The record changer (Jan-Dec 1949)

19 I There are comparatively few men and women who still live to tell of their ecstasies of aesthetic sensation in the presence of Jean l)e Reszke, and their recollections are dulled by the passing of almost five decades. Idolatry alone remains untarnished. They will tell you (or you may read) of De Reszke's superb character delineation, of the ineffably lovely chiaroscuro of tone wrought in his throat and of the sublime dignity of the artist whose perfection in every last aural and visual facet of executive technique was of a grace supernal. The narrative, with its key dates, the listing of his roles, and a few far-removed glimpses into his personal nature is all that remains, and the chronicle is as dry as his bones. The career of Jean De Reszke is finished ; there is no living testimony to perpetuate his creative contribution to a world that was, for a time, blest with his presence. There is no encomium to do him justice. He was truly great and he is truly dead, for this Mastersinger chose to suppress publication of the two examples of his work which he recorded and which might have immortalized him long after he had ceased to be a memory and had become only a name. Of the waxes engraved without his knowledge during actual performances at the Metropolitan in 1901 (his last season in America), the less said, the less curiosity aroused — and unfulfilled, for these are blurred, primitive fragments which tantalize but do not reveal to any appreciable degree. IT Enrico Caruso was born in Naples in 1873 and died there in 1921, and although a generation has come to maturity since his passing, his voice and more than a little of his personality are as alive today as when be was at the height of his phenomenal renown as First Tenor of the World. Of all the millions of words written and published upon the subject of Caruso during and after his lifetime, not more than a thimbleful are to be relied upon, and the acres of type set by his publicists, effervescent idolators — and slanderers— make a sorry collection of source material for the much-needed definite biography. His own delightfully adept caricatures of himself and of his contemporaries, published in La Follia, tell more of the man's lovable nature than all of the anecdotes. To listen to one properly chosen record of his voice is to learn more about his artistic being than can be gained through reading all of the critics' reviews in the musty files. Distortion is rife in the prints but the recordings, although made iong before the phonograph had emerged by rdnard hill perpetual portrait from its infancy, tell the story with a fidelity which holds for today and tomorrow all that cannot be conveyed to any but the aural sensibilities. Those who wish to know which thirty-six operatic roles Caruso emplo3ed during his tenure at the Metropolitan will have no tribulation in the quest and the dates of his performances are likewise readily accessible. For so-called "human-interest" stories there are the blurb-sheets put out by the old Victor Talking Machine C Oinpany to herald its latest record releases, with their plenitude of spot-news photos ; — Caruso entering the opera house, Caruso on shipboard bound for La Scala, Caruso playing tennis, Caruso cleanshaven, Caruso with his newest mustaches, three-quarter profile, full-length and (actually!) Caruso with his back to the camera . . . and . . . ad nauseam. But the reverence with which Caruso's name still is spoken owes itself not to the lists nor to the pictures nor to the nonsensical tales nor to any of the thousand material swatches surviving. His corporeal investment skillfully preserved and until recent years on public view attracted only those morbid swine to whom that for which he lived is a blank. It is the voice of a Mastersinger which endures in perpetuity to recreate for us, at our will, some of the fruits of his task upon the earth. Caruso and the science of sound perpetuation emerged from prepubescence at almost the same time, with results which scarcely could have been happier had the artist and the inventor been brothers of approximately the same ideals and sympathies. It was in 1897 that Caruso's star cleared the horizon. Shortly afterward one of the "mushroom" companies of the recording industry's beginning years engaged him to make a few cylinders. These, the earliest surviving examples of Caruso's singing, reveal an open and quite naturally Italianate method, a lyric texture not boyish nor to any degree uncertain — yet lacking in those qualities of darkling splendor characteristic of his zenith years. They conclusively give the lie to the persistently reprinted misinformation that Caruso, like his predecessor, De Reszke, had begun his career as a baritone. Within the next few seasons other companies made other records and these, played in chronological order with the earlier and later recreations, enable us to trace the vocal developments as well as the always increasing authority and stylistic impact. However, none of the pre-American cylinders or discs are of much value to the student of bel canto for re-recording apparatus is incapable of contending with their vagaries of pitch, volume and clarity. The faults are, of course, the faults of the original, crude recording machines and should in no wise be construed as being attributable to artistic shortcomings. Our fully rewarded interest in Caruso's recordings begins with the series done at Milan in 1002-3 when the tenor's endeavors first bloomed to full advantage and brought understanding recognition by himself and by the impresarii of his true rtotential worth to the world of music. Some of these matrices were brought to the United States for release as part of the now scarce "5000 Series" — the first (after the short-lived 2000 series) red-seal records issued by Victor. They preceded the tenor to America by several months, his debut here taking place in late November, 1903. Indeed, it was a / 'esti la giubba of the 1902 group which brought about Caruso's first Metropolitan contract. The late Montrose J. Moses relates that this disc was played to Heinrich Conried, the Metropolitan's then manager, and that Conried forthwith opened cable negotiations with the tenor's agents. The ultimate results of those enquiries admit of no extended comment here and now. Nor need we dwell at any length upon the peregrinations and vicissitudes attendant upon the pattern of existence which thenceforth was to be Enrico Caruso's life on and off the lyric stage. Let us concern ourselves more properly with the Caruso who lives forever, enshrined within the record grooves. IV In February, 1904, about ten weeks after his New York debut, Caruso was taken to Room 826 in Carnegie Hall t^ere to transcribe the first ten in a soon-to-be lengthy catalog of songs and arias. He was paid off in cash, there being no contract in existence. Rut the advisability of having Caruso's signature on a recording contract very soon became apparent and the formality was duly realized. That contract was in force until 1913 when it was renewed (with revisions) for an additional twenty-five years' duration, thus outliving the tenor by seventeen years and under the terms of which royalties to his estate continued to be forthcoming. (Whether or not Mrs. Caruso continues to receive royalty payments, I have not inquired.) Not all nor nearly all of Caruso's singing on records which remains accessible is representative of his best work nor of music's best estate, and some of the recordings of which copies are readily procurable were better placed aside to make way for loftier flights of song which repose within the vaults at Camden. Examples of Caruso's singing at all phases of his career reveal stirring things as well as things less than deservant of un(Continned on Page 20)