The year 1921 marked the death of Enrico Caruso, the sun god of tenors, who not only made the gramophone, but also changed the history of singing. It seems that divine providence thought it needed three supreme tenors to replace him, with Giuseppe Di Stefano, Franco Corelli and Mario Lanza all born in that year.
It seems appropriate, 100 years later, to comment on the respective legacies left by both Caruso himself and the three substitute succulent voices.
From the start of his career, Caruso had a voice suited to the primitive recording technology of the time. His over 250 recordings over a 20-year period reveal a voice which changed from an initial lyrical instrument to a mid-career true spinto, overlaid with a velvety darkness, to the almost baritonal timbre of his last years.
Yet, all of his recordings display a voice of treacle sonance with a molten gold overlay, and with top notes lustered in rich, velvety splendour. To this day he remains the paradigm tenor.
Choosing two recordings of the greatest voice of all times remains a daunting task. My preferences would fall on the two discs from 1904. The first is Una Furtiva Lagrima from Donizetti’s L’elisir d’Amore.
The honey-toned phrases are spun in beautiful legato, the crescendo on the F of M’ama is compelling yet poignant, a perfect vocal mirror for Neromino’s naïve love sickness. The final cadenza is perfectly handled, a real tour de force.
Opting for a second choice is again arduous. I hover between the 1909 Magiche Note from Goldmark’s Regina di Saba, a masterly exercise of covered tone singing reminiscent of seductive cello tones; and one of his last recordings, Eleazar’s Aria from Halevy’s La Juive, where the voice has a molten lava-like quality, but is still produced with wonderful lustre and plenitude of tone.
My choice, however, falls on the 1917 recording of Tosti’s L’Alba Separa dalla Luce l’Ombra. The voice here is as rich as the best of Italian red wines. Despite its darkness and size, it is still a flexible instrument with splendid head notes, conveying the feeling that despite the power of the rendering, there is always still more to come.
If Caruso possessed the richest and most opulent of tenor voices, then Giuseppe Di Stefano surely harboured the most dulcet and mellifluous. Caruso’s voice could indeed be likened to a cello, while Di Stefano’s equates more to the elegiac tones of a violin.
Gifted with a unique natural voice, Di Stefano regretfully proved to be a reckless carrier of what perhaps was the most beautiful of all tenor voices. Singing with reckless abandon and with a choice of roles not suited to his voice, the damaging toll on his vocal instrument was soon evident. Yet in the brief 10 years of his inimitable singing he displayed honey-like beautiful sounds.
Mario Lanza, who was apt at imitating other tenors, on being asked to do Di Stefano, forcefully replied “come si puo fare la voce pui bella del mondo?” Pavarotti also sang Di Stefano’s praises, referring to his possessing “una voce solare.”
I heard Di Stefano live in a La Scala 1961 season production of I Puritani. The voice was by then already damaged by his singing of heavier roles, but the instrument was still lush and ravishing. The choice of my favourite Di Stefano records is not that difficult.
Pride of place must go to Faust’s Salut Demeure from a 1950 Metropolitan Opera House live performance, a most enchanting and magical vocal lesson. The climax is exhilarating.
The high C is launched with the singer’s typical open throated abandon, then tempered into the most alluring of diminuendos to an almost inaudible pianissimo. The sound is ravishing, beautifully executed and spun.
To this day [Caruso] remains the paradigm tenor
Rudolph Bing, manager of the Metropolitan Opera House, described it as the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Di Stefano truly possessed a divine liquid instrument, lustered and lucent and as sun washed as his native Sicilian land.
As a second choice, I would opt for his 1947 HMV commercial debut discs – a legacy of beautifully carved emotive singing with exhilarating climaxes. Singing does not come any better. Giacomo Lauri Volpi was right when he said of Di Stefano “nessuno fu piu tenore di lui”.
Mario Lanza, although not having an opera stage career, still possessed one of the most exciting and exhilarating tenor voices of all time. His impeccable voice was, however, contrasted by an undisciplined and turbulent lifestyle, which led to his early demise at the age of 38. Yet, in the years which followed his death, Lanza’s star rose to legendary status.
The recorded legacy, apart from some occasional off sessions, display not only the sensuality, warmth and power of the voice, but also his innate ability to communicate with his listeners. To this day record sales continue to soar, and he remains perhaps the most popular tenor of all time.
While during his lifetime so called cognoscenti dismissed Lanza, Lawrence Tibbet’s 1950 prophesy “in 50 years’ time people will recognise Lanza for the great artist he is” has now been fulfilled, and many tenors later expressed their admiration including such top stars as Domingo Carreras, Alagna, Shicof, La Scola, Joseph Calleja and many others.
For my Lanza favourite recordings, I would immediately opt for the 1952 Student Prince album which demonstrates polished,refined and tasteful singing delivered in remarkably controlled yet still aureate tones. It remains to my mind the best mid-career Lanza album.
For my second choice I would go for one of the tenor’s last recording sessions, an album of Neapolitan songs entitled Mario, recorded in Rome only 10 months before his death. Under the baton of Franco Ferrara, who commented that Lanza had a “Caruso-like voice that combined steel with warmth”, and with arrangements by a young Ennio Morricone, the album reveals the tenor in succulent smouldering voice, now darkened, yet still gifted with a burnished golden tone. The songs are all delivered with a passionate magnetism and intelligent musicality.
Lanza’s voice remains one of the most beautiful, and also perhaps one of the most distinguishable of all tenor voices. Post his death, praise for Lanza kept pouring in. Pavarotti referred to Lanza’s instrument as “fantastic”, and the great American tenor Richard Tucker declared that “Lanza had the voice of the century”.
The third tenor who saw the light of day in that same year was Franco Corelli. Blessed with film-star good looks, Corelli possessed the most thrilling of spinto voices overlaid with a dark timber colouring, and a heroic clarion top. In contrast to Lanza and Di Stefano, Corelli was a constant self-critic, always striving for improvement.
At the beginning of his career his top and middle register seemed somehow disjointed. After tutelage with Giacomo Lauri Volpi and arduous self-study, the voice unified and a most thrilling and vocal instrument emerged.
Due to his good looks and extraordinary voice, Corelli had worldwide adoring audiences. His top notes were spectacular and long held, with critics chiding his lingering acuti and his audiences loving them.
I heard Corelli live in Poliuto in a 1960-61 La Scala production. Apart from his roof lifting high notes, I remember how beautifully he caressed the music, never breaking the musical line, and phrasing always with a melodious legato. He was the absolute Manrico, Calaf and Rhadames.
Among my favourite recordings I would opt for his 1961 Berlin live performance of Trovatore, conducted by Oliviero de Fabritis.
The recording demonstrates not only his visceral squillo, but also his subtlety of phrasing.
However, the Corelli cherry on the cake recording must be the 1967 Parma live recording of Tosca. Corelli is in luminescent voice, holding on forever to his top notes; listen to the 12-second extended Vittoria.
E Lucevan le Stelle is a masterclass performance with a never-ending mid-aria diminuendo; excessive yes, but ravenous and beautiful. Corelli at his magical best.
With Caruso’s death and the birth of Di Stefano, Lanza and Corelli, 1921 may indeed be remembered as ‘the year of the four tenors’.