“People say you shouldn’t study off of recordings,” declared soprano Kallen Esperian during our conversation for the cover story, “but I don’t believe that for one second! You should get every recording that has ever been made. This is especially important nowadays since we don’t go to the opera house every day with our mothers. If you hear another singer do something wonderful, take it. Make it your own. And no matter what you listen to, it is going to be your interpretation ultimately. Your heart is in it, and your voice. To me, it’s fascinating to hear the differences, and I think a college course on this would be so beneficial to young students. I love hearing how various singers turned their vocal defects into advantages. And the live recordings! You can actually hear where a singer got a little tired here, or how she was pacing herself, saving energy for a big final scene. At the University of Illinois, my friend Donald and I would cut theory class to go to the library and listen to recordings. Nowadays, nobody is going to ask me where the seventh chord is. But the history I learned from those recordings, the tradition…that is what is important. I draw on that every day.”
Nothing can replace the impact – the thrill – of a live operatic performance. Everybody knows that. But recordings have become so important and ubiquitous that now, at the beginning of the Twenty-first century, they cannot be discredited as a major way to distribute, study and enjoy music. And unlike live performance, unlike even the printed scores, recordings are our way of preserving experience, our permanent window on the performance practices of past eras. Once it’s recorded, it is forever frozen in time. We, ourselves, may change. We may bring our ever-evolving knowledge and perceptions to the act of listening, but the performance we are hearing – if it is on a recording – is immutable, always the same monument whenever we may choose to visit it. (And even as I write this, I discover that it is no longer quite true; recorded performances do change, after all. The legendary Herbert von Karajan Aida, recorded in 1959 and constantly in print ever since, has always been disfigured by Renata Tebaldi’s pancake-flat high C in “O Patria mia.” Her staunchest admirers found it charming, those less so just gritted their teeth and suffered through this disappointing moment, a jarring smudge on an otherwise sublime interpretation. On Decca’s newest remastered edition, this famous note – after 40 years before the public – has been “fixed” in the laboratory! It is now up to pitch. The more things stay the same, the more they change!)
There is every evidence that classical singers, themselves, are increasingly warming up to their recorded heritage. On-line, on the Opera-L forum, fully a third of the postings refer to recordings, both critical commentaries and pleas to the “experts” for recommendations of desirable versions of works both popular and rare. Very few articles in CS have drawn a more enthusiastic response from readers than Nicholas Limansky’s “Our Legacy on Record” (April 2000, Vol. 13, No. 4).
This September issue offers Mr. Limansky’s eagerly awaited sequel, “Preserving the Unrepeatable,” a study of live opera recording, it’s history, key artists and personalities, availability, and recommendations. Keeping the classical singer informed on the latest recording twist, and right up to the technological minute, is Mike Richter’s exploration of the MP3 phenomenon. You’ll learn what it means, how it works, and how it can impact on your life and career. It’s all on the inside, folks. Happy reading, happy listening, and happy classical singing!
