Since Thomas Edison first captured the words “Mary had a little lamb” on his tinfoil cylinder phonograph in 1877, the human voice has been amply documented and preserved for succeeding generations. Throughout its history, recorded sound has captured the art of many of the greatest singers from the dawn of the 20th century to today, from Enrico Caruso to Renée Fleming.
Caruso alone made more than 250 records, but—in today’s age of CDs and MP3s—people are frequently reluctant to listen to historical recordings because of the distant quality of the tone and the often distracting surface noise. Thanks to technological developments, and to the efforts of record labels and skilled audio technicians, scores of old records have been cleaned up and are now readily available in digital formats, bringing to life the art of some of the great musicians of the past. In addition to their value as entertainment, these recordings provide modern singers with an invaluable link to the performance tradition of which they are a part.
What can singers in today’s world learn from those who came before? With seemingly endless input from voice teachers, coaches, conductors, and directors, why should singers study the work of their predecessors? What do you need to know? Where do you begin? Why do the voices sound so different in these old recordings? The answers to some of these questions are varied and personal, but the exploration of the world of historic recordings is rich and fascinating.
The Early Years of Recorded Sound
Edison’s phonographic cylinder provided the first practical means for recording and reproducing sound, and it signaled the birth of a new and profitable industry. In the late 19th century, Emile Berliner’s gramophone disc, which was easier to manufacture and store, challenged and eventually overwhelmed the phonograph. These first recordings had a capacity of only a few minutes. By 1904, rapid developments in technology had reduced surface noise and dramatically increased playing time to almost 10 minutes.
The gramophone dominated the consumer recording industry until the late 20th century. From the turn of the century until the 1950s most commercial recordings were produced as 78-rpm, double-sided records.
In the infancy of recorded sound, microphones as we know them today did not exist. Instead, phonographic cylinders and gramophone discs were recorded by purely acoustic means. Changes in air pressure, or sound waves, as created by the human voice (or any other producer of sound) sent vibrations through a microphone diaphragm, and the energy of the diaphragm cut grooves into a medium by means of a stylus. This primitive method was sensitive only to mid-level frequencies, benefiting low voice types, especially baritones. Sopranos, however, were at a distinct disadvantage.
By the mid-1920s, studios were recording music by electrical means, achieving increased volume and clarity. The new technology treated all voice types with greater equality and the fledgling industry began recording full orchestras for the first time. Electrically recorded records still had some surface noise but they were a major advance in preserving the musical accomplishments of their time. In the following decades, additional developments—magnetic tape, in particular—further raised the standards of recorded sound.
An Audio Engineer’s Perspective
“Just because it’s old, doesn’t mean it’s gold!” says Ward Marston, and he should know. As one of the world’s foremost record producers and re-recording engineers, Marston has been responsible for the caring restoration of hundreds of historical records. With ultra-keen ears, skilled musicianship, and thorough technical expertise, he has produced records for BMG, EMI, CBS, Biddulph, Romophone, and Naxos Historical. He now brings his unique talents to Marston, his own opera and classical reissue label.
A conversation with Marston is a lively and engaging affair, and it quickly reveals his passion for singers and for the art of singing. His vast experience brings a highly informed perspective that can greatly benefit today’s singers.
“I don’t think the importance of historical recordings can be overstressed,” says Marston, who revels in the abundance of high-level singers in the early decades of the 20th century, many of whom are unknown to the public at large. “There were so many good singers. The competition must have been fierce. Sometimes I’ll buy a record of a singer I’ve never heard of, and I’m amazed at how good they are. I wonder why I’ve never heard of this singer, because I ought to know most of these people. It’s amazing just how many good singers there were.”
What was it about this time that could account for the number of singers and the quality of their singing? In Marston’s opinion, it was the order of priorities in the world of opera, priorities that have gradually changed over the past hundred years. “It was a time when the value of musicianship and the value of singing were a great deal more important than they seem to be now when the production values in opera seem to overshadow the singing.”
Marston elaborates, providing some significant advice for singers listening to historical recordings.
As relates to musical style, Marston stresses the importance of listening to and emulating the recordings. “I don’t mean emulate in the sense that one should try to sound like Tetrazzini or Melba,” he clarifies. “I mean emulate the points of style that will bring singers back in touch with the music.”
A particular aspect of style Marston thinks singers often misinterpret today is the application of rubato. “Singers today—like pianists and violinists—don’t really understand the concept of rubato,” he says. “They don’t understand that rubato doesn’t just mean to slow up. It means there’s got to be a give and take. If you’re going to slow up, you’ve got to speed up at some point, but it’s got to be subtle. Singers overdo that sort of thing today.”
Another notable characteristic evident in many historical recordings is the presence of discernable national styles: a French sound, a Viennese sound, a Russian sound, even an American sound. “Listen to Lawrence Tibbett, for example,” Marston suggests with infectious enthusiasm. “Tibbett is one of my favorite baritones, but he still sounds very American. He doesn’t sound a bit like [Riccardo] Stracciari or [Titta] Ruffo or anybody else from that era, because he doesn’t really sound Italian. You listen to Maurice Renaud—he’s a Frenchman, and he sounds French.”
Listeners can also distinguish individual voices from one another easily in early recordings, he says. “When you listen to [Kirsten] Flagstad, you listen to [Lauritz] Melchior, you listen to [Enrico] Caruso, you listen to Ruffo, you listen to [Feodor] Chaliapin, you listen to Marcel Journet, it’s so obvious. You hear three notes, and you know who it is.”
Marston senses that voices today are not as recognizable from one another as they once were, a concern that Eileen Farrell and Eleanor Steber have also expressed to him. Pressed to explain this trend toward a homogenous tonal ideal, he says, “There came a time when everyone wanted to adhere to some sort of standard, and what happened was that after World War II there began to be what I would call a ‘world view of singing.’”
Regarding vocal technique, Marston finds that most singers of the pre-war era sang with excellent technique and gave great attention to intonation. He makes a distinction between singers today and singers of the past that is well worth noting. “Singers today in their 40s and 50s tend to acquire wobbles, and you never hear a wobble in a singer prior to 1930 or 1940.” To illustrate his point, Marston cites the singing of Mary Garden. “When she was older, you hear the voice is coming apart, and it’s kind of threadbare and tattered, but the actual technique is still there and you never get that wobble.” He also mentions the lack of a wobble at Dame Nellie Melba’s farewell concert at Covent Garden, recorded after a singing career of almost 40 years.
Not one to think that all historical records are necessarily good, Marston emphasizes that singers must be judicious when listening to these recordings. “There were plenty of bad singers in the old days,” he points out. “There were plenty of bad singers who made records.”
Marston also acknowledges that collectors prize many of the old records not for their musicality but for their rarity. “Sometimes singers have been put into the pantheon of great singers and they may not necessarily deserve it as much as we think.” Marston offers this advice to those seeking insight from singers of the past. “You have to listen to historical recordings carefully, and don’t get carried away too much by the romanticism of ‘we’re listening to a bygone era.’”
Marston fully recognizes the limitations of early technology and the way it challenges those unaccustomed to hearing historical records. “In those old days, the recording method was very fickle and it often accentuated the worst parts of a voice.” He stresses that singers should not focus their attention on the voice itself. “A voice is a very individual thing. No matter how good a singer is, there’s no way a singer is going to make himself sound like Caruso. It simply isn’t going to happen.”
To singers seeking insight from the past, Marston astutely recommends, “Hone in on what the singer is actually doing with the music.” Thanks in large part to Marston’s considerable efforts—these distant voices are closer than ever before.
In the second part of “Distant Voices: Listening to Singers from the Past,” singers, coaches, conductors, and directors will offer their thoughts on the value of listening to historical recordings.
