Grandi Tenori.com - Bain: Beniamino Gigli: The Aesthetics of the Recordings of Beniamino Gigli

The following article was written on the occasion of the passing away of Colin Bain (1926-2007) in June 2007, a noted researcher and collector of all things Gigli. The article is re-published on Grandi Tenori with kind permission of the author, and marks the 50th anniversary of the passing away of Gigli on 30 November 1957.

My interest in Beniamino Gigli has its roots in the affection the British people held for the Italian tenor, particularly during the years leading up to World War II and until his death in 1957. Gigli appeared to great acclaim in opera and concert performances throughout the British Isles. His frequent BBC radio broadcasts and his appearances in feature films further endeared him to his audiences, and in particular to the record buying public. His recordings continued to be best sellers long after his death. For my part, I have no particular memories or recollections of Gigli. His voice, nonetheless, was very familiar to me from a very young age, more so in popular song than in opera. I attribute this, in part, to my Italian-born aunt, Mina.

For me, a true appreciation of Gigli was some years off yet. It began to unfold when, in 1981, my wife, Sandra, bought me as a birthday gift an old phonograph. This piqued an interest not only in early sound recordings but also in opera on record. At the top of my “want list” was Enrico Caruso and Beniamino Gigli …but, where to find copies of their records or of any old records for that matter? I really had no clue. I was a neophyte and had absolutely no appreciation whatsoever about how one went about collecting the old shellac discs. It was not an interest shared by anyone that I knew. So, I placed an ad in the classified section of the Toronto Star. I received only two responses, one from a gentleman – not a record collector per se – who had several “78s” of Caruso he was willing to sell. These proved to be pre-1920 European pressings, of some rarity (which I readily admit I did not come to fully appreciate until some time later), and in remarkably good condition. I do not recall how much I paid for them only that I made a quick dash to a bank to withdraw the money. For those who cringe at the thought of playing these valuable records on an old phonograph, I quickly learned not to.

The only other response came as a result of Aldo Maggiorotti reading the want ad. Aldo, a popular host at different times of opera broadcasts on two of Toronto’s radio stations (CHIN and CJRT), passed it along to a friend, Joe Nunn, who lived in Stoney Creek. Both Aldo and Joe had been longstanding admirers of Gigli, befriended the tenor when he visited Canada, and were – literally – walking encyclopedias when it came to a knowledge of the tenor’s life and times. Over many years, Joe had compiled what can only be described as a remarkable collection of ephemera, memorabilia and recordings, perhaps one of the largest and most comprehensive anywhere, which I believe to hold true even today. Joe wrote to me expressing an interest in disposing of his “treasured” collection of 78s, which comprised almost all of Gigli’s commercially released recordings, including many, many rarities (again, a fact not fully appreciated at the time). What was even more remarkable, they had only ever been played once or twice. Apparently, Joe was inclined to play the records only for the purposes of recording them on cassette tape for his listening enjoyment later. The records were in pristine condition. Unwittingly, Joe established a benchmark by which I was to judge all my future acquisitions. Although, astrologically speaking, for those inclined, being a Virgo might also have had something to do with it.

Joe was asking for only a fraction of the record collection’s true worth, but at the time the purchase was well beyond my means. He generously offered to hold on to the collection until I could afford to pay him the asking price. True to his word, Joe kept the 78s for me and it was about a year later that I was able to visit with him again and take ownership of the 300-plus records. In the meantime, I had been doing my homework, becoming more knowledgeable as a collector and considerably better informed about opera on record.

Some years later, Joe donated his unique collection of Gigli ephemera to the Edward Johnson Library of Music at the University of Toronto. This included a detailed record of the tenor’s performances, related activities and points of interest, diligently maintained throughout the tenor’s long and distinguished career. By this time, my interest in opera extended well beyond the recorded legacy of Caruso and Gigli. My collection now included recordings by many other artists of what is affectionately referred to as the “78 era,” and it was evenly divided between recordings of individual artists and complete operas. I had also begun to collect vinyl LPs, mostly of complete operas, and this extended the period of my studies into the 1950s and later. My interest though reached beyond the artist and his or her performance on record or on stage. I had become quite intrigued about the social and political environment in which these singers lived as well as performed. I also began to study more closely the history of opera performance, while the early history of sound recording remained a constant field of inquiry.

Much of my research began to focus on a particularly troubled and controversial period in Gigli’s career – the years leading up to and following World War II. I read a great deal of what was published at the time about certain events during the 1930s and 1940s, and also what was written in retrospect.¹ I quickly came to realize, however, that I was barely scratching the surface of the subject. So much of what I read appeared to be based on conjecture, hearsay or speculation. Separating fact from fiction appeared at first to be a daunting task. Most commentators, including Gigli’s detractors, of whom there were many in spite of the tenor’s popularity, tended to focus on his celebrity rather than his artistic abilities or accomplishments. And, the prevailing political winds served only to fuel any ill-feeling towards Gigli. My research, therefore, shifted to focus on government policy and practice in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany towards the arts, and their considerable impact on opera in Europe and in particular upon Gigli. I turned to Joe Nunn, who unfortunately was not able to throw much light on the matter. He did encourage me, nonetheless, to search through his collection of Gigli ephemera. I was hopeful that at least some of the information, and the clarification I was seeking, would be found in among the hundreds of documents in the collection.

As it turned out, Joe’s collection of Gigli ephemera was not readily available. When I was finally granted access, after several frustrating weeks of persistent inquiry, the material was found in a sorry state, this less than a year or two after the Edward Johnson Library of Music first took possession. I gingerly worked my way through the material, which Joe had painstakingly organized in chronological order and housed in two or three dozen large, three-ringed binders. As a result of neglect, much of the content of each volume had become separated from its binder and, as a consequence, had been damaged and was out of order. I was able to retrieve some information relevant to my research, but nothing substantive. I made a conscious decision not to inform Joe of what I had witnessed.

I did find in among correspondence Joe had had with collectors around the world the name and address of a gentleman in Australia. This information piqued my interest, but after all these years I cannot for the life of me recall why. I sent Colin Bain a postcard. His wife, Yvonne, acknowledged receipt of my inquiry and I subsequently wrote a fairly lengthy letter to Colin explaining more fully my purpose in contacting him. By this time, I had somewhat optimistically committed to presenting a paper at the 1993 Conference of the Association of Recorded Sound Collections in Chicago, tentatively titled: “Beniamino Gigli: Italian Patriot or Fascist Sympathizer?” Colin responded to my letter some weeks later with an 11-page, single-spaced, manually-typed letter detailing the events of the period in Gigli’s career that I was focused on. Immediately evident was the writer’s scholarly approach to research and the extent of that research; exhaustive would be an understatement. The information Colin unhesitatingly chose to share with me was to be the basis for one chapter of a biography of Gigli that he had been toiling over for many years. A mutual interest in getting to the facts of the matter emerged with our first exchange of letters.

I was struck by Colin’s eloquence in the written word and his uncommon generosity in willing to share the findings of his research. In the weeks leading up to the conference, we continued to exchange letters as I worked on completing and polishing our joint effort. Such was Colin’s contribution that I insisted he be identified as co-author, which in his modesty he did not expect or had at anytime sought. As almost an afterthought, I proposed incorporating into the presentation a selection of Gigli’s recordings, at least a few excerpts. Colin suggested several that he felt best demonstrated Gigli’s vocal art. These I had in my collection and, working with a colleague in the film production business, I produced a short video presentation to complement the conference paper proper.

Colin astutely anticipated the mixed reception to “Beniamino Gigli: Italian Patriot or Fascist Sympathizer?” He had expressed concern from the outset about presenting to what was going to be a predominately American audience. He observed that sixty years after the fact, opinions and misperceptions still ran deep. He expressed at the time a quiet admiration at my courage in facing the “uninformed” on “hostile” ground, but I am certain these sentiments were expressed tongue in cheek. Almost immediately after the presentation, I edited the conference paper and published a much condensed version in Antique Phonograph News.² I had become an active member of the Canadian Antique Phonograph Society, editing and publishing the Society’s bi-monthly newsletter (Antique Phonograph News), and its monthly program convener. Long before my contact with Colin, I had presented on Gigli at one of the Society’s meetings. In retrospect, I am quite embarrassed by my lame attempt at the time to speak with any authority on my chosen subject.

The same year that I had presented in Chicago, I was appointed the editor of the ARSC Journal. In 1999, I was able to publish a revised version of the original conference paper, much updated with additional information gleaned from Colin’s ongoing research.³ Colin contributed an in-depth analysis of Gigli’s vocal art, including commentary on the tenor’s recorded legacy and also his influence on future generations of singers.⁴ Shortly after publication, the two articles appeared on the highly regarded website, Grandi Tenori, which is devoted entirely to informed and scholarly study of Italian tenors.⁵ Colin was to make further contributions to the ARSC Journal, several reviews of re-issues of Gigli’s recordings on CD.^6-9

Running almost parallel to my collaboration and evolving friendship with Colin was my occasional correspondence with Joe Nunn. Joe was a constant source of anecdotes and information in general about the operatic world and Gigli in particular. I remember vividly his telling of his almost comical exploits as a young boy bicycling canned film around Toronto from one movie house to another. I had shared with him an early draft of a presentation I was putting together on early operatic film shorts, which included Gigli’s Vitaphone performances.¹⁰ Although contact between us was always sporadic, we stayed in touch. He was a well-respected member of an international fraternity of Gigli admirers, many of whom he introduced me to – by mail.

Sadly, the two people who contributed most to my appreciation of Beniamino Gigli died within a few days of one another: Joseph Nunn on the 15th and Colin Bain on the 18th of June 2007. Both had lived for many years with serious illness. Coming as they did within the same week, their deaths hit me particularly hard. I cannot imagine two people more different in character or personality than Joe Nunn and Colin Bain. Like a premium beer and a vintage port wine, I enjoyed them both – immensely – and will remain ever thankful I came to know them as I did.

Correspondence with Colin went in waves, often with prolonged lapses between letters and later e-mails. Last year, I became concerned about his well-being as several of my e-mails had gone unanswered. Somewhat desperately, I e-mailed the editor of the North Shore Times, a local newspaper in a suburb of Sydney, where the Bains lived, to see if anyone could at least confirm Colin’s current mailing address (if it had changed) or his whereabouts. To my amazement, the editor published my letter of inquiry and, as a consequence, I heard separately from two of Colin’s friends to assure me all was well. Colin had had an extended period of convalescence following surgery, hence his silence. We were able to resume our correspondence with what I suspect were more than a few suppressed chuckles over my enterprise in trying to re-establish contact. The content of my last e-mail to Colin was typical of communiqués past: a shared enjoyment of natural habitat; Sandra’s labors in our garden; the peaks and valleys of my day job; efforts to catalogue my collection; and, a few observations on a planned Gigli Anthology. A week passed before I received an e-mail from a friend of Colin and Yvonne to advise me that Colin had been hospitalized, following which his condition had taken a turn for the worse.

I will miss Colin’s intellect, his generosity of spirit, his humanitarian outlook on life and, above all, his warm friendship. His legacy will include the knowledge and wisdom implicit in most every word he wrote to me and Sandra and, hopefully, the Gigli biography – not quite complete and seeking a publisher. Thankfully, there are a number of people keen to bring this to fruition, I among them.

Colin Bain Remembered

Colin Caldwell Bain (1926-2007) was born in Liverpool, Sydney, Australia, on 22 September 1926. At the age of 16, he began what was to become a lifelong love for the singing of the great Italian tenor, Beniamino Gigli. In time, Colin met the Gigli family, and was to become the world authority on him. It was with Beniaminos’s daughter Rina, that Colin was authorised as the official biographer of her father’s life. He had several scholarly articles published about Gigli in America and Australia. At the time of his death, on 18 June 2007, Colin was putting the final touches to his biography on Gigli.