“Mario del Monaco was one of the most famous tenors of the 20th century, achieving resounding success. He debuted before World War II, but his consecration coincided with the post-war period. A triumphant performer on all the world’s most prestigious stages, Mario del Monaco benefited from the advent and diffusion of the microgroove. The record, in fact, made him one of the best known voices on the entire planet. Paired with Renata Tebaldi, he became, for more than a decade, one of Decca’s most illustrious phonographic labels. Furthermore, Del Monaco can be considered one of the first and most important Opera singers who understood the importance of audiovisual media as an indispensable complement to the fortune of a modern artist. His strong appeal -a true charisma- confirmed by unanimous testimonies, combined with the phenomenal relevance of his voice, established Del Monaco as a prominent figure in that great group of artists who, in the 1950s, once again upheld the prestige of the Italian singing school worldwide. [..] We learn, then, of his diurnal and indefatigable reflection on the mysteries of the voice, his lifelong meditation on the secrets of technique and the eternal problem of adapting theory to practise, that is, the transition from notion to the vocal organ of each individual artist, in this case his own. We learn the strength of a performer who always approached each title only after a careful examination of his abilities and the possibilities of producing a good and convincing performance. He would remove pieces from his repertoire when he believed he could no longer give his best. We learn of Del Monaco’s uninterrupted study of his interpretations, so much so that a volume would be needed just to show the continuous evolution of his reading of Verdi’s Moro, where every effect sought and every change made from one edition to the next responds to dramaturgical choices conceived and suggested to the singer by both his instinct and his intelligence, and by others’ experiences observed with acumen and made his own with originality and talent. Del Monaco, a true artist, created a new type of opera singer, claiming for himself and for the Opera house a modern dimension that it is simplistic to define as cinematic. A singer-actor of consummate skill, Del Monaco always focused on the voice, and shaped it with musical rigour, documented by many official and live recordings, that allow us to reconstruct his career with precision. […] Like all artists endowed with talent and good sense, educated by excellent singing teachers and conductors, Del Monaco believed that, while respecting tradition, he should immerse opera within a modern conception, whose sole measure of evaluation was the credibility and coherence of the interpretation. Not to forget that the seismic power of his vocal means required precise strategies, inevitably affecting the approach to each character. Del Monaco achieved the credibility of his performances (all those who saw him act on stage speak of a catalytic force capable of capturing and nailing the spectators; witnesses often repeat that there was no one else on stage but him) thanks to one of the most impressive practical realisations of Kostantin Sergeevich Stanislavkij’s theories. One example will suffice. His silence in the days leading up to the performance, that quietness around himself, which the media then sold as the image of the capricious star in the mood for exhibitionism, should instead be read as the search for the tvorceskoe samocuvstvie, that is, the condition of detachment from habitual interests that the performer, according to Stanislavkij’s theories, must pursue in order to begin the process of fusion with the character. It is the opposite of the akterskoe samocuvstvie, that is, the adoption of theatrical expedients that allow the actor to achieve effects by solely relying on their craft. Before going on stage, Del Monaco prepared for the task of identifying with the character. Hence his meticulous research into make-up, costumes, the psychological and human motivations for each role, embodied in respect for the rules of singing and the nature of his voice. His voice pushed him, in fact, towards a heroic interpretation of melodrama, in an epic dimension that he knew how to discern both in the character of Pollione and, as has been rightly and authoritatively suggested, also in that of Canio. […] In the 1950s, he anticipated what has now become a common interpretative approach to Verismo, starting from the literary works of Giovanni Verga: the realist document of an increasingly distant world is transformed into the epic of the oppressed who oppose their cry, in this case their singing, to the harrowing reality they must face daily. The heroism of Del Monaco’s interpretations brings to light the burning issue (a recurring theme in musical criticism) of Del Monaco’s mezza voce, true or alleged, affirmed or denied. Let’s clear the field of any misunderstanding. If mezza voce is the sweet sigh of a tenor of grace, then there can be no doubt: Del Monaco has never sung in mezza voce. If mezza voce means adapting one’s singing to an intimate recollection, proportional to the virility of the character, of his portrayal, to the gigantic size of the singer’s voice, then Del Monaco has often been able to alternate the fiery and bright colours, the dark tones of the more dramatic passages, with the sweet yet virile vibration fitting for a hero. Indeed, one can agree with Franco Fussi (one of the most authoritative phoniatrists who has spoken about Del Monaco on several occasions) when, while giving prominence to interpretations of the veristic repertoire, pointing out the exceptional results of Andrea Chénier, whose reading of the “Improvviso” remains memorable, he recognises in the famous tenor a constant control of sound with the search for gradations and nuances and does not hesitate to use the term mezza voce. To prove that it would be wrong to pin Mario del Monaco down exclusively to the most agitated performances of Otello, we are helped by a document that is easily accessible today. It is the RAI television recording, where Del Monaco sings partnered with Rosanna Carteri’s Desdemona. The playback trap, which technical reasons made indispensable, is avoided by Del Monaco with the construction of a monolithic, statuesque, meditated Otello, where love and fury pass through a facial mimicry that can be considered an impressive piece of modern musical theatre. The result achieved is anything but a gruesome display of Verismo. Given that this Otello has guts and flesh, blood in his veins, it goes without saying that the vocal interpretation is accordingly. Monolithic in the superb beauty of a sculpture where the force of the vocal nature is harnessed and intelligently guarded, the voice now cracks like thunder, now gathers in the most intimate vibrations. To be heroic, Del Monaco has everything, starting with the ringing […] There should be no doubt that the high notes must be ringing, but the entire range of a hero must have flashes, must be ringing. And the timbre of all the notes, which must possess the luminescence of noble metals. [..] Del Monaco, therefore, is a tenor who built up a stentorian vocality, based on a method that he adapted to the singularity of his instrument […] obtaining excellent results where the powerful modelling of his electrifying declamation and, more generally, the monolithic grandeur of his singing could find fertile ground. […] Historians of musical theatre and those of vocality should also find an additional and no less important reason to study without prejudice the voice and art of Del Monaco […] Rodolfo Celletti has already mentioned it [… His voice, first-rate in terms of timbre and volume, has a baritone-like colour and vigour in the lower registers, and a sharpness and capacity for expansion in the upper registers that, combined with an incisive and generous phrasing, harks back to the tradition of Verdi’s tenors of the second half of the 19th century, no longer skilled in florid singing but still able to tackle the tessituras of Meyerbeer or Guglielmo Tell. Indeed, certain interpretations of Del Monaco allow us to approach some aspects of the singing style of Verdi’s tenors of the second half of the 19th century better than any recent approximation.. […] Moreover, having distinguished himself as one of the most remarkable Pollione of the 20th century, Del Monaco seems to be the heir of one of the most representative tenors of the second half of the 19th century, a contemporary of Enrico Tamberlick, wedged between Gaetano Fraschini and the legendary Francesco Tamagno, namely the Piedmontese Geremia Bettini. Sculpted voice, splendid Pollione, capable of singing Otello (Rossini’s) which Del Monaco would certainly perform if he were alive now, being his voice, and not those lamentable ones of the so-called specialists, the true voice of the baritone Rossini tenor. It is no coincidence that Del Monaco, a modern representative of many aspects of nineteenth-century stentorianism, was a celebrated interpreter of the bandit Ernani, among other things in the memorable performances conducted by Dimitri Mitropoulos in New York and Florence. The merits of this interpretation go far beyond a few moments of formidable excitement. One only has to listen to the finale where Del Monaco, contrary to what has been written by Italian record critics in the vein of justicialism, is not at all uncomfortable. […] in the Andante, “Ve’ come gli astri”, Del Monaco softens the G of “sembrano”, following the composer’s indication, and well disengages the little group that acts as a cadenza to the phrase. The execution of the Lento, “Tutto ora tace”, is admirable, with a beautiful F in pianissimo in correspondence of “beato”. Let’s set aside the passion (expressly requested by Verdi) of “Solingo, errante, misero” and the emotional force of “Quel pianto, Elvira, ascondimi…”. We can also discuss the sonorities sought for ‘Vivi d’amarmi e vivere’. Nonetheless, there is no doubt that here we have one of the happiest icons of the 19th-century dramatic tenor, grappling with a role that tradition assigned him. Moreover, in this performance, one can appreciate that musical precision that Celletti recognised in Del Monaco […] Namely, the modernity of taste that should be measured not against today’s stylisation but against the national-verismo debacle of certain tenors from the 1940s, which Del Monaco swept away, heralding new times. Let us also consider the formidable performance in San Francisco of Eleazar’s Aria, ‘Rachel, quand du Seigneur’, from La Juive, all sculpted in bronze (one of the most beautiful readings after that recorded by Caruso), a true essay of singing style in the manner of the ancient heroic tenors, such as Leon Escalaïs and Giovan Battista De Negri. However, Del Monaco also possessed that incisiveness of accent that pre-Caruso tenors did not have, delayed as they were by a blasé phrasing that today might sound sluggish. Let us ignore an old recording of the finale of “Lucia di Lammermoor” that I mention here provocatively. I am not so naive as to place Del Monaco among the Edgardos of reference, but listening to him reminds us (at least in some sections) that the character was written for Gilbert-Louis Duprez, who was a dramatic tenor, one of the first and greatest, who sang with the voix sombrée, in the manner of Del Monaco, and not for the lyric-light tenors [..] if you want to rediscover the ring that was of the ancient tenors, the sound of a silver disc struck by a silver hammer […] you must listen to him: the old lion. Vilified by the critics, […] derided by the reviewers of the last season, some of whom even compared him to a screamer. He: the tenor of rank, the exemplary professional courted by the theatres of the world! Here is my preface, which does not unconditionally sing Del Monaco’s merits, which in seeing his limits does not denigrate him, as some obtuse fans believe, but makes its own small contribution to the necessary work of historicization (it is time to begin it) and appreciates him even more; appreciates him for what he is worth (very much), for his greatness (enormous), without dreaming of what he never was and could never have been. Was it worth reopening the Del Monaco issue? Of course it was. We have no doubt. […]
(from the preface by G. Landini taken from the biographical book ‘MARIO DEL MONACO Monumentum aere perennius’ by E. Romagnolo)