSBAENDER Liszt Lieder (1990)
CD 47: SUMI JO Carnaval! (1993)
CD 48: ANGELA GHEORGHIU Arias (1995)
CD 49: ANDREAS SCHOLL Heroes (1998)
CD 50: RENÉE FLEMING Great Opera Scenes (1996)
CD 51: BARBARA BONNEY Diamonds in the Snow (1999)
CD 52: MATTHIAS GOERNE Arias (2000)
CD 53: JUAN DIEGO FLÓREZ Una furtiva lagrima (2002)
CD 54: JONAS KAUFMANN Mozart · Schubert · Beethoven · Wagner (2008)
CD 55: JOSEPH CALLEJA The Maltese Tenor (2010)
I have no doubt. And even though he didn’t live to see his own 36th birthday he left a recorded legacy of hundreds of recordings, most still unsurpassed by any other tenor since.
His name is Fritz Wunderlich. He was the reason I became hooked on opera at the age if 11, and I have spent countless hours listening to his recordings again and again. Recordings that span a period of only a rough decade, terminating in 1966.
On September 5th that year Fritz Wunderlich appeared at the Edinburgh Festival in a performance of Die Zauberflöte, and once more he was hailed as the outstanding Mozart tenor of the day. Wunderlich had sung Tamino hundreds of times before, but after the Edinburgh performances he asked Ferdinand Leitner, who was conducting, to go through the score with him. Wunderlich was not satisfied with his Tamino anymore – he knew that he could do better, and he wanted to bring new life to his interpretation. Leitner agreed to help, and invited him to his house. A date was settled for; Sunday September 18th.
Fritz Wunderlich never met Leitner that Sunday. Wunderlich died tragically the day before after falling down the stairs in a friend’s hunting lodge. The banister made of rope was not securely fastened to the wall and when Wunderlich tripped on the staircase he tore it out, falling head first onto the stone floor below. Afterwards it was noticed that Wunderlich had forgotten to tighten one of his shoe laces. He was taken unconscious to hospital, where he died a few hours later – little more than a week before his 36th birthday. The Edinburgh Zauberflöte was his last appearance on stage.
One of the most remarkable tenors in recording history was granted a career of only slightly more than a decade. All the more remarkable is the amazing number of recordings he made, many of which have remained in the catalogue continually to this date. Even in his very first sessions we hear some of the qualities that made Wunderlich the most celebrated German tenor after the War: The natural freshness of his voice, the expressive musicality, and above all his boundless enthusiasm. Wunderlich always sounds as if he is completely convinced of the music he is singing, be it Wozzeck or Der Bettelstudent.
Friedrich Karl Otto Wunderlich was born on September 26th, 1930 in the small village of Kusel in south-western Germany, close to the French border. Besides running a local inn with a small movie theatre both his parents were part-time musicians, and before his teens Fritz learned to play both the accordion and the trumpet. He often played dance music in his youth, and sometimes he would also croon a refrain. His voice turned out to be a natural tenor, and at the age of 19 he took his first singing lessons from a professional coach; once a week Wunderlich would bike the 40 kilometres to Kaiserslautern – and back again.
In 1950 he was accepted at the Hochschule für Musik in Freiburg, where he studied with Margarethe von Winterfeld. She taught him the technical basis of singing, devoting much time to intonation and breathing. Wunderlich made progress, and in 1954 he was chosen as Tamino in the Hochschule’s staging of Die Zauberflöte. He was now on his way towards a career that would soon give him his first contract with an opera house; a five-year beginner’s contract with the Württemberg State Opera in Stuttgart. Again, his first major role was Tamino. On February 18th, 1955 Wunderlich stepped in for an indisposed Josef Traxel, and was immediately recognised by both the audience and the critics as the new young lyric tenor of the theatre.
Others had their eyes and ears on Wunderlich too. Until recently it was believed that Wunderlich’s first experience in a recording studio was in late July 1955, recording Monteverdi’s Orfeo with August Wenzinger for Deutsche Grammophon’s Archiv label, but now it has been determined that Wunderlich’s recording debut took place a few days before in Stuttgart on July 17th, when the 24-year old singer recorded the tenor solo in Beethoven’s Symphony no. 9 with the Stuttgart Philharmonic conducted by Isaie Diesenhaus. Later in 1955 Wunderlich recorded, also in Stuttgart, a Bach cantata with the conductor Marcel Couraud for the French label Les Discophiles Francais.
Soon after Wunderlich was contacted by the Stuttgart-based record club Europäische Phonoklub. They wanted him as an exclusive artist, and the newly-wed Wunderlich was only happy to accept a monthly fee for a fixed number of recordings each year – a well needed supplement to his salary at the Stuttgart Opera. The Phonoklub recordings were intended for sale through the club only, and were not distributed to regular shops. The masters, however, were later bought by Eurodisc, who did not hesitate to issue them on a broader scale – much to the annoyance of Wunderlich, who tried persistently but fruitlessly to prevent the reissue of this material.
The first session for Europäische Phonoklub took place in September 1956. Wunderlich was to record highlights from La Bohème, Rodolfo being a part he had not studied in any detail. He turned up to the session at the Hotel Esplanade having prepared the first act aria and the following duet with Mimi only, and much to his surprise learned that he was also required to sing several ensembles scheduled for recording that same day. Fortunately, Wunderlich was phenomenal at sight-reading, thanks to his early experiences playing dance music, and indeed many of the popular songs and operetta arias Wunderlich later recorded were items that he saw more or less for the first time at the recording sessions.
During the following four years Wunderlich recorded extensively for EPK, mostly highlights from popular operas and operettas such as Cavalleria Rusticana, Madame Butterfly, Die Fledermaus and Raymond’s Maske in Blau, as well as several 7 and 10 inch records mainly consisting of single opera and operetta arias, all sung in German. The original Europäische Phonoklub records are not easy to find on the second hand market today, but a small selection from these recordings are now available on CD.
In 1956 Les Discophiles Francais again approached Wunderlich regarding a recording of three further Bach cantatas. Wunderlich, being tied to his contract with EPK, solved the problem; he used the assumed name of Werner S. Braun for the recordings, pressed in only 200 copies each, and numbered by hand in Roman numerals. When Philips later reissued the cantatas Wunderlich was still listed as Werner S. Braun on the cover.
Wunderlich was a frequent guest in the studios of the German radio stations, and a still increasing number of live recordings and broadcast productions of repertoire Wunderlich never recorded commercially are becoming available from companies such as Orfeo, Bella Voce and Myto. One of the most outstanding is the 1959 Salzburg recording of Richard Strauss’ Die schweigsame Frau. The part of Henry Morosus was Wunderlich’s debut at the Salzburg Festival, and the cast included Hans Hotter and Hermann Prey, the latter to become one of Wunderlich’s closest friends. Karl Böhm conducted the performances, and after the first performance Herbert von Karajan came backstage with a contract for the Vienna State Opera. But Wunderlich had to decline; he had just signed up with the opera in Munich, and he was determined to honour his obligations towards this contract.
In 1959 Wunderlich was offered a new recording contract, this time by Electrola, the German branch of EMI. Now, at the age of 29, he was recording for one of the leading companies. This also meant that he was competing with the other leading tenors on this label, mainly Nicolai Gedda and Rudolf Schock. During his time with Electrola Wunderlich was not allowed to record anything already in the company catalogue featuring other singers. Wunderlich consequently could not record his core repertoire, and this explains the absence of a complete Die Zauberflöte, Don Giovanni or Cosi fan tutte from Wunderlich’s Electrola period. Instead he recorded two German operas in the popular area; Nicolai’s Die lustigen Weiber von Windsor and Lorzing’s Der Wildschütz, two minor Wagnerian roles as well as numerous opera and operetta exerpts. Perhaps the most successful of the Electrola recordings is Smetana’s The Bartered Bride, a recording that reveals Wunderlich’s great comic talent, and shows how much fun and sparkling joy he is able to get across to the listener.
At the other end of the scale a couple of the Electrola recordings never seizes to amaze. Why, for instance, are the accompaniments for the two arias from L’elisir d’amore tampered with both harmonically and regarding the instrumentation? Surely, no one today would dream of exchanging the bassoon in ‘Una furtina lagrima’ with a cor anglaise! Or add a diminished chord and some romantic sounding chromatics to the few bars of the orchestral introduction to ‘Quanto é bella’.
In 1964 Wunderlich signed a new recording contract, this time with Deutsche Grammophon. His career now finally centred around the Vienna State Opera, and Wunderlich was in demand from opera houses all over Europe. Although the had to turn down more than 90 per cent of all the offers he received, a day with a morning rehearsal, an afternoon recording session and an evening performance was not unusual to Wunderlich.
One of the first recording projects for Wunderlich under his new contract was a very special event. His legendary Tamino was to be recorded in Berlin in June 1964, with Karl Böhm conducting, and among his partners were Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Roberta Peters, Franz Crass, Evelyn Lear and Hans Hotter, in a set that is still one of the great Mozart recordings of all time. It is interesting to compare Wunderlich’s three commercial recordings of the ‘Bildnis’ aria from Die Zauberflöte. Going back to the 1958 recording for EPK we hear a nice, youthful voice, but throughout Wunderlich has a tendency to break the legato. He often separates repeated vowels with a ‘ha’ or ‘he’ sound; ‘und ewig wäre Sie dann mein’ becomes ‘un e-he-wi-hig wä-hä-re Sie dann mein’. This, combined with a habit of often starting a note softly and then make a crescendo on it, does not help the legato much.
In his next studio recording of this aria in 1960 with Berislav Klobucar Wunderlich’s voice has matured into the timbre of his peak. He still has not quite got rid of some of his earlier habits, but this is certainly a much more convincing interpretation.
Finally the complete recording from 1964, captivated in superb sound by the DG engineers. This performance has never been equalled on record for beauty, style and elegance. Here we have the ideal Tamino, a part that has matured with countless performances all over Europe with the world’s leading conductors. Just listen to the way Wunderlich builds up to the climax at the end of the aria. A truly great performance, one that I seriously doubt will ever be surpassed.
Besides his opera repertoire Wunderlich throughout his career sang in countless performances of the Bach passions and cantatas, and he was especially praised for his dramatic and yet deeply profound Evangelist in Bach’s Matthäus Passion. Unfortunately Decca for their only Wunderlich recording in 1964 chose to let him sing the arias only, leaving the Evangelist to Peter Pears. But happily Wunderlich’s Evangelist has been preserved in a 1962 live recording from Vienna conducted by Karl Böhm, recently unearthed and issued by Myto. Wunderlich is in superb voice, as is Christa Ludwig, but the set is marred by an inadequate choir and performances by Wilma Lipp and Otto Wiener that were better kept in eternal darkness. Listen with your finger on the CD-player’s skip button!
In November 1964 Wunderlich was in London for the only EMI recording still to come – one that goes right to the top of my desert island list; Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde with Otto Klemperer conducting. Often sung by strained and stiff heldentenors, it is a relief to hear the three songs with the perfect mixture of a forward, beautifully lyric sound combined with a powerful, flexible and full scaled interpretation. Wunderlich is in complete control of the dynamic demands made by Mahler ranging from the electrifying vision of the howling ape in the first song to the solemn description of the little pond with the green pavilion made of porcelain in the third.
The following year Wunderlich recorded the part of Andres in Alban Berg’s Wozzeck with Karl Böhm conducting. Wunderlich not only sang the fiendishly difficult music with complete ease, but also contributed the whistling required by Andres in the score, normally done by one of the flautists in the orchestra. Later that year he recorded Bach’s Weinachts Oratorium with Karl Richter in Munich, as well as another Mozart opera, Die Entführung with Eugen Jochum conducting. Here Wunderlich includes a glorious account of the virtuoso Baumeister aria, often cut in both performances and recordings.
In February 1966 Wunderlich was in Berlin, recording both Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis and the choral parts of Haydn’s Die Schöpfung, both with the same team of soloists and with Herbert von Karajan conducting. The rest of Die Schöpfung was recorded in 1968 and ’69 – after Wunderlich’s death, and with Werner Krenn taking over the remaining tenor solos. Fortunately Wunderlich recorded Uriel’s most important solos, including a ravishing account of the aria ‘Mit Würd’ und Hoheit angetan’.
Two of the most important of Wunderlich’s DG recordings are the lieder issues, Schumann’s Dichterliebe and Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin, the latter being Wunderlich’s second studio recording of the song cycle, made only two months before his death. This recording was one of my first LPs, a gift from a music teacher who had a duplicate to spare, and it was my favourite record for a long time. I was around 13 years of age, and I must have driven my parents crazy playing the same record over and over. Still today, when I play this recording on CD, I await the awful moment in the eighth song ‘Morgengruss’ where a series of loud clicks anticipated a repeated grove, continuing the words ‘blauen Morgen’ again and again until I got up and moved the pick-up.
Comparing Wunderlich’s two commercial recordings of Die Schöne Müllerin there is not only a development of the voice, but also a striking difference in the interpretations. In the early recording for Europäische Phonoklub Wunderlich is clearly a little afraid of the task. The youthful, fresh voice is in itself a pleasure to listen to, but as an interpretation the 1957 recording has far to go. Wunderlich is cautious, he is slightly out of tune in several songs, and he often breathes in awkward places, breaking a phrase into several smaller – and he is not helped much by the heavy and not very inspired accompaniment by Kurt Heinz Stolze.
When he recorded the cycle again almost ten years later he had had a tremendous experience as a lieder singer on stage, having sung Die schöne Müllerin countless times in public – mostly with Hubert Giesen, who is also his accompanist on the DG recording. Giesen gives solid support without bringing much magic to the accompaniment, but he is nevertheless an improvement from Stolze. As an example of the difference between the two versions listen to the sixth song – ‘Der Neugierige’. In the phrase ‘Ein Wörtchen um und um’ one can on the DG recording enjoy the superb cantilena that Wunderlich did not posses in 1957. The second recording is a landmark in lieder singing on record, with beautiful phrasing and secure breathing as just the foundation of a truly great interpretation. It is not a Fischer-Dieskauian psychologically complex reading, but simply a straightforward and sincerely musical performance. Wunderlich now gives much more meaning to the words without any loss of the freshness, and it is a delight to hear the cycle sung by a mature tenor in full command of the music.
By only singing lyrical parts until his mid-thirties, Wunderlich left himself the choice of his future repertory: From where he stood at the time of his death he could have gone in several directions. Wunderlich cleverly rejected all the tempting offers he received from Wieland Wagner, who wanted him to sing Lohengrin in Bayreuth as early as 1958. Wunderlich was firm: No Wagner until after his 40th year. It has often been stated that Wunderlich would have been a sensational Lohengrin, von Stolzing or Siegmund, or even Tristan. But perhaps he would have preferred to sing the Italian lirico spinto repertoire, with parts like Radamès in Aïda and Cavaradossi in Tosca – both certainly to have been within his grasp in just a few more years.
Listen for instance to the live-recordings of La Traviata and to the Verdi Requiem – here he sounds every bit as ‘Italian’ as most native Italians. Thanks to Herbert von Karajan, a strong advocate for singing operas in their original language, we can also hear a live recording from the Vienna State Opera of Wunderlich’s Don Ottavio in Don Giovanni in Italian. And what a difference from the studio recording of his two arias in German. Suddenly the music flows easily, and it is as if the Italian language presses a button in Wunderlich, almost transforming him to another singer, seemingly born in Milan or Rome. At the time of his tragic death he was planning to add both The Duke in Rigoletto and Rodolfo in La Bohème to his repertoire.
Wunderlich often sang the small but tricky part of the Italian singer in Der Rosenkavalier, and one of these performances has been preserved; a gala performance at the Munich Opera in May 1965. Here Wunderlich surpasses himself singing with an almost diabolical ringing force right through to the point where he is interrupted by Baron Ochs. This aria is well worth the price of the three CDs altogether!
Whether his voice would have coped with this treatment in the long run is of course purely speculation today, but the Finnish bass Kim Borg, who sang with Wunderlich on several occasions, recalls the way that Wunderlich always gave his most in every single performance: “Even though it sounds like the sort of thing one would only say looking back, I was already then suspicious that Wunderlich’s career would perhaps be a short one. He simply gave everything he had, he never spared his voice – and I think he would have had problems later if his career had been longer”.
Wunderlich never lived to experience problems like these. In September 1966 he was due for rehearsals at The Metropolitan in New York for his house debut as Don Ottavio in Don Giovanni. But the air ticket across the Atlantic had to be cancelled. The death notice in the newspapers read only one line: ‘Fate has taken everything from us’.
Wagner: Den flyvende hollænder
Hollænderen: Johan Reuter
Senta: Ann Petersen/Magdalene A. Hoffmann
Daland: Stephen Milling/Sten Byriel
Det Kongelige Kapel/Det Kongelige Operakor
Dirigent: Jun Märkl
Iscenesættelse: Jonathan Kent
Verdi: Macbeth Macbeth: Dario Solari
Lady Macbeth: Katrin Kapplusch
Banquo: Henning von Schulman
Macduff: Niels Jørgen Riis/Michael Kristensen
Det Kongelige Kapel/Det Kongelige Operakor
Dirigent: Joanna Malwitz
Iscenesættelse: Benedict Andrews
Den Kongelige Opera sender desuden to turnéforestillinger rundt i landet:
Mozarts Figaros bryllup i Elisa Kragerups roste opsætning på de større scener i provinsen og en kammerversion af Carl Nielsens Maskarade, som spilles mindre steder.
Læs mere på Det Kongelige Teaters hjemmeside her.
Læs hele sæsonbogen her.
Her er Berlingskes kommentar til operasæsonen. Her er Politikens kommentar til operasæsonen.
Så har Reumert-juryen annonceret de nominerede i kategorien Årets Opera:
• Leaves, Copenhagen Opera Festival og Sort/Hvid
• Jægerbruden, Det Kongelige Teater og Royal Opera House Covent Garden
• Powder her face, Det Kongelige Teater
Og det er i Operaen det sker – også når Bikubenfonden søndag 12. juni 2016 for 18. gang uddeler Reumert-priser til de bedste præstationer inden for dansk scenekunst.
Hvilke operaer kommer op i den kommende sæson? Hvem synger hovedpartierne? Og hvem dirigerer og iscenesætter?
I morgen formiddag kl. 10 afslører Det Kongelige Teater den nye sæson – og denne gang streames pressemødet direkte på teatrets egen hjemmeside, så alle kan følge med samtidig med journalisterne.
Hvis du klikker på linket her i morgen kl. 10 (det virker af gode grunde ikke før), kan du også følge med direkte.
Hvis man siger Malko, tænker de fleste sikkert på den dirigentkonkurrence, som DR SymfoniOrkestret afholder hvert tredje år – én af de virkelig store og vigtige internationale konkurrencer for unge dirigenter. Men nu udvider DR med endnu et tiltag i dirigenten Nikolaj Malkos navn; Malko Dirigentskolen.
Her kan unge i alderen 12-25 år prøve kræfter med at dirigere et professionelt kor eller orkester, og landets spirende dirigenttalenter kan samles i et talentudviklingsprogram i en dirigentskole, som består af en 2-årig talentlinje, hvor 4 dirigentspirer vil følge et længere koncentreret undervisningsforløb, med mulighed for at dirigere nogle af DR’s kor og orkestre, samt deltage i kurser med de stjernedirigenter, der løbende besøger DR. Foruden talentlinjen afholdes der en række dirigentworkshops i DR og i resten af landet. Hensigten er at de, som er nysgerrige omkring faget direktion får mulighed for at prøve kræfter med at stå foran et professionelt kor eller orkester.
I samarbejde med Det Jyske Musikkonservatorium afholder Malko Dirigentskolen en række workshops i direktion. De første workshops vil henvende sig til børn og unge i alderen 12-16 år. Her får børn og unge i alle aldre mulighed for at træde op på dirigentpodiet og dirigere et professionelt orkester eller kor.
Kender du nogen i aldersgruppen, som kunne være interesserede? Så klik ind på dette link og send idéen videre. Det kræver ingen erfaring med musik eller direktion at deltage i workshoppen. Alle børn og unge, der er inden for alderskategorien, kan melde sig. På hver workshop vil der være ti deltagere, der får mulighed for at dirigere plus tilhørere. Pladserne bliver besat efter først-til-mølle-princippet. Se mere om projektet i klippet her:
Baritone Ingvar Wixell was born in Luleå in 1931. A member of the ensemble at Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm from 1955 to 67 he then joined the Deutsche Oper Berlin in 1967 where he was a member for more than 30 years. He sang at the Salzburg and Bayreuth festivals, as well as on stages all over the world. And he even participated in the Eurovision Song Contest!
Wixell actually performed all the songs in the local competition to select Sweden’s Eurovision Song Contest 1965 entry. The winning song was “Annorstädes Vals” (Elsewhere Waltz), which Wixell went on to perform at the international final in Naples. In a break from the then prevailing tradition, the song was sung in English (as “Absent Friend”). This led to the introduction from 1966 onwards of a rule stipulating that each country’s entry must be sung in one of the languages of that country.
The contest took place in Naples, and was Italy’s first hosting of the Eurovision Song Contest. 18 countries participated, and it created quite a stir that Wixell performed his song in English instead of the original Swedish. The native languages were used for all of the other participants, and this led to a rule being introduced for the 1966 edition onwards, when all participants had to perform their songs using one of their national language.
The song came 10th in the competition, by the way …
… men kun fordi han netop blev født den 29. februar, som jo kun optræder i kalenderen hvert fjerde år. Ellers havde han kunnet fejre sin 224 års fødselsdag.
I år er det samtidig 200 år siden hans allermest berømte opera havde premiere. Her på fødselsdagen synes jeg, at det er på sin plads med en tur tilbage til 1816, hvor Rossini skrev sit kendteste værk på kun 24 dage – inklusive tilretning af libretto og en komplet prøveperiode. Kan det overhovedet lade sig gøre? Lad os skrue tiden tilbage til 1815 …
Rom er måske nok den evige stad med en fortid som verdens centrum – men det kan være svært at se i 1815. Turen ind til byen giver et fingerpeg om, hvad der venter; det øde landskab er spækket med landevejsrøvere, selv om de langs indfaldsvejene kan se de makabre beviser på byens barske justits på området – lange pæle med afhuggede arme og ben fra deres mindre heldige kolleger.
Inde i selve byen fortsætter de triste syn. De gamle romerske ruiner ligger halvt overgroet, flokke af får og grise roder rundt i jorden på Forum Romanum, og Colloseum er nu bare stedet, hvor romerne ganske gratis kan hente stenblokke til deres nye huse. Rom er ufattelig beskidt og uhumsk, og om sommeren hærger malariaen i den stegende hede i de faldefærdige fattigkvarterers smalle gader. Alligevel strømmer studerende, kunstnere og turister til fra hele Europa. Nogle af dem bliver endda boende, som den danske billedhugger Bertel Thorvaldsen, som har haft sit atelier her i byen i 19 år.
Gioachino Rossini er 23 år, da han kommer til Rom i efteråret 1815 for at arbejde på Teatro Valle. Han er allerede en garvet rotte i operafaget, og har i de sidste fem år arbejdet sig frem til en position som en af de mest efterspurgte komponister i Napoli, Venedig, Milano og Rom. For Rossini er det en særlig oplevelse at se teatret, for det var her hans første opera – skrevet da han kun var 14 år – blev uropført. Ganske vist skete det først for fire år siden, men dengang havde Rossini travlt med at sætte nye operaer op i Ferrara og Venedig. Nu står han for første gang i Teatro Valle, hvor han dels skal stå for en produktion af operaen Tyrken i Italien, som han året før har skrevet til La Scala i Milano, og dels skal skrive en helt ny opera til teatret. Han er næppe imponeret.
Standarden på scenen og i orkestergraven er ufatteligt ringe. Musikerne er amatører; de spiller i teatret om aftenen og arbejder som guldsmede, snedkere eller murere om dagen – og Rossini ved ikke om han skal være mest forarget over, at hans barber spiller klarinet i orkestret, eller over at hans klarinettist også er hans barber. Den franske komponist Hector Berlioz besøger Rom nogle år senere, hvor forholdene åbenbart ikke er blevet meget bedre:
Det er værre end nogen kan forestille sig – her er mangel på både musikere og på enhver fornemmelse for musik. De få violinister i orkestret spiller helt efter deres egne hoveder, og de begynder og slutter når de har lyst.
For mange italienske teatergæster i de fine loger er det langt hen ad vejen også ret ligegyldigt, hvad der sker på scenen. De kommer for at blive set og for at møde andre med samme sociale status, og mange har købt en loge for en hel sæson. Måske hører de efter til premieren, men efter et par forestillinger drukner meget af sangen og musikken i almindelig larm. Oppe på galleriet sidder andre grupper, som til gengæld er fanatiske tilhængere eller modstandere af en bestemt komponist eller sanger. Nogle af dem har en yderst professionel holdning til begivenhederne på scenen; de er betalt af kunstnerne selv eller af operaledelsen for enten at ytre sig positivt om de betalende eller buh’e konkurrenterne ud. Slagsmål er ikke ualmindeligt, og publikum opfører sig mange steder nærmest som om de var til en sportskamp 200 år senere. Politiet er i salen hver eneste aften. Den tyske komponist Louis Spohr besøger Italien i de år:
De populære arier er det eneste, der tiltrækker sig publikums opmærksomhed. Under ouverturen og recitativerne er larmen i huset så kraftig, at man knap kan høre musikken. Der bliver spillet kort i de fleste loger, og der bliver konverseret højlydt overalt. Men opmærksomhed er måske også for meget forlangt fra mennesker, som allerede har hørt samme opera 30 eller 40 gange, og som udelukkende er i teatret af sociale grunde.
Rossinis nye opera hedder Torvaldo e Dorliska, og den har premiere 26. december – åbningen af karnevalssæsonen. De store byer syd for alperne – dem med mange teatre – har op til tre operasæsoner om året, som varer et par måneder hver: Den vigtigste er karnevalssæsonen, som varer fra 2. juledag til fasten. Senere kommer påskesæsonen, og til sidst efterårssæsonen, som varer til advent. I hver sæson må et operahus med respekt for sig selv sætte mindst én nyskrevet opera op. Publikum kræver hele tiden nye værker, og helst skrevet af de kendte komponister. Men succesen er absolut ikke garanteret bare fordi man hedder Rossini og rygtet om en usædvanligt begavet ung maestro er løbet i forvejen. Efter premieren på Torvaldo e Dorliska sender Rossini sin mor et brev med en tegning af en flaske (på italiensk: fiasco) – hans sædvanlige tegn til hende, når han ikke orker at beskrive en dårlig premiere.
Allerede inden premieren på Torvaldo e Dorliska får Rossini en henvendelse fra et konkurrerende teater i byen, Teatro della torre Argentina. Teatret er ejet af den fornemme familie Cesarini, og det er hertugen selv, der forsøger sig som impresario. Det er en svær branche, hvor kun meget få kan få tingene til at hænge sammen. Det går da heller ikke for godt for teatret, og alt står og falder med det næste bestillingsværk. Normalt spiller Argentina-teatret mest seriøse operaer, men nu må der ske noget; hertug Cesarini satser på en komisk opera, og Rossini skriver under på kontrakten:
Signor Duca Sforza-Cesarini engagerer signor Maestro Gioachino Rossini for den kommende karnevalssæson i 1816; bemeldte Rossini lover og forpligter sig til at komponere en opera buffa, som vil blive opført i bemeldte sæson på det angivne teater, til den libretto, som vil blive ham givet af bemeldte impresario, hvad enten denne libretto er gammel eller ny. Maestro Rossini forpligter sig til at aflevere sit [klaver]partitur i midten af januar måned og lempe det til efter sangernes stemmer, yderligere forbindende sig til – såfremt fornødent gøres – at foretage alle de forandringer, der måtte ønskes enten af hensyn til musikkens gode udførelse eller sangernes bekvemmelighed og fordringer.
Ligeledes lover og forpligter Maestro Rossini sig til at være til stede i Rom ikke senere end i slutningen af december i år, og at aflevere første akt af operaen fuldstændig færdig til kopisten 20. januar 1816. Denne dato, 20. januar, fastsættes for at prøverne kunne blive afholdt i rette tid og operaen opført, når det af impresarioen ønskes, idet første forestilling er berammet til hen i mod 5. februar. Ligeledes skal Maestro Rossini aflevere anden akt til kopisten når det ønskes, for at operaen kan gå i scene til den nævnte tid. I modsat fald vil Maestro Rossini udsætte sig for at komme til at lide hele skaden, fordi det bør være således og ikke anderledes.
Maestro Rossini skal endvidere efter sædvanlig skik være forpligtet til at dirigere sin opera og personligt lede alle sang- og orkesterprøver, så ofte det udkræves, hvad enten de holdes i teatret eller andet steds, alt efter impresarioens bestemmelse. Han forpligter sig særligt til at være til stede ved de tre første opførelser, der vil følge umiddelbart efter hinanden, og lede udførelsen fra klaviaturet, fordi det bør være således og ikke anderledes.
Til vederlag for arbejdet forpligter impresarioen sig til at betale Maestro Rossini 400 romerske scudi, så snart de tre første opførelser har fundet sted.
Teatro Argentina er større end Teatro Valle, men ligeså ynkeligt og snavset. Mange ulejliger sig nemlig ikke længere end lige ud på gangen, når de skal lade vandet:
Teatrene i Rom er mørke, beskidte og usle i deres udsmykninger. Men endnu værre er det, at de er så modbydelige for alle sanser, så frastødende i deres helhed, at det er umuligt at beskrive i detaljer. Det må være nok at fremhæve, at korridorerne i Teatro Argentina viser romernes ækle manerer med større kraft end mange bøger fulde af ord.
Sådan beskriver en britisk turist toiletvanerne i det teater, hvor Rossinis nye opera skal have premiere. Året før har publikum ellers sendt en klage til bystyret over de elendige forhold i Roms teatre, men de får bare et flabet og arrogant svar; Rom er kirkernes by – ikke teatrenes! Roms kulturliv bliver styret med hård hånd af paven, som absolut ikke bryder sig om den slags verdslig underholdning – og faktisk er byens teatre slet ikke anerkendt som andet end midlertidige bygninger af de kirkelige myndigheder. Teatrene er derfor bygget af træ, og kan kun beskrives som sundhedsfarlige brandfælder.
På grund af pavestyret er censuren i Rom strengere end andre steder. På alle Europas teatre er det helt normalt, at censuren skal tjekke nye værker for opfordringer til oprør mod de stedlige magthavere, fornærmelser mod kirken og almindelig usømmelighed – men ingen steder er man så strikse som i Rom. En ny libretto skal indleveres i intet mindre end 41 eksemplarer til de tre censorkontorer (et for moralske anliggender, et for kirkelige og et for politiske). Nok til at teatrene må beskæftige en hel hær af skrivere – for der er stadig 122 år til kopimaskinens opfindelse.
Hertug Cesarini har oprindelig engageret librettisten Jacopo Ferretti til at skrive teksten til den nye opera, men Cesarini tror ikke på hans bud på en kassesucces. Han kan ikke tillade sig at gamble med sit teaters fremtid, og han tvivler også på, at censuren vil godkende historien. Kalenderen skriver nu 17. januar, og med kun lidt over to uger til den planlagte premiere kan man ikke spilde tiden. Det vil nok være bedre at vælge et emne, som censorerne allerede har godkendt.
Valget falder til sidst på Beaumarchais’ komedie Barberen i Sevilla. Den er allerede i 1782 blevet omsat til opera af komponisten Giovanni Paisiello, og i den udgave er det en af de få ældre operaer, som publikum ikke vil slippe. Librettisten til Torvaldo e Dorliska, Cesare Sterbini, bliver hyret til at skrive en ny libretto over den gamle historie. Det er slet ikke ualmindeligt at bruge de samme historier igen og igen, og foruden Paisiellos ultrapopulære udgave har mindst fem andre komponister allerede brugt Beaumarchais’ skuespil som forlæg for en opera.
Den 25. januar afleverer Sterbini teksten til første akt, og kun fire dage senere følger anden akt. Rossini kan gå i gang, og allerede 6. februar afleverer han første akt af operaen til nodeskriverne, som så kan gå i gang med at fabrikere noder til sangerne. Dagen efter dør hertug Cesarini af en lungebetændelse, som han har fået ved at sidde i sit eget iskolde teater. Han bliver kun 44 år, men der er ikke tid at sørge længe; alt for mange penge står på spil. Hans enke og en agent overtager ledelsen af Teatro Argentina, og arbejdet med den nye opera går videre.
Barberen i Sevilla bliver udtænkt, komponeret, indstuderet, sat i scene og prøvet på kun 24 dage, og det er ikke usædvanligt for hverken Rossini eller hans kolleger, som ofte arbejder i døgndrift, når de først har hørt de sangere de har til rådighed. Rossini er en praktisk mand, og han ved, at hans chancer for en succes er større, hvis han skriver partier, som ligger godt for hver enkelt sanger, og som viser hans eller hendes fortrin. Derfor kunne han – og mange af hans kolleger – aldrig drømme om at skrive en opera uden først at høre de aktuelle sangere, selv om det gør ugerne op til en premiere særdeles hektiske.
Ikke underligt, at mange komponister tit genbruger en god arie, et vellykket ensemble eller en flot ouverture fra en opera, som ellers er blevet en fiasko. Det er nemt og fristende at undgå besværet med at finde på ny musik, når man nu sagtens kan slippe af sted med at bruge en god arie fra en mere eller mindre glemt opera fra forrige sæson i en fjern by. Ouverturen til Barberen i Sevilla er endda dobbelt genbrug; Rossini tager simpelthen en ouverture han allerede havde skrevet i 1813 til operaen Aureliano in Palmira, og også brugte to år senere til operaen Elisabetta, regina d’Inghilterra i 1815.
Rossini har gode sangere til sin rådighed, for Cesarini vidste, at uden berømte og populære stjerner på scenen ville det blive svært at sikre en succes. Men berømte sangere koster mange penge, og den spanske tenor Manuel Garcia får tre gange så meget for at synge Almavivas parti som Rossini får for at komponere hele operaen. Orkestret er også meget bedre end amatørholdet på Teatro Valle, og Rossini ved, hvordan man udnytter en gruppe dygtige musikere. Han har fået tilnavnet il tedeschino (den lille tysker), fordi han har lært en masse om orkestrering ved at studere operaer af Mozart og Haydn. Det betyder, at han bruger blæserne og slagtøjet meget mere end sine italienske forgængere – og i mange konservative italieneres ører lyder resultatet som et larmende kaos, der udelukkende har til formål at drukne sangernes indsats.
Premieren bliver fastsat til 20. februar. Men allerede på forhånd er der en del af publikum, som har besluttet, at den nye opera skal blive en fiasko. Det er den fløj, som holder på, at sådan en opkomling som den unge Rossini ikke skal bryde sig om at røre ved en historie som Barberen i Sevilla, som de mener tilhører den forgudede Paisiello. Rossini og Sterbini har ellers forsøgt at gyde olie på vandene, dels ved ikke at give operaen den gamle og kendte titel, men derimod kalde den Almaviva ossia L’inutile precauzione (Almaviva eller den nytteløse forholdsregel), og dels ved at skrive et forord i den trykte libretto, som alle har købt på forhånd:
For at imødegå enhver beskyldning om rivalisering med den udødelige mester Paisiello har Maestro Rossini bestemt, at teksten er blevet sat i nye vers, og at der er tilføjet flere nye situationer og musikalske numre. Dette er desuden påkrævet for at imødekomme den moderne smag, som har ændret sig meget siden den fejrede Paisiello skrev sin musik.
Ordene virker som en rød klud i øjnene på de konservative Paisiello-tilhængere. Som ventet går det helt galt. Rossini har iført sig en ny spraglet jakke i spansk stil, som han selv er meget stolt af – men publikum skriger af grin og gør nar ad ham, da han træder ind i orkestergraven og sætter sig ved cembaloet for at slå an til ouverturen. Den er der ingen, der hører noget af, for den drukner fuldstændig i larmen.
Bedre går det ikke, da tenoren Garcia kommer ind for at synge sin serenade foran Rosinas balkon. Han har ikke fået stemt sin guitar, og publikum råber på at få lov til at høre primadonnaen Geltrude Righetti-Giorgi i stedet for. Og uheldene fortsætter; en kat sniger sig pludseligt ind på scenen og insisterer højlydt på at deltage i operaen, Don Basilio falder pladask på scenen og får næseblod – og gruppen af Paisiello-tilhængere blandt publikum benytter i øvrigt enhver chance til at forstyrre forestillingen. Geltrude Righetti-Giorgi synger Rosina, og hun fortæller om den fatale aften:
Det er umuligt at beskrive de fornærmelser, som haglede ned over Rossini, som sad uforstyrret ved sit cembalo og så ud til at tænke: ’Tilgiv dem, Apollo, thi de ved ikke, hvad de gør’. Han forlod teatret, som var han en upåvirket tilskuer til det hele. Jeg gik senere til hans hus for at trøste ham, men han sov allerede trygt.
Rossini ved, at han har skrevet en opera, som fortjener bedre – og næste dag skriver han til sin mor:
I aftes blev min opera opført og buh’et ud. Det er de mærkværdigste ting, der sker her i byen. Jeg kan ærligt sige dig, at min opera trods alt dette er meget fin, og folk glæder sig allerede til næste opførelse, hvor man måske vil kunne høre musikken – hvilket var umuligt i går. Fra begyndelsen til slutningen druknede alt i larm.
Rossini reviderer partituret og sletter de afsnit, som ikke har virket efter hensigten. Han sygemelder sig, så han ikke selv behøver at dirigere forestillingen. Men nu har romerne raset ud, og til den anden opførelse sidder de helt stille og lytter. Ved den tredje forestilling er succesen endnu større, og Rossini fortsætter brevet til sin mor:
Nu kan jeg skrive, at min opera ved den anden opførelse og alle de følgende aftener blev tiljublet med stor entusiasme, og jeg måtte frem på scenen 5-6 gange for at modtage den voldsomme hyldest. Jeg græd af lykke.
Rossini tør nu omsider kalde operaen Barberen i Sevilla, og det varer ikke længe, før den er endnu mere populær end Paisiellos udgave. I løbet af de næste ti år når den verden rundt, med premierer så langt væk som i Dublin, New York, Baltimore, Buenos Aires, Sankt Petersborg, Riga – og også i København, hvor den kommer op på Det Kongelige Teater i 1822.
Barberen i Sevilla er en af de meget få operaer fra før midten af 1800-tallet, som har været på alverdens operahuse uafbrudt lige siden urpremieren. Men den er på flere måder undtagelsen fra reglen; den er også én af de sidste virkelig succesfulde komiske operaer. Det italienske publikums smag er langsomt, men sikkert, ved at ændre sig; de er trætte af halvdårlige forvekslingskomedier med det kendte karikerede persongalleri – de vil se dramaer på scenen; vedkommende, seriøse operaer med historier som f.eks. dem, de sluger råt i Walter Scotts ufatteligt populære bøger.
Rossini er også leveringsdygtig i den seriøse og dramatiske genre. Han er allerede på vej videre til næste premiere – denne gang i Napoli. Han arbejder i et kommercielt system, hvor han må sælge sine ydelser til højestbydende. Prisen for ikke at skulle være i tjeneste hos en fyrste eller kejser, med den sikkerhed det gav f.eks. en komponist som Haydn få årtier tidligere, er et omflakkende liv som evigt rejsende fra by til by, altid at ankomme i sidste øjeblik og være nødt til at arbejde som en sindssyg for at nå at gøre partituret færdigt inden premieren.
I 1829 trækker Rossini sig som 37-årig tilbage fra det stressede nomadeliv. Inden da har han skrevet 39 operaer, og er på det tidspunkt helt uden sammenligning den mest feterede komponist i verden – og én af verdens mest berømte personer overhovedet, måske kun overgået af Napoleon. Rossini lever helt frem til 1868, og når at opleve en ny operaverden, hvor det er navne som Verdi og Wagner der fører an … hvor komiske operaer hører til sjældenhederne, og hvor man ikke længere skriver en opera på et par uger. Nye vinde blæser både syd og nord for Alperne.
Men Barberen i Sevilla er stadig på plakaten overalt i verden – her f.eks. med min yndlings-Rossini-tenor, Lawrence Brownlee, der synger den sindssygt virtuose arie i slutningen af operaen. Tillykke med dagen, Rossini!
Der er sikkert rigtig mange, der som jeg er vokset op med LP’er, elpærer, fjernsyn, radioer og kassettebåndoptagere med det samme logo på; syv bogstaver i versaler – PHILIPS.
Det hele begyndte i Holland i 1950. Philips-koncernen havde allerede fire år tidligere købt den fabrik i Amsterdam, hvor Decca fik presset deres plader til det hollandske marked. Men de havde også selv ambitioner på det klassiske område, og de fik kontrakter med musikere og dirigenter fra især Tyskland, Frankrig og Holland. Det handlede stadig om 78’ere af shellak, men i juli 1954 holdt LP’en sit indtog, og de kommende årtier blev Philips-mærket, sammen med Deutsche Grammophon, EMI og Decca de førende europæiske spillede på det (dengang) lukrative marked for klassisk musik og opera på de nye vinylplader.
Blandt de kunstnere, som Philips indspillede næsten ufatteligt mange plader med er pianisterne Alfred Brendel (hvis samlede Philips-indspilninger udkom i sidste måned – læs mere her) og Claudio Arrau, Beaux Art Trioen, Quartetto Italiano, I Musici, Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, London Symphony Orchestra, Concertgebouw-orkestret, sangere som José Carreras og Jessye Norman, dirigenter som Colin Davis, Valerij Gergiev, Bernard Haitink, Neville Marriner og mange, mange andre.
I dag findes pladeselskabet Philips ikke længere. Først fusionerede de i 1962 med Deutsche Grammophon, som efter 1972 sammen med Decca fortsatte aktiviterne i selskabet PolyGram, men på hvert deres velrenomerede plademærke udadtil. Senere gled Philips-navnet helt ud.
Men heldigvis lever de mange indspilninger fra dengang stadig videre, nu blot udgivet af Decca. Som nu netop har udgivet en boks med 50 cd’er, som næsten er en lille tidsrejse tilbage til stereo-LP’ens gyldne år mellem 1955 og 1982, hvor cd’en indtog markedet, og i løbet af få år slog vinylpladen helt af markedet – indtil den genfødsel, vi er vidne til i denne tid, altså.
De 50 cd’er i Philips-boksen er alle iført en mini-udgave af det originale LP-cover – så for mig er det er næsten som at være tilbage dengang Fona på Strøget i København lå ved siden af La Glace, og jeg kunne stå og bladre i kummerne med LP’er i timevis. Mange af dem fra Philips. Og nu kan man så få dem på cd, vel at mærke for en brøkdel af hvad LP’erne kostede dengang i 70’erne.
Måske kan du ikke finde boksen hos din lokale pladehandler (som der jo ikke er mange af efterhånden), men så kan du finde en måde at købe den på via linket her.
Hvis jeg skal fremhæve en enkelt af de 50 cd’er i boksen må det nødvendigvis blive José Carreras debut-LP fra 1976, hvor han synger så sindssygt udtryksfuldt, og hvor der stadig ikke er skyggen af de problemer, han senere fik. Hør engang i klippet nedenfor i en arie fra Verdis Jerusalem (den franske version af Lombarderne). Det bli’r ikke bedre.
In 1942 The Danish State Radio Symphony Orchestra did a concert with Ernest Ansermet conducting Ravel’s Shéhérazade. Ansermet was very unhappy and anxious with the choice of soloist; he wanted a native French mezzo soprano in the delicate work, and did not imagine that a Danish singer would be able to do justice to his – and Ravel’s – language. But after the first rehearsal the conductor’s second thoughts vanished – for two reasons. The reason – Else Brems always emphasised this herself – was that she was able to produce a few packets of much-needed cigarettes for Ansermet – not easy to come by in German-occupied Copenhagen. But the modest soloist surely had more assets than this to win Ansermet over – her beautiful velvet tone, her dignified phrasing and her perfect French must have removed the last bit of doubt; here was not just a mediocre local mezzo, but a singer with the potential to sing repertoire like this anywhere in the world.
Else Brems’ career was nevertheless basically a local one, singing at the Royal Danish Opera in Copenhagen for three decades. She also toured Denmark with lieder and song recitals, she was a regular solist with conductor Mogens Wøldike, with whom she performed the Bach passions and Handel oratorios, and she was often required for song recitals and operetta productions at the Danish Radio, as well as appearances at the prestigiuos Thursday evening concerts with the Danish State Radio Symphony Orchestra. During the War she became a household name in her native country, and if the tenor Aksel Schiøtz was the most loved Danish male singer at that time, Brems was surely his female equivalent.
Else Brems was born on 16th July 1908 in Copenhagen into a very musical family. Her mother Gerda was a pianist and her father Anders Brems a clarinettist turned singer, concentrating on songs. He even made a few 78’s, as well as a singing manual. It was Anders Brems who first taught the young Else, and at the age of 17 she went with him to Italy and sang for no less than the ‘glory of Italy’, the baritone Mattia Battistini, who was now living in retirement outside Rome. He was very encouraging, and Else went back home with confidence in a future career as a singer. Her interest in the French repertoire was soon kindled in Paris, where she studied for four months with Charles Cunelli. On 3rd December 1928 she gave her debut recital in Copenhagen, and both public and critics were enthusiastic with the 20-year old mezzo with the sonorous voice and the secure musicianship.
Next step on the career-ladder was a debut at the Royal Danish Opera, and a year later this became a reality. Else Brems started her operatic career with the part that would become hers like no other; Carmen. She had prepared well for it, and again she was recognised as the young Danish mezzo of the future. Bizet’s gypsy would later bring her to Vienna, Warszaw, Budapest and Stockholm, as well as to Covent Garden in London – where she in 1948 sang the part in English. In Copenhagen alone she sang Carmen at more than 100 performances. She fought hard against the traditional vulgar image of the character emphasising her more refined and delicate aspects, much helped by Leo Blech who conducted a number of performances of the opera in Copenhagen in 1930. Brems was able to seduce without rolling her eyes wildly or making large gestures.
A very interesting live recording was made in December 1937, when Else Brems was appearing as guest at the Vienna Opera with Bruno Walter conducting. He had waited a long time to do Carmen: “I have put it off until now, because I need a strong personality for the title role, a singer with real temperament. I believe that I have now found this in a Danish mezzo. Now I will be able to stage the opera as I think Bizet would have wanted it.” The few recorded excerpts from these performances (in German) have been reissued in the Wiener Staatsoper Live series, but unfortunately they devote more attention to the Michaëla of Esther Réthy and the Don José of Todor Mazaroff than to the Carmen of Brems. In 1944, however, she recorded both the Habanera and the Seguidilla commercially (in Danish) for the Tono company:
Here, as well as on the live recording from Vienna, one clearly hears the international class of the voice; her ravishing sound and thoroughly musical phrasing – a dignified Carmen, but not without sex appeal in the voice.
Sten Høgel
The recordings reveal a singer with a wonderful sonorous middle register, but also with a slight problem with high notes. “Brems was a wonderful singer within her rather limited range,” says Sten Høgel, lecturer at the University of Copenhagen, where he for several years taught alongside Else Brems. “She was uncomfortable with the high register, probably because she did not get the proper technical training early on. She should have been able to sing for instance the high B in the Seguidilla on Carmen, but the recording shows that it was not really within her range. G sharp seems to have been her upper limit.”
Sten Høgel is also the man behind the first major Brems-reissue; a double CD devoted to the most important Danish mezzo of this century. The set has been issued by Danacord, following the success of their much-acclaimed and prize-winning Aksel Schiøtz Edition – more details can be found on the Danacord home page here.
Else Brems recorded rather few operatic 78s considering her popularity, but among the finest are two arias from Saint-Saëns’ Samson et Dalila, recorded in 1945. Especially her account of ‘Printemps qui commence’ stands up against all competitors on record; she apparently has all the time (and air-supply) in the world, and her complete mastery of the French language is demonstrated fully.
In addition to these her most important commercial recordings, the Danacord CDs also contains a considerable amount of archive material from the Danish Radio as well as private acetates and tape recordings. The dentist Nanna Kallenbach had a number of off-air acetates made in the 1940’s, and these unique recordings gives us a glimpse of some more of Brems’ French repertoire, mainly music by Ravel and Debussy. Some of the acetates were in such a bad shape that they have probably been played for the last time during the work with the transfers for the Danacord CDs. Engineers Clemens Johansen and Niels Flensted from the Danish Radio has devoted countless hours of work to restoring the delicate originals, removing as much background noise as possible without changing or distorting the timbre of Brems’ voice.
It was not just an easy task to select the recordings, and the inclusion of the 1953-recording of Brahms’ Alto rhapsody was made after much consideration. A certain decline in the steadiness of her voice is apparent from the early 1950’s onwards. “I honestly don’t think that the recording of the Brahms is very flattering for Brems,” Sten Høgel admits. “Here you clearly hear the technical decline of the only 45-year old singer and I feel uncomfortable hearing how she has to do little tricks just to get through the piece; some of the glissandi she makes simply to survive to the top notes. It is a live recording from the archives of the Danish Radio, and when it first came out on LP Brems herself gave the permission. Later she told me that she regretted her decision, but many people wanted this famous performance included, and in the end I surrendered.”
Another interesting recording is of two exerpts from Gershwins Porgy and Bess. In 1943 the opera was heard for the first time in Europe at the Royal Danish Opera – in spite of threads of bombing by the occupying Nazi forces – with Else Brems as Bess, transposing some of the music down to suit her range.
Else Brems sang at the Royal Danish Opera for 32 years, singing parts like Lola in Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana, Orfeus in Gluck’s Orfeus et Euridice, Conception in Ravel’s L’heure espagnol and Siebel in Gounod’s Faust. Several Danish composers wrote operas especially for Else Brems, among them Knudåge Riisager and Ebbe Hamerik. An exerpt from the latters Marie Grubbe is included in the Danacord set, and on a Naxos reissue of live material from the Royal Danish Opera she can be heard in snippets from Kirke og Orgel by Johan Hye-Knudsen and Susanne by Knudåge Riisager – all works that have now (perhaps with good reason) fallen out of the repertory, but it is nevertheless well worth a listen if you are interested in hearing Danish opera of the post-Nielsen period.
Even though Else Brems later admitted that vocal technique never really had interested her much, she never lost interest in renewing the interpretations of her repertoire. In 1937, as a well-established artist of 31 with almost a decade of professional work behind her, she went to New York to study with Enrico Rosati, one-time teacher of Beniamino Gigli.
In 1940 Else Brems married the Icelandic tenor Stefan Islandi, a regular guest at the Royal Danish Opera. Together they got a son, but the marriage was not a success, and a divorce came through in 1949. The son, Eyvind Brems-Islandi, had inherited his father’s tenor voice, but he tragically committed suicide in 1974 at the age of 34.
By this time Else Brems was teaching a new generation of singers at the University of Copenhagen, and generally lead a quiet life away from the public scene. She was unwilling to talk about her artistic life, she never listened to her recordings, and was totally incapable of understanding that anyone could be even remotely interested in her career.
This shyness and modesty is perhaps also the reason why Else Brems is not a name that appears more often in the annals of the international opera houses. It was certainly not any language barriers that kept her away; she sang Carmen on stage not only in French and Danish, but also in German and English. Of course the War prohibited her work outside Denmark at a crucial time in her career, but more than anything is was probably Brems own modesty that in the end kept her away from a large-scale career. Within her rather limited repertory she was certainly in the international league, but she was just too nice a person to push herself forward.
Else Brems died in Copenhagen in 1995, and it was only after her death that Sten Høgel began research for the reissues on CD: “Time and time again I have wanted to ask Else for advice during my work, but all I can do is hope that she would have approved of my choices.” He is, however, proud and happy that the best of Else Brems is now available on CD. “She was a great artist and a wonderful person. We all loved her, colleagues and students alike,” says Sten Høgel. “She was a queen here at the University, and I feel a great joy that her finest recordings will now finally be available to collectors of beautiful voices and fine interpreters.”
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Kan en sanger have en karriere på over 60 år? Ja, faktisk sang José Carreras hertugens arie fra Verdis Rigoletto i spansk radio i 1954 lige omkring sin 8-års fødselsdag – i korte bukser og med fint vandkæmmet hår og klaverakkompagnement.
