Radio Digest (June 1932-Mar 1933)

"I Would Never 'sell' My Title! 29 •>"> By Wanda Seifried Countess SHE is a member of the family of nobles identi'fied with the" crown of Italy, Her Highness the Countess . Olga Medolaga-Albani. Yes, the soprano you hear every Sunday night on the Buick Hour. "My title? No, it's never been an open sesame to me in radio," she laughed. "Of course, I am honored by the privilege of wearing it, but I would consider it an insult both to the title and everything it represents and to myself if I were ever guilty of using it for business purposes!" And that seems to be about as fairminded a way of looking at a foreign title as you would find. Her entry into radio was not different from the usual performer. She had to overcome her burning indignation at tedious auditions and broken promises, just like any novice. It was not a smooth, easy path cushioned by the mention of "Countess" that one would believe. Although she doesn't admit it, difficulties often appeared that could not be easily smoothed out because of the stamp of aristocracy she bears. She had influential friends, opera and concert artists who were willing to assist her . . . but so have thousands of others who have learned that ability in the field of entertaining an invisible public, and not personal influences, decides success or failure. I asked Countess Albani if, when she started forth on her career, extra courtesies were extended ... if she was greeted with salaams and red velvet carpets? "Thank goodness, no!" she replied. "Remember I was acting in a purely private capacity, and the fact that I was a countess was incidental to the fact that I was a singer. I should have been horribly embarrassed if it had been otherwise." The Countess Albani does not ab Albani Countess Albani jure her title. It is rightfully hers and she wears it like a true gentlewoman. In fact, it belonged to her long before she endeared herself to radio. o, 'LGA ALBANI was born in Barcelona, Spain, in 1903. She was christened Olga Hernandez. In 1908 she changed her address to America and she has been here ever since. Nine years ago . . . the man she loved and married entered her life. He. incidentally, was a Count . . . and she became Countess Olga Medolaga-Albani. The title had no significance ... the man had all. as time has proved. It wasn't until after the birth of her son, however,' that her friend Sophie Braslau persuaded her not to waste the beautiful soprano voice she possessed. She had always sung . . . ever since she could remember. But in those early days her father and mother had been her only audience, with perhaps an occasional performance graced by the presence of a brother and sister. When her friend mentioned "sing for the public," Countess Albani refused — point blank — because she thought it meant the stage. Later, after much persuasion, came the agreement to try for an audition at NBC. Here, her clear soprano and her superb rendition of songs brought that station's artist bureau to her side with a pen and contract. Then came the usual routine of auditions for possible clients, followed by her present successful commercial programs. She has been on the air three years now . . . and several offers from producers for prima donna roles have left her unmoved. She is essentially a radio artist. Now that she has embarked on this singing career, she is giving all her energy to the perfection of her voice . . . • and the pleasure it affords her listeners. She chooses her songs carefully and all her emotion and her great dramatic sense rides freely through the interpretation of her songs. She is unconsciously a superb show-woman . . . she is a sincere performer. But often she wonders if her publii receives her as warmly as they do others, because of her title. If they feel this woman of blue blood is not one of them — and she is. she will vehemently assure you — then shouldn't the title be dropped in favor of the public? Countess Albani learned that her title certainly did not prove a magic key to the sealed door of radio stardom: hard work and perseverance opened the way