The Wagnerian
Singer
PRIMA DONNA SOPRANO,
METROPOLITAN OPERA
Secured
Expressly for The Etude Music Magazine
By
Rose Heylbut
WHEN I
WAS A GIRL, I used to wonder about what seemed to me a rather curious method of
classifying singers. The grown-ups would
talk of Madame G………. as “a singer” and of Madame S………. as “a Wagnerian
singer.” This puzzled me. Did “Wagnerian” mean a special kind of
voice? And, if not, why make such a
distinction? Could not any skillfully
trained singer sing any kind of music?
Well, today I am fortunate enough to be termed a “Wagnerian singer”
myself, and I appreciate clearly what the difference is. Perhaps at some time you, too, may have
wondered about it?
Wagnerian roles, as a whole, require a
special sort of voice, special training, and, above all, perhaps, a special
mental preparation for which I can think of no better name than a spiritual
approach. No singer with a naturally
light voice should attempt the Wagnerian parts, which demand great power, great
compass of voice, and great volume of tone.
A small voice of firm quality may grow into these parts. I know this from experience; but an organ
which is naturally light in timbre would best leave them alone. The Wagnerian roles are tremendously long parts. Isolde
requires exactly one hour and twenty minutes of actual singing; Elizabeth is really a comparatively
brief part, so far as continued singing goes; yet both demand a large, full,
strong voice.
A
New Singing Art
THE
REASON for this goes back to Wagner’s own intention in writing these operas, or
music dramas, as he preferred to call them.
You will recall that Wagner rebelled against the “lighter” school of
opera, like those of Rossini, for example, where the artists sang tuneful
melodies or displayed vocal fireworks against a conventional, even unimportant,
orchestral accompaniment. Wagner had a
very different purpose. He wished to
blend voices, orchestra, words, and action into one complete whole; no one
element was to be more important than another; and the entire result was to be
not merely a series of melodies but a complete musical delineation of life and
emotion.
A system of this kind is a departure
from the more conventional opera and places a greater responsibility upon the
singer. He must learn to be a
cooperative member of a vast musical group rather than an individual “star”;
and, vocally, he must constantly assert himself along with a powerful and
richly scored orchestra. Thus, at the
outset, all Wagnerian roles require the sort of singing which is not
accompanied by an orchestra, properly speaking, but in which the singer must
rise to a plane of equality with it.
This, in a few words, means that the Wagnerian interpreter, more than
any other, must sing with a full, large, round tone. That is what we mean by designating these
parts as “heavy” roles. They require
singers with big voices and much physical endurance.
Further, in his insistence on the
single, well-rounded dramatic whole, Wagner was careful to leave very exact
instructions as to the way in which he wished his music song. Now, when most singers cover a large vocal
span, from a low note to a high one or the reverse, they almost unconsciously
use a slight glissando, swooping upon
their tones in a vocal arc. In Wagner
this is taboo, and by Wagner’s own indications.
Unless the interval is specially marked with a glissando slur, it may not be “swooped” upon, or delivered in a portamento style. Each tone must be attacked clearly and
separately. This is a difficult thing to
master without much practice, especially in such skips as may not be
interrupted for a fresh breath. And
Wagner is full of just such skips! For
the listener, they stand as one of his greatest and richest individualities.
The
Wagnerian Method
AGAIN,
WE MUST remember that Wagner wrote his own lyric text, not as an “opera libretto” but as independent dramatic verse, equally important with voice and
orchestra. This at once lifts the text
out of the category of words that have simply been “set to music.” They are vital in themselves, throwing light
on the characters’ thoughts and actions; and, as such, they must reach the
hearers as clearly as the music itself.
This of course involves a special diction problem. The words must be both spoken and sung! Even a native German has to prepare very
carefully for Wagnerian diction; and non-Germans, such as you and I, must make
a special study, not only of German, but also of German refined for
Wagner! I have found that the great
point for which to work is a crisp, concise explosion of consonant values. My native Norwegian is not so explosive a
language as German; it is perhaps more like English in the quality of its
sounds; and I had to give special care to the sharp, incisive d’s, p’s, b’s,
k’s, t’s, and w’s, when first I began singing Wagner in German.
My own career has been different from
that of most Metropolitan singers, in that I had comparatively little earlier
experience in wide repertory work.
Before coming here I had sung only in Norway and Sweden, except for two
seasons in Bayreuth. In my native Oslo
we sang Wagner in Norwegian. When I
arrived at Bayreuth, to sing for Frau Wagner and Intendant Tietjen, I sang as I
was accustomed to singing and soon learned that my Wagner style was not the
orthodox Bayreuth style! I was told that
my diction was not crisp enough. Also, I
needed to enlarge my voice. That meant
setting to work, not only on the roles I was to sing, but also on a complete
study of the special Wagner style, covering the points I have just
outlined. By the end of that season,
though, I, too, had a Wagner style.
From
Small Beginnings
IT IS
READILY understandable that one can improve ones diction; but how, you will
ask, could I enlarge the power of my voice?
By progressing slowly, by never forcing the voice in any way, and by
sparing myself no effort. I can
truthfully say that my voice reached its present scope less than three years
ago. As a girl and as a music student, I
had a very small voice. Indeed it is
solely because my voice was so small that I chanced to take singing lessons at
all!
Mine is a musical family. My father was an orchestral conductor, and my
mother still conducts performances of opera and operetta in Oslo and coaches
singers in their parts. She is called
“the musical Mama of Oslo,” not because
of me but because so many singers depend on her for help in their work. Before I was six, I could sing many of the
Schubert songs, simply from hearing them at home. I was taught the piano, and I taught myself
several parts; Elsa at thirteen, and next, Aida;
but I never was expected to be a musician.
My parents thought there should be at least one “practical” member of the
family and wanted me to become a doctor.
I passed my preliminary academic examinations two years younger than
most students, worked too hard, and had a breakdown. So I did not study medicine after all.
When I was confirmed we had a party at
home and I sang arias out of “Lohengrin” and “Aida” to help entertain the
guests. A musical friend of my mother’s said
it was a pity to use so small a voice for such heavy music, and offered to give
me a few lessons, just to keep me from ruining my voice. We began very slowly, very carefully, letting
the voice come out as naturally as possible.
Then as my breathing improved and the voice became freer, my teacher
said that its quality was good. Indeed
she predicted that within two or three years I might even be ready to think
about public work. Neither my family or
I put much faith in such hopes, and I was set to learning stenography as a
means of livelihood.
Then, two years later, a performance
of “Tiefland” was organized in Oslo and I was allowed to try out for the part
of the child. I was the thirteenth
candidate heard at the audition, and I got the part. Two months later I made my debut—at
eighteen. I had never intended to be an
operatic singer, and yet my operatic career had begun. My voice found favor; some kind music patrons
of the city offered to finance my further studies; and I was sent to Stockholm
to work. After my study years, I
returned to Oslo and sang many roles in Italian, French, and German. Elsa
and Eva were my first Wagnerian
roles. Two and a half years ago, I sang Isolde, my first role in German. I was invited to give an audition at Bayreuth,
and there it was that I came into personal contact with the requirements of the
“Wagnerian style.”
Enjoy Kirsten
Flagstad and the Orchestra of the Metropolitan Opera (Wilfred Pelletier
conducting) in a performance of “Ho jo
To ho” from Richard Wagner’s Die Walkure:
Let
Nature Have Her Way
ALL
ALONG, my voice had remained comparatively small. Study had improved it greatly, of course;
but, even though I was singing large roles, it had not yet reached its full
power. My voice developed by its use in
singing. That is the best method I can
recommend. I am certain that the mastery
of Isolde gave me my full voice. Once a student has a firm background of
correct personal singing methods, the only sensible thing is to go ahead and
apply them, allowing time and proper vocal habits to open up the voice. Some voices may take longer than others to
reach their full scope, as did mine; but the natural method is the only one to
follow. Forcing the voice for more power
defeats its own purpose and ruins the organ.
Whatever one is to have vocally, must come naturally, for singing is a
natural physical activity.
I do not believe, however, in
pampering the voice. One reason why my
voice grew, I think, is because I always allowed it fullest scope. I do all my practicing, coaching, and
rehearsing in full voice. I never use
mezza voce, unless the score specifically call for it. While I should not go so far as to advocate
this for another, whose voice and general robustness may be different from my
own, I can tell you that it has helped me greatly.
While studying Isolde, I sang the entire part every day in full voice, and then
appeared at the theater in the evening for my regular performance. Thus, I sang two Wagnerian roles a day. I worked hard. Then, when I had the part well in hand, I
noticed a strange thing: I weighed
exactly the same as I had weighed before, and I certainly looked no stouter;
but the sleeves of my dresses were bursting out in the back! What had happened was that my lung expansion
had developed. And then it was that my
voice sounded fuller, more powerful, more dramatic. Intendant Tietjen, who had heard me earlier,
exclaimed that he would not believe it to be the same voice. It grew by slow, natural methods of
development, and by unsparing hard work.
Creating
the Role
BUT TO
RETURN to our discussion of the Wagnerian singer’s needs. We have touched upon the requisites of voice
and study; let us now consider that question of “spiritual approach.” The power of the Wagnerian characters lies in
the fact that they are not “story book people”—they are actual figures of
history and legend, who present to us real life, real emotion, real
conflict. Without in any way disparaging
the other operatic heroines, I think you will agree with me that Isolde stands as the greatest tragic
figure in opera. She does not merely
represent a woman tragically and fatefully in love; she is that woman. She is the very embodiment, not of a person
in a tale but of a force that might come into the life of any one of us.
It is this utter and supreme reality
which the Wagnerian singer must learn to capture. How to do it?
By absorbing the part completely; by living with it, becoming it. By learning all one can of the age, the
habits, the customs and the history of the character and her times. By lowing
one’s own identity in that of the character, instead of merely dressing up
one’s identity to “play a part.” All
this is extremely elusive to talk about, I know; and yet it is one of the most
important requisites of Wagnerian singing.
And finally, I should counsel all
aspiring young singers to crown as much versatility as possible into their
work. Here again I speak from
experience. My own preparatory work
lacked versatility, for the simple reason that there was no way of getting a
truly wide repertory at home. Opera in
Oslo is not what it is here. We have no
full operatic season, where a different work is mounted every night, and the
same singer may have a chance to take part in two or three different types of
opera each week. In Oslo we have a
theater which gives regular plays during the year, and then four or five weeks
of opera, in addition. Perhaps only two
or three operas are given during the season, and they are repeated each evening
for a week or longer. Thus one might
sing every night, but always in the same parts.
In Stockholm, of course, they do have
a varied repertory; but the smaller Scandinavian cities proceed after the
fashion of Oslo. In Gothenburg, for
instance, where I appeared just before coming to join the Metropolitan, I sang
only two operas—twelve time in “Fidelio” and fourteen times in “Tannhauser.” I had to learn the flexible versatility of
operatic repertory over here; and it is an excellent thing.
Another thing I learned over here is
the wonderful kindness of you Americans. Never in my life had I dreamed that
people could be so warm, so generous, so truly welcoming to a perfect
stranger. It has been the richest
possible experience to come here, and I shall always count it gratefully as the
high point of my career.
SELF-TEST
QUESTIONS ON MISS FLAGSTAD’S ARTICLE
1.
What special requirements does
the Wagnerian opera demand of the singer?
2.
How long does Isolde sing in a single performance?
3.
In what particular way does
Wagnerian singing demand an approach of tone
different from that of much other
singing?
4.
What method of developing the
full resources of the voice is here recommended?
5.
What is a distinctive quality of
Wagner’s characters in his operas, and why?
Enjoy the following documentary on Kirsten Flagstad:
THE ETUDE MUSIC MAGAZINE – November 1935
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