On October 7th, 1959, Mario Lanza died in a Rome clinic at the age of 38. It was the end of an extraordinary life in which the tenor had been both acclaimed and reviled in equal measure. Typical of his detractors at the time was critic Leslie Mallory, who gleefully prophesied that, “The music world will little note nor long remember Mario Lanza’s contribution to vocal splendour.” From any musical standpoint, Mallory went on to claim, “Lanza never sang – he shouted. Everything was fortissimo, and so was his life.”
 DEREK McGOVERN
What had incited such contempt? And why was critical opinion of Lanza so much at odds with the esteem in which leading musical figures held him? Let's not forget that this was the same man with whom Victor De Sabata had pleaded to open the 1950/51 season at La Scala in Andrèa Chenier. Would the great De Sabata have been willing to risk his reputation on a bellowing bull? Ah, but Lanza declined the offer, the naysayers to this day insist, because "he knew he could never rise to the challenge."
The facts, however, tell us otherwise. Lanza may have allowed Hollywood to sidetrack his ambition for a decade, but by 1958 he was determined to return to the operatic stage. With De Sabata no longer at the artistic helm of La Scala, Lanza bravely swallowed his pride and auditioned for the management of that theatre. He was immediately offered a contract. Shortly afterwards, he recorded a number of operatic scenes at the Rome Opera, earning the admiration of its Artistic Director, Riccardo Vitale, for his “exceptional timbre” and "great musicality." Vitale then invited Lanza to open a season at the Rome Opera, with both Canio and Cavaradossi discussed as possible roles for the tenor. Lanza eventually chose Canio. Had it not been for the sudden deterioration in his health in March of the following year, he might well have sung at both the Rome Opera and La Scala.
Of course, his critics will have none of this. When confronted with recordings of the calibre that accompany this essay, they counter with the absurd hypothesis that Lanza’s voice was too small for the stage. More often than not, however, they ignore the tenor’s good recordings altogether, eagerly pouncing on the worst of his legacy. But men such as De Sabata and Vitale knew better. Rather than fixating on the tenor’s stylistic shortcomings, they recognized the true potential of this vocal phenomenon. The singer’s contemporaries were equally aware of his talent. At the Met Guild Tribute to Lanza in January, 2005, soprano Elaine Malbin – who herself had sung with the tenor – recalled that Franco Corelli had described her late colleague as possessing “the voice of the century.” Ms. Malbin heartily concurred. But as countless great singers have pointed out, it was not only Lanza’s voice that made him unique – it was the way in which he used that instrument. “Mario Lanza’s singing was both convincing and full of heart,” Corelli observed on another occasion, echoing the view of Oreste Kirkop, who greatly admired his contemporary’s phrasing and vitality. “He was so generous with his singing, “ Kirkop recalled. “I think Lanza, in fact, died a little every time he sang.”
It is precisely this Mediterranean passion – or “visceral quality,” as Domingo puts it – inherent in Lanza’s singing that so dismays Mallory and his ilk. In essence, they criticize him for lacking the refinement of an Alfredo Kraus or a Carlo Bergonzi. (Interestingly, however, both men were among his admirers.) But while it is true that Lanza was, at times, a rough diamond, as James Miller has written, “There is little point in belittling [the tenor] just because he wasn’t Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.” Or to put it another way, as Lindsay Perigo does in his Foreword to Armando Cesari’s Mario Lanza: An American Tragedy, “In a contest between a note-perfect performance devoid of feeling and note-imperfect performance that brings you to the edge of your seat with pulse racing, spine tingling and hair standing on end, the latter is always going to win out.”
And “win out” Lanza’s legacy should. For while it’s true that even on his best recordings, one can find instances of sharpness, over-emphasis, or other idiosyncrasies, the sheer beauty, excitement, and generosity of the tenor’s singing will always compensate for any shortcomings. The four recordings that accompany this essay are a case in point. I offer them here both in commemoration of the 46th anniversary of Lanza’s death, and in the hope that even the most hitherto-“Malloryian” of listeners will discover the joys of a great artist.
Notes on the Recordings:
Three of the genres for which Lanza was celebrated are included here: musical comedy, opera, and Neapolitan song. The first of these is Jerome Kern’s enchanting All the Things You Are, a favourite song of the tenor and one that he recorded three times. Of the three, this is by far Lanza’s most beguiling rendition – and, at the same time, his least-known version. Recorded for his fourth film (Because You’re Mine) in 1951, the song was cut from the movie’s release print. One can only ask why, for the tenor is at his romantic zenith here, displaying a stunning control of dynamics in what is one of his greatest English-language recordings.
Opera is represented by two arias: Che Gelida Manina and M’Apparì. The former was recorded at Lanza’s first official RCA session in 1949. Just 28 at the time, Lanza delivered the aria in a single take that is widely regarded as one of his best operatic recordings. Arturo Toscanini is said to have remarked after hearing this performance that Lanza possessed “the greatest natural tenor voice of the 20th century.” Of special note is the tenor’s handling of the difficult phrase “Talor dal mio forziere,” together with the effortless high C on “speranza.” Lindsay Perigo writes of this recording: “The outpouring of glorious tones never stops. When he begins, you wonder if he can keep this intensity up. He does. He actually makes the aria more than just a soliloquy within a storyline – it is a universal hymn to beauty and heroism.”
Lanza is in equally fine form on the 1950 M’Apparì. Exquisitely sung, with a beautiful sense of line, this would be the recording that I would play first to the tenor’s detractors – without initially telling them who the singer was, of course!
The Neapolitan song Mamma Mia, Che Vò Sape? dates from the same session that produced Che Gelida Manina, and was a staple of Lanza’s concert repertoire. A standout feature of this recording, as Lindsay Perigo has noted, is the way in which the tenor “moves from an uncovered minor 6th of the scale to a covered tonic note on the 'A' vowel in the penultimate phrase, with no loss of quality and no blatant shifting of gear.” Also noteworthy are Lanza’s exemplary diction, melting use of mezza voce, and obvious affinity for the Neapolitan idiom.
-D.M.
- Mario Lanza: All the Things You Are
(Kern).
Recorded in Hollywood, July 12, 1951. Conductor: John Green. [0.99 mb]
- Mario Lanza: Che Gelida Manina
(“La Bohème,” Puccini).
Recorded in New York, May 5, 1949. Conductor: Constantine Callinicos. [1.75 mb]
- Mario Lanza: M’Apparì Tutt’ Amor
(“Martha,” Von Flotow).
Recorded in Hollywood, April 8, 1950. Conductor: Constantine Callinicos. [1.25 mb]
- Mario Lanza: Mamma Mia, Che Vò Sape?
(Nutile). Recorded in New York, May 5. 1949. Conductor: Constantine Callinicos. [985 kb]
 All Audio compressed to 48 kbps wma 9
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