The art of Sprezzatura, Masterclasses and Audtions

Yesterday I was incredibly fortunate to be able to audit a Master Class by Daniel Helfgot , Opera Director, recipient of the Director of the Year 2009 award from the Classical Singer Magazine, and author of the book "The Third Line: The Singer As Interpreter."  The class was superb and we all learned a great deal from the different examples that cropped up with every singer. Maestro Helfgot is a very insightful man, and very incisive with his observations.

After the class I purchased his book, which I am very eager to read. One of the things I was very grateful for him to mention is the issue of translation--- in the day and age of the supertitle, there really is no reason for an opera company to translate a work into English. He used a quote my father is often fond of using, "Traduttore, Traditore!" or "Translator, Traitor!" (the pun is lost when you translate it, which really underlines the point) - a composer often writes in accordance to specific vowel values, when it comes to specific sections according to his intention. To translate the text is to rob the audience and the performers of that intention, and the opera more often than not changes completely ( and many times turns out just goofy, such as the Ruth & Thomas Martin translation of "Una Furtiva Lagrima", from "M'ama! Si, M'ama!" to "Darling! You love me!"). I will be posting comments as I read "The Third Line," hopefully a chapter-by-chapter comment.

Well, today I have an audition for the role of Prince Tamino in Mozart's "Die Zauberflote." I have been having problems with the aria because it is a piece I sung before with previous teachers, and when I sing it a lot of muscle memory and baggage comes up. However, I have noticed that if I become absorbed in the character and the character's motivations, and let the music guide me (Mozart, as all of the supreme good composers, tells you exactly what's going on with the character's action in the score, so all you need to do is listen to the accompaniment to your aria), the problems lessen greatly, or disappear at times, with the better technique coming to the fore.  I think today's audition will go well, I simply have to get out of my own head and get into Tamino's instead.

It is so interesting that an aria like Tamino's "Dies Bildnis" is so deceitful- to the casual listener it may seem not nearly as difficult as Pamina's "Ach, Ich Fuhls" or , of course, the Queen of the Night's insane arias, but Tamino's two arias have very nasty pitfalls that can swallow you whole if you're not careful. When a good tenor sings it you barely even notice its difficulty - when a bad tenor sings it, you're perfectly aware of it all.  This is an example of one of the attributes of the ideal opera singer: Sprezzatura.  Sprezzatura is the rehearsed spontaneity, studied carelessness, and well-practiced naturalness that underlies persuasive discourse.  The term was coined by Balthasar Castiglione in The Book of the Courtier (1528): "To avoid affectation in every way possible . . . and (to pronounce a new word perhaps) to practice in all things a certain Sprezzatura, so as to conceal all art and make whatever is done or said appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it."

One of the masters of Sprezzatura was the legendary tenor, Alfredo Kraus. Here you have a prime example of Maestro Kraus displaying the height of Sprezzatura-singing. He tackles the extremely difficult aria "Je crois entendre encore" from Bizet's "Le Pecheurs De Perles" as if it were nothing but a dream. His high B flats, and then the final high C, come out with seemingly no effort whatsoever, and the expression in his face says "I could do this all night, are you kidding me? This isn't hard at all. But isn't it beautiful?" This is as close to perfection as any tenor can get. Perhaps the only objectionable thing in this live video recording is the inexplicable coldness of the German public listening to him. After such a rendition, a man of his skill deserves a standing ovation at least.