Simon Estes emanates the warmth, humility, honesty, and generosity of a man who remembers his beginnings, and who continues to fight for fairness, sharing his gifts with those in need. Music was the flame that lit his path through his own early years of poverty and discrimination. Today, Estes himself has become a guiding light, illuminating the lives of numerous talented individuals through his vast knowledge and experience, as well as the untiring work of his foundations.
How important was music for you when you were growing up?
Music was an integral part of our family as well as our religious life. We were very poor, economically speaking, but very rich in spirituality and family values. My mother used to play the piano. I had three older sisters, and we would sing around the piano in the evenings. We would also sing in church.
Music helped us in many areas of our lives. That is one of the main characteristics of Negro spiritual music: It gives you the chance to express emotion, whether it be joy, or sorrow, or hope.
Your grandfather was a slave who was sold for $500 at an auction. What did this story instill in you?
What it instilled in me came from my father. I never met my grandfather. I heard that story from my father, who couldn’t read or write. He was born in 1891, and was taken out of school at about the third-grade level. The African-American schools way back then were very inferior, I regret to say. Nonetheless, because of his father’s story and his own, my father knew the value of education, so he always told me and my sisters: “Whatever you do in life, make sure you get an education. They cannot take that away from you.”
Your mother played a very important role in your spiritual development?
Oh, absolutely. I grew up in Centerville, Iowa. At that time, Centerville was no different than any other small city in the Midwest. Kids picked on you and called you derogatory names, and so on. I would tell my mother about this and she’d say: “Well, son, you get down on your knees and you pray for them; and don’t you be angry and don’t hate!”
When I started singing opera, too, there were some times I would encounter discrimination, so I would call my mother and talk to her about it. Even then, when I was an adult, she would tell me: “Well now, son, make sure you don’t hold any hatred in your heart. You pray for those people, so that their hearts may be touched, and that they will get rid of discrimination.” That’s been an essential part of my life and my faith: not to hate, regardless of what happens, and to “pray for your enemy.”
I would definitely say that my spiritual background has always been the way in which I get my strength to carry on in life. Even today I still read my Bible and pray basically everyday.
When you started singing, you were actually a boy soprano. How did you get to the opposite extreme of bass-baritone?
I was singing first soprano in the high school chorus, and after the summer holiday before my senior year, I realized I didn’t have my high voice anymore. So I went from first soprano down to bass-baritone! Well, not directly! First, I went to the University of Iowa. There I sang as a tenor in a group called “The Old Gold Singers.” But later, my voice teacher, Mr. Charles Kellis, said: “Simon, you are a bass-baritone!”
Mr. Kellis is the one who really discovered me at the University of Iowa and told me I had a voice to sing opera. I had never seen or heard an opera in my life. He brought me some recordings of great opera singers, like Cesare Siepi, Leontyne Price, Maria Callas, Eileen Farrell, and Jerome Hines. I listened to those, I went back to him the next day, and I said: “You know, I really like that stuff!” And he said: “I think you need to go to an all-music school, Simon.” So he arranged an audition for me at Juilliard in 1963. I went to Juilliard and was there for a year. Then, in 1965, I started singing professionally: Aida at the Deutsche Oper in what was West Berlin at that time.
Then you didn’t really study that long?
No, I did not. I was very gifted, and I thank God for this gift of singing and learning music. I was very blessed, so once I started singing opera, it just kind of took off, in 1966. I was one of the prizewinners of the first vocal competition in Moscow: the Tchaikovsky competition. Once I started, I realized I had a gift to memorize very quickly, so that helped my career in the beginning too, because whenever they needed someone to learn something fast, I was able to do it. I’m grateful for that.
So you didn’t have any technical challenges to overcome when you were studying?
No. I really didn’t. My teacher taught me a very natural way of singing and didn’t use a lot of technical terms. I’m teaching now at Boston University, Iowa State University, and also at Wartburg College, a private college out here in Iowa. I’m very happy that my teacher didn’t tell me so many things technically, because what happens with singers is that sometimes we “learn” problems. Teachers will tell you: “This is your passaggio, that is where your voice breaks,” etc., and they tend to generalize that for all singers. So we start thinking: “Oh, when I go to a particular note, this or that is going to happen!” And maybe that’s true with some singers, but it’s not always the case with every singer.
My teacher also never forced me to sing beyond my chronological years, and he never wanted me to sound much more mature or older. So I credit Mr. Kellis with the longevity I’ve had in my career, because he was a very careful, wise voice teacher.
You know, I was doing King Philip in Don Carlo in Florence, Italy, in the late ‘70s, with Mirella Freni and Piero Cappuccilli. Both told me they had never studied with any voice teachers at all! That’s not to say that all singers shouldn’t study, but voice teachers should be very careful not to create problems sometimes by telling young singers too much. I think we need to let them sing, and apply technique very carefully with each individual singer, because we are all individuals of our own DNA.
It’s simple: One must be able to sing and have good breath support, and one needs to sing without any tension in the body. But it’s very important that we teach singers to sing with happiness and joy, and not with fear. Fear can come about sometimes, if one is told too much of: “Oh, if I don’t do that, this might happen.” So you might anticipate something that would not happen if you didn’t think that much. And we need to listen to the students, also! When I teach, I always say to them: “Tell me, if I ever ask you to do something and it doesn’t feel right.” I’m not a dictator.
When you teach, you don’t get very specific technically?
No. Absolutely not! I’m very grateful that the students with whom I’ve worked in Europe, as well as in the U.S., have been extremely appreciative, and that I get along with them so well, because I have respect for them as individuals.
If I can teach singers to teach themselves, so they do not have to be dependent on me, it’s good. And it’s like with an automobile: once in a while, it needs a checkup. I think that if you have a good teacher, then yes, one should go back to that teacher for a checkup. I often tell my students: I teach with my eyes, my ears, my heart, and very little of my brain. The brain is the part that makes things a little complicated, when you think too much.
So what do you do if someone comes to you with vocal problems?
First of all, I like to ask them why they feel they may be having these “problems.” I want to get their input—not just a technical description of what is wrong, a description which someone else may have planted in their minds. Once I get their personal input, we start working, very peacefully and carefully. I tell them never to be nervous when working with me, that’s very important.
As I work with them, I ask them: How do you feel about this? We have to establish an incredible rapport and trust in one another. I’m not teaching them so that Simon will be glorified. I’m teaching them so that they will be able to enjoy singing and bring a lot of joy and happiness to people, wherever they sing.
I also don’t believe in forcing singers to sing something they don’t like. Many times, a teacher will impose certain repertoire on a singer. Singing is very personal. It comes from our hearts, our minds and our souls, so it’s very important that people sing something they really enjoy. When we sing, we should bring peace and joy to people, so that their hearts and souls are touched.
I sang a lot in my career—101 roles! I’ve been very fortunate to sing opera for about 40 years, and I’m still able to sing. I think that’s because God gave me a very special gift, and I was very blessed that my first and only teacher gave me a great foundation.
Now I want to share with young singers what I have learned from the great conductors and stage directors I worked with, [and] from colleagues like Birgit Nilsson, Joan Sutherland, Leontyne Price, Marilyn Horne, Leonie Rysanek, Plácido Domingo, Pavarotti, and Carreras. I want to pass on this knowledge. I tell them: “Whatever I share with you, if it’s something that helps you, you take it and use it; if it doesn’t help you, you discard it, and I will not be offended.”
What do you advise your students to do in competitions?
I always tell them: “See it as an opportunity to perform! Don’t go always thinking that you have to win.” Obviously, everybody wants to win any prize, but many times, there are other things that are involved to prevent one person from winning the competition. It could be sociological problems; it can be that that particular competition that year is looking for a particular vocal category, and a person can sing magnificently and still not win first prize. So you go there, and sing with gratitude that you’re able to be there and you’re getting the experience of walking out on stage to sing for people as well as for a jury.
Go out there and enjoy yourself as much as possible! Even if you make a mistake, don’t let that bother you. We’re not computers, we’re human beings, we’re fallible. If a mistake is made, we hope that people will be understanding, and if they are not, I say: “Perhaps it’s their problem.”
In 1978, you were the first African-American male to sing at Bayreuth.
Yes. I sang the title role of The Flying Dutchman in a new production conducted by Dennis Russell Davies, opening the season that year. That was a great honor and a great experience. I will never forget it. It really helped to catapult my career, and I really enjoyed being there. I felt deeply honored because of the way the audience responded to me. There were reports in some newspapers predicting I would be booed because of my skin color. That did not happen. I not only sang The Flying Dutchman for six years in a row there, but I also sang Amfortas in Parsifal. I think it’s because of the Bayreuth experience that I ended up singing “The Dutchman” hundreds of times all over the world.
Is “The Dutchman” one of your favorite roles?
Yes. It’s a very challenging role, not only dramatically, but musically and vocally. It’s exciting because of the way it’s written. Wagner was very young when he wrote this.
I happen to like Wagner’s music very much. I sang all of his operas, except Die Meistersinger and Rienzi. One of my favorite roles is Wotan in “The Ring.”
Your approach to Wagner has a touch of Bel Canto.
It should be Bel Canto! Wagner wrote so phonically, as though the voice was one of the instruments of the orchestra, and he wants that music to be sung. I believe he wanted it to be sung with beauty and musicianship, and that is what Bel Canto is all about.
You believe in the importance of balancing opera performances with recitals.
I do, because it helps one maintain flexibility in the voice, generally speaking. In a way, recitals are even more difficult to sing than an opera, because in an opera there are many other—and I don’t mean this in a negative sense—distractions people can concentrate on, either someone else singing or dancing, the scenery, the costumes. But when you sing a recital it’s just you and the pianist. You’re very exposed and it requires a certain type of different vocalism.
I’ve done a lot of Schubert, Brahms, Mahler, Hugo Wolf, and Negro spirituals. Recitals are very important for singers to develop their musicianship and intellectual interpretative skills, and to be able to transmit a message through each song. I’m grateful that I’ve done so many recitals in my career, as well as oratorio.
In 1985 you sang Amonasro in Leontyne Price’s farewell performance. She had been one of the singers you listened to when you discovered opera. What did it mean for you to be able to go on stage with her?
It was one of the greatest honors to sing with Leontyne Price at her farewell at the Met. I had sung with Leontyne before that, in San Francisco. Leontyne stepped in for the other Price—Margaret—who was ill.
I remember at the rehearsal, during the duet, she started crying a little bit, and that was amazing, because Leontyne is a very controlled, very private, very strong lady. She said: “Simon, I’m so honored to be singing with you.” I said: “No, Leontyne, it is an honor for me to be singing with you!” And then, when we sang again at the Met, I cannot tell you—it is one of my most memorable experiences, to have sung with this great artist and great human being in a role that was so meaningful to her and to me. I will always treasure that performance.
What did she mean to African-American singers?
She represented our first real groundbreaker. We’d had some before, but Leontyne was the one that put us on the map. We owe a lot of gratitude to Leontyne for what she has done for all of us.
You once said: “Many people never treated this as an opera but as a musical, a kind of musical ghetto.” What were you referring to?
Porgy and Bess. And I didn’t say “musical ghetto”; that was a misquote then. To me, Porgy and Bess is one of the greatest operas ever written. I don’t think it’s always been given the respect that it deserves. In my opinion, it is truly an opera, not a musical. But because of sociological problems years ago, the Met didn’t do it until 1985, I think. I sang Porgy and Grace Bumbry sang Bess. Then it finally got some of the true respect and dignity that it deserves.
You also sang a lot for world leaders—kings, queens—connecting through music with the authorities who have power over people. What did that mean to you?
I consider it an honor, and it makes me feel more humble. My mother always taught me: “Simon, remain humble in all that you do in life.” And I really do feel blessed to think that I’ve sung for four U.S. presidents, for Nelson Mandela, for kings and queens of Spain and Norway, for the leaders of Germany and France.
Actually, I’m the only person in the world to have sung for the 25th anniversary of the United Nations as well as the 50th. The 25th was in San Francisco—Beethoven’s Ninth—and in NYC we did the 50th with Kurt Masur. They wanted people of different colors, and for some reason I was asked to sing at the 25th and the 50th. So that’s another unique experience I’ve had. I also sang for the present Pope twice at the Vatican, and for Desmond Tutu.
I thank God for having allowed me to be in proximity to some of these great people of the world.
In the past you have declared that African-American singers, especially males, don’t get many opportunities to affirm themselves in the opera world.
Do you think that has changed for the better today?
I say, with a tremendous amount of sadness: “No.” I think there are still problems. I know that because I spoke out about these issues, it did cause me problems; some people were not engaging me or were unhappy with the statements I made. I am not bitter at all, because my mother taught me never to be bitter.
Yes, as a human being, I was sad and it did hurt, but I think that we have to address problems with looking for a way to find solutions to correct them. It doesn’t mean that we have to be combative, that we have to fight or anything. But we need to sit down and talk. We should realize that we are all God’s children. God gives all groups of people talents and these talents should not be denied because of their ethnic background and their skin color.
It is all about the voice, after all.
It is about the voice! A voice is a gift that should be able to be shared with people of the world. Many people don’t get to hear a great singer, regardless of their skin color, if a particular conductor doesn’t like that singer—for whatever reason that may be—so that city, or that opera house, or that country is being denied the privilege of hearing a great artist.
Do you think conductors have too much power in these decisions?
Well, that’s something we could debate for a long time! But take a lot of my students now, who happen to be non-African-American. I’m working with them on Negro spirituals. And I explained it to them; I even gave lectures about it. You know, all of us have a spirit. The spirit has no color, and the spirit knows no color. Therefore, to call a song a “Negro spiritual,” with this adjective modifying the word “spiritual,” simply means that it was a song composed or written by a person who in those days was called a “Negro.” But isn’t it the same with German Lieder or Italian songs or French songs. Those words are just adjectives modifying the words “Lieder” and “songs,” and they refer to the composers’ nationality. But everybody can sing them! All you have to do is work with someone who understands that style of music.
A few years ago, I was working with a non-African-American student at Iowa State University. I worked with her on a Negro spiritual. She sang it for a master class—and she had people in tears. You see, music does not know barriers. These are man-made barriers and I hope they will continue to be broken down, so that no one will be denied the opportunity to share a great gift just because of their skin color. I hope those who do the hiring can understand that.
I read about a production of Aidain Italy in which you were required to wear white make-up. Is that true?
When I first made my debut in Berlin at the Deutsche Oper in 1965, I sang Ramfis. I had never been on the stage in my life; it was my first opera. They made me up white, not white like a Caucasian person, but white as snow! I remember I was shocked when I saw myself. Now, I must say, that doesn’t happen, unless it’s some production in which they want everybody made up like snow.
How did they propose that to you back then? What reasons did they give you?
They never even told me why and I did not ask them, because, look, I was a neophyte. I was just making my debut. I went in to be made up, that’s the way they made me up, so I wasn’t going to question it. I just remember I felt very strange, but I went ahead and I sang.
Are you still singing?
Yes. But I’m reducing it, because I’ve been doing it for 40 years. It’s time to let other people step in. But I’m grateful that I am still able to sing and to share this gift.
Before I sing, I always pray and ask God to take me and use me as an instrument of peace, and faith, and hope, that people in the audience will be moved towards love and faith, through the gift that God has given me. That has always been my purpose in singing.
You have established several foundations to help students.
Yes. There are four scholarship foundations: an International Foundation for Children in Zurich, and the Simon Estes Educational Foundation in Tulsa, Okla.— through which we’ve given about 300 scholarships to deserving students out there who have gone on to colleges like Harvard and Yale. Then there’s the Simon Estes Iowa Educational Foundation, and another foundation in my hometown of Centerville.
I worked my way through the University of Iowa because I was very poor, so I shined shoes, scrubbed floors—you name it, I’ve done it! Now that I’m blessed, I want to finally help students get to college and not have such a financial burden.
There is also a school named after me in South Africa, in the Cape Town area: The Simon Estes Music High School. I founded that school about seven or eight years ago. We have about 400 students. They have my choir, which sang for Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. So, I’m constantly in contact with all these foundations.
Tell me a few words about your favorite roles.
Well, one that I’ve sung since 1965 is King Philip in Don Carlo. What I love about King Philip is that this is a true story, this man existed. It is a great role to sing, with its famous “Ella giammai m’amo,” and the great duet with the Grand Inquisitor. It’s not nearly as complicated as some of the other roles I sang. I also love Wotan, especially in Die Walküre, because it’s such a diversified character to act and to sing. That is very challenging vocally and musically, but on the other hand, it’s tremendously rewarding.
I love Jokanaan in Salome. The character of John the Baptist is this great spiritual leader. In my humility, I can identify with him because I am a very spiritual person. And the music of that role is just absolutely fantastic. I also identify with the role of Amfortas in Parsifal. Then, Boris Godunov is a great singing and dramatic role. First time I sang it was in Lubeck, Germany in 1971. Opening night we had 54 curtain calls!
Another favorite is Porgy in Porgy and Bess. I could just go on and on, but these are some of my favorites. Of course, among the most challenging were the four villains in “Hoffmann.”
Do you have any words of advice for singers?
Have patience and learn to say a diplomatic “no.” If someone asks you to sing something that’s really not right for you, try to be diplomatic and explain to that person: “I’m not ready for that role now. Please understand.” Let’s say it’s a great conductor or a famous stage director, tell them: “It’s not easy to say ‘no’ to you, but I want to be able to sing a long time, and [want you to] respect me for saying no.”
Many times people ask me what the secret to a career is. I say it over and over again: “Patience and a diplomatic ‘no’; that’s the secret!” What do we usually say? “Patience is a virtue.” You want to be a virtuous singer? You must be patient!
