If “crossing over” from opera, to musical theatre, to popular music is the trend of the day for classical singers, soprano Patrice Munsel influenced the movement more than 60 years ago with a remarkable career that spanned opera, television, radio, musical theatre, and film. She first sang at the Metropolitan Opera at the tender age of 17, and performed her first role, just months later, at a “mature” 18. She appeared in musical theatre shows around the country, hosted her own television show, graced the covers of Time and Life magazines, and performed sold-out shows in Las Vegas. Her tall frame, slender figure, and movie-star good looks—combined with her amazing vocal chops—made her a celebrity of her era.
Now Munsel shares with singers of a new era her memories and advice as she reflects on her varied musical career and the distinction of being the youngest singer ever to make a debut with the Metropolitan Opera.
Would you tell us something about your childhood and early training?
I grew up in Spokane, Wash. My mother played the piano and sang beautifully, so I had music around me all the time. I started studying “artistic whistling” because I wanted to work in Disney films. I learned to interpolate bird calls . . . [as well as] popular and classical songs [Munsel demonstrates a bird call]. Whistling helped to develop my diaphragm, which all singers must have. The only other thing I ever wanted to be, besides an opera singer, was a ballerina or a football player.
A man by the name of Emilio Colantoni came to Spokane to produce productions of Carmen, Cavalleria rusticana, and Pagliacci. I auditioned for the chorus. I was accepted and performed in all three. I was a rather ridiculous cigarette girl at 12 years old.
When we finished the productions, the maestro stayed with us for another few weeks. He told my parents I had a fabulous voice and should be learning operas. He said he would be happy to stay and work with me, which he did, and I learned “Un bel di.”
He was very careful not to push my voice. When someone like Lily Pons came to Spokane, I would sing for the artist or the conductor. When enough people who my parents respected told them that I had talent and should pursue a career, we made the decision to come to New York. Lily Pons’s accompanist offered to be my teacher.
Tell us about your first trip to New York City.
We came to New York for the summer. I was singing completely naturally. I just opened my mouth and lovely sounds came out. This man had me doing the strangest things with my body while doing scales. He nearly ruined my voice. Then I learned that he was a vocal coach, not a voice teacher. He could coach me in learning a role, but he couldn’t teach me how to sing. My voice sounded terrible. When my mother confronted him, he suggested that perhaps we should return to Spokane. I was paying him $25 a lesson, which was a staggering amount of money.
We decided to return home. [But then] a friend called to say she had found the perfect voice teacher for me. The next day we went to see William Herman. I sang for him, and we did a few scales. He was very direct and said, “You have the potential to do anything you want. It will take a lot of hard work to become a star, but I would love to teach you.” We decided to stay in New York.
Mr. Herman was extremely careful with my voice. He gave me a fabulous technique, and a strong body that could support any voice. Soon, I was singing the “Bell Song” from Lakmé. I had easy high Es and high Fs. He said I would have to study French and Italian in order to speak them fluently, not just pronounce the words. I would coach opera roles and take fencing lessons to give me balance, a straight back, and an attitude. He recommended that I go to the teachers that could provide me with the elements I needed: a French teacher, Italian teacher, vocal coach, and voice teacher. That’s exactly what I did. I was only 15 at the time. We returned to Spokane to make the necessary preparations.
What about your return trip to New York City?
We arrived in the winter of 1940 and found an apartment. I had two voice lessons a day with Mr. Herman, three Italian lessons a week, two French lessons a week, acting lessons with Antoinette Stabile, and opera coaching for at least an hour or two every day with Giacomo Spadoni. When I came home, my mother and I would work at the piano on the music that my coach had begun.
After two years of study, I knew nine operas, I spoke French and Italian fluently, and I was strong, both vocally and physically. Mr. Herman would have me lie on the floor in his apartment with one of those heavy exercise balls on my diaphragm, doing scales and pushing the ball up. He had me punching a punching bag while I was singing scales and arias so as not to focus entirely on the tone coming out of my mouth.
Describe the Metropolitan Opera auditions in 1941.
I was coaching arias with Maestro Spadoni, who was also Mario Lanza and Kathryn Grayson’s coach at MGM. He told me it was time to audition for the Met and arranged for me to sing. The auditions were broadcast once a week on the radio. I was to sing for Wilfred Pelletier, a conductor at the Met, who ran the Auditions of the Air. The auditions were held in the studios on the eighth floor of Radio City Music Hall, where Toscanini and Stokowski had conducted.
I was afraid they wouldn’t allow me to sing because I was so young. I was wearing big glasses for my nearsightedness, a cap that came down over my face, bobby socks, and saddle oxfords. Mr. Pelletier asked me what I had to sing. I told him the “Bell Song” from Lakmé, the Queen of the Night’s aria from The Magic Flute, and the Mad Scene from “Lucia.” He asked that I begin with the “Bell Song.” He went into the control room. I gave the accompanist my music, and sang.
When I finished, “Pelly” asked me to take off my hat and glasses so that he could see my face when I sang. Then he asked me to sing the Mad Scene from “Lucia.” It went awfully well. Next he asked me to sing the Queen of the Night’s aria from The Magic Flute. As you know, that aria is full of all of those high Fs. Mr. Herman had given me such a great assurance of myself, and what I could produce, it never occurred to me this was difficult. After I finished, he said, “We would love for you to sing in the auditions.” I thought I would only have to sing for Mr. Johnson, the Met’s general manager, and Frank St. Leger, his associate, and that anyone who sang at the auditions never went any further. “Pelly” said that once you were a Metropolitan Opera singer and had a contract, you could do anything you wanted. The next Sunday I was singing for the auditions.
Two weeks later, I won the auditions and a Met contract. I was a star! We were introduced on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera that evening. We were on the radio and had an audience.
Television was the same kind of thing. You felt as though you were going into people’s living rooms. You had this contact with people. That’s the way it always felt to me, in opera, on my television show, and on all the guest appearances like The Red Skelton Show, The Dean Martin Show, and The Perry Como Show.
What happened in the weeks prior to your debut?
I had five weeks to learn Philine in Mignon for my debut, as well as Olympia in The Tales of Hoffmann. My debut was on Dec. 4, 1943. Risë Stevens was the Mignon and Jimmy Melton was the tenor. Sir Thomas Beecham was the conductor. I had been told by everyone that he was difficult to work with. He couldn’t have been more charming. He knew it was my debut, that I knew exactly what I was doing, and would take any suggestions he made. The strangest thing happened, and I didn’t know it until later. During the “Je suis Titania,” I skipped to the second chorus, [the chorus] with all of the coloratura. Sir Thomas followed me, and we all ended up together, with me on the high F!
I got a seven-minute standing ovation in my first performance at the Metropolitan Opera. Sir Thomas never said a word but had one of the coaches work with me again. The next week I was doing Olympia in The Tales of Hoffmann. Two weeks later I was doing Gilda in Rigoletto. At that time, Gladys Swarthout had The Prudential Family Hour on the radio every Sunday afternoon. Management decided they wanted a different voice. They asked me, and I said yes. At the Met, I was making $118.90 a week [we laugh], starring in three performances a week, and doing a Sunday night concert. But in those days you could live quite comfortably on that amount. This [radio show] paid a great deal of money.
Describe the Met when you started with the company.
Edward Johnson was the general manager. He was wonderful. When I was singing at the Met, it was a repertory company because there was a war on and they could not import singers from Europe. They were forced to accept American singers, which gave us Eleanor Steber, Jan Peerce, Richard Tucker, and Ezio Pinza.
At the Met, there were really no directors. Your basic direction was what you felt in your heart. I was fortunate to have had all of that stage work and was I able to connect with the audience. That’s what I tell young people in masterclasses: “You’re not singing for yourself, but you’re singing to the person in the back of the theater. They must feel your whole body projecting into the part that you are singing. They must feel every emotion with you. There’s only one way to do that, and that is not to stand there with your hands at your sides. It is to be an actress, and let them feel everything you are feeling.”
Were you on the Met roster during the Rudolf Bing years?
Yes, for many seasons. It was a whole new ball game when Mr. Bing came. He decided that he wanted to do comic operas in English. He wanted me to do Adele in Die Fledermaus. We had one of the greatest hits in the history of the Met. The headlines in the New York Times said I stopped the show cold. I was having a great time and would have paid them to do those parts—[but] what I really wanted to do were the Lucias and [Gildas], the roles I had been doing for 10 years. I adored dying! What could be better than lying on stage, singing magnificent music, dying while hitting those high notes, and having Ezio Pinza hold you in his arms?
After Die Fledermaus came Così fan tutte. We had another fabulous evening of opera in English, with great singing, fabulous direction, and sold-out houses. Then Mr. Bing decided to do La Périchole with Cyril Ritchard directing and appearing as the Viceroy. Ted Uppman played opposite me. It was a great translation, and Cyril’s directing was marvelous. Because of The Prudential Family Hour, everyone knew that I could sing popular music. Following La Périchole at the Met, Naughty Marietta and The Merry Widow were among the next operettas I added to my repertoire, and I loved doing them. Soon after that I started doing musicals like Mame, Applause, and [Hello] Dolly!.
Mr. Bing was right, I was wonderful in the lighter roles, and he wanted me to continue doing them. I talked the situation over with my husband,Bob Schuler, and then told Mr. Bing I would have to leave if I couldn’t do the roles I loved, as well as the comic roles he wanted me to do. I told him I was ready to do Mimi. He said he would schedule a “Bohème” for me.
In those days, you didn’t have a contract that indicated what you would be singing each month. Now, everything is spelled out. The Sunday Times would have the list of the productions and who was singing. I read that I was doing Mimi on a particular date with Ljuba Welitsch as my Musetta. She had never done Musetta. She wanted to do a comic part, after doing Salome for so long. I told Mr. Bing that I didn’t want to sing Mimi opposite her. He didn’t want me to sing Mimi and he didn’t want Ljuba to sing Musetta, so he was killing two sopranos with one opera. He got Dorothy Kirsten to sing the night I was scheduled to perform, and Ljuba made her debut as Musetta. It got terrible reviews! Mr. Bing even told the press that I cancelled the day of the performance and had left for Paris. In fact, my husband and I were in the audience that night.
I finally did my Mimi, and left the Met.
What about professional management?
I was extremely fortunate. Sol Hurok, one of the great managers of all time, came to me and my family and said, “If you sign with me for three years, I will guarantee you $250,000. I will book you into the best places,” which is exactly what he did.
He was my manager for many years—but when television and Las Vegas came in, Mr. Hurok was unfamiliar with the amounts of money being paid. Vegas wanted me to come and he had no idea of what to ask for my services. All the television shows wanted me for guest spots. His expertise was strictly in the fields of opera and classical music. He had done a wonderful job, but I decided leave his management.
What were your favorite roles? Who were some of your favorite costars?
Lucia was one of my favorites. There is nothing like being out there, by yourself, as you go mad, collapse, and die! I loved Jan Peerce and Ezio Pinza. Risë Stevens was also wonderful to work with. During the 1951-52 season, Mr. Bing mounted a new production of Mozart’s Così fan tutte, which had only been given a few performances in the Met’s history. Alfred Lunt directed it. It was done in English, with [Eleanor] Steber, [Blanche] Thebom, [Richard] Tucker, [Frank] Guarrera, and [John] Brownlee, and I was Despina. What a cast that was!
Did you tour with the Met while you were with the company?
Oh, yes. My dear friend, Licia Albanese, and so many wonderful singers were part of those tours. It was a repertory company at that time. The whole Met toured by train. It was like a traveling circus. Then, things sped up, and it was easier to fly. This also meant I could do a lot more. Mr. Hurok booked me for so many concerts that I was utterly exhausted. I told him I would have to have a better schedule because I couldn’t keep up this pace much longer.
What about Naughty Marietta, The Great Waltz, and the 1953 film, Melba?
Naughty Marietta and The Great Waltz were filmed “live” for television in the 1950s. I loved doing Naughty Marietta with Alfred Drake, and The Great Waltz with Keith Andes and the fabulous Bert Lahr. As for Melba, Sam Spiegel, the director, knew me as an opera star. He wanted to do the real life story of Nellie Melba. I didn’t know he was completely broke. And Bob and I were about to be married. Bob became the dialogue director for the movie, which was made in England. Sam made the movie under the name of “S. P. Eagle” because he was in so much debt, he couldn’t get any money.
Nellie Melba was a fabulous, tempestuous woman, who had affairs with some of the great European royalty. She left her husband and two children in Texas and went off to England. After I signed the contract, Sam sent the script for me to read. I called him when I finished reading it and said, “This script has nothing to do with Nellie Melba.” He said there was nothing he could do because the family had insisted that all the controversial aspects of her life be taken out. We did it anyway, and it turned out quite well.
The Mad Scene from “Lucia” was filmed at Covent Garden in a live performance. The other characters I sang in the film, like Lucia, Gilda, Juliette, and Rosina, I performed on stage, along with Philine, Adele, Despina, Périchole, and the Queen of Shemakha in [Rimsky-Korsakov’s] Coq d’Or, which were staples in my repertoire. I never performed Tosca, Cherubino, Marguerite, or Marie in “Daughter” [of the Regiment] on stage, but I did a number of Violettas around the world.
What about your television and stage careers?
The wonderful thing about marrying Bob is that he understood theater, was involved in theater, but thankfully was not a singer or a musician. He was the producer of The Patrice Munsel Show on ABC. Hugh Martin, who wrote Meet Me in Saint Louis, was our musical director. [Arnold] Scaasi did all of my clothes. We had wonderful guests like Tony Bennett, Vic Damone, and Martha Raye. Bob’s concept had a theme that went from the beginning to the end and tied everything together.
I was also part of a wonderful television special with Vic Damone and Basil Rathbone called The Stingiest Man in Town. It should be shown every Christmas season.
When I starred in The Merry Widow at Lincoln Center with Bob Wright, we broke all box office records in the history of Broadway musical theatre up to that time. I went on to star in shows like Kiss Me Kate, Kismet with John Reardon, Mame, and A Little Night Music, to name a few.
What is your opinion of today’s generation of opera singers?
I think there are fabulous singers out there today. I think it is a shame that they have to come to the Met, rehearse, do one or two performances, then fly off to here and there in order to perform and fulfill contractual obligations. When I was at the Met, there was a lot of publicity about us. I was on the covers of Time and Life, so everyone knew me. There was a public awareness that no longer seems to exist. I think it’s a shame.
Have you ever wanted to teach privately or in an academic environment?
I love doing masterclasses. I have worked with many young singers to give them a sense of presentation, to get them away from their fear of being out there. I said to one man with whom I worked, “Attack me. Don’t just stand over there at the piano and sing. You’re singing about something very exciting, and I’m waiting for something to happen.” It took an hour to get him to loosen up, to become his character, and to attack the audience. I love doing that with singers.
If you had your life and careers to live over again, would you do anything differently?
Yes, I would not have left the Met when I did. I would have continued to do the lighter roles in English that Mr. Bing requested, and do the “Bohèmes” and the “Traviatas” elsewhere. I made a decision, and I was wrong, but I feel that he forced me into it.
Is there any advice that you would like to share with young singers?
They must know that opera is not just singing. Opera is great drama and great acting. They’re working in very large theaters, and you have to project to the back of the theater as a personality, an actress or actor, and a singer. All the great stars were “out there.” They were extroverted, bigger than life, and became great successes. For women and men, they must learn to act, they must know how to dress for an audition, and most of all, remember that it is the “presentation.”
